The most insecure creature in this world would be humans. We do our normal work, and people judge. We do good deeds, and still they judge. We do bad deeds, and they kill you mentally. All of this by some bunch of idiots called society.
Many will lose their confidence because of that. Many will lose their will. It hurts. It hurts to see a sinner judging another sinner who's just committing sin differently. But what hurts more is that even your own parents are part of this so-called society and pushes their own childrens into deep abyss of hopelessness to gain some vauge validation from bunch of hypocrites.
Veythor, Raika, and Shimi.... three of them were curiously looking out of the cage. They could see nothing but that sleeping guard, but they could hear footsteps. The sound echoed loudly in that cave-like place. It felt like someone was walking on water.
Veythor turned to both of them.
"You two understood the plan?"
"Yes," they said simultaneously. Their eyes were filled with helplessness and fear.
"All preparations ready?" Veythor asked Shimi, his voice a bit gentler than before.
"Good. Now you two promise me something," he said again.
"What promise?" Shimi asked with curiosity. Raika too was staring at him intently.
"Promise me that no matter what happens forward, we will not back off from this plan."
"Do we really have to kill people?" Her eyes shrunk, filled with deep empathy.
"We don't have the luxury to show any empathy. It's do or die. We can do it with teamwork and the power of friendship. We can do it."
Veythor calmly gave the two kids a fake, short speech. His eyes were also filled with determination, which was partially true and partially false. He didn't give a damn about these two. They could die, live, or rot... who cares? He just wanted to escape. Even if these two died in this process, it didn't really matter.
Veythor's words made them calm down.A shadow, long and lean, stretched across the damp stone. Not Bulz's familiar bulk, but something new, a lanky frame. Then, a sudden, brutal sound... a dull thud. He struck the sleeping guard, a blow that sent the man sprawling, his hand instinctively reaching for his jaw. A groan, then a roar of indignation,
"Who dares?" But the rage withered, replaced by a gulp of fear, as he saw the figure standing over him. "Young master Bural, what are you doing?"
Bural. Two heart-shaped tattoos, stark against his cheekbones. A thin, black sleeveless jacket, revealing arms too slender for true strength. His hair, a chaotic blend of orange and light green, seemed to mock the dim light of the prison. He was a creature of discordant beauty, or perhaps, a testament to a twisted aesthetic.
"Ew, what an ugly idiot," Raika muttered, the words escaping before he could catch them.
Veythor's hand shot out, clamping over Raika's mouth. "Stupid. Do not speak it again. Do not provoke him. We will find only deeper trouble. He is likely kin to Bulz, a shadow cast from the same mold."
Raika bristled, pushing Veythor away. "So what? I am not afraid of him. You are a coward if you fear that ugly idiot." His declaration hung in the air, defiant and naive.
"You two, stop. That man is coming toward us," Shimi whispered, a tremor in her voice, a hint of panic blooming in her eyes.
"Calm down. We can do this," Veythor said, his voice a low, steady current against the rising tide of fear.
Bural stopped before their cage, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. Even a child, innocent of the world's cruelties, would recognize the spoiled arrogance in his stance. He looked at them, a stupid grin spreading across his face, a mirror of Bulz's own grotesque amusement.
This man, Veythor thought, his brows furrowing, a storm gathering in his mind. He is likely Bulz's blood, a twisted branch from the same diseased tree. That grin, so like the other. Could it be Bulz's son?
"Hello, kids." He waved, a mockery of warmth. "Time to go." The words, simple and final, hung heavy in the air, a pronouncement of their fate.
He shot his hand forward, a white aura surging around him.
"Unlock," he murmured, and the gate of the cage, with a groan of ancient metal, swung open.
Three pairs of eyes met, a silent exchange of fear and a flicker of desperate hope.
"Come out, little puppies. Father has finished all negotiations. Now it is time to hand over." Bural's voice, a sickly sweet melody, echoed in the cavernous space.
Yes, just as I predicted. Bulz, and his son. This is good. Killing him would benefit us. Veythor's thoughts coiled, a serpent in the dark, a new plan already forming in the cold chambers of his mind. He laughed, a silent, chilling sound.
He seized their hands, pulling them, almost dragging them from the cage. The gate, with a loud, metallic clang, locked once more, sealing the emptiness within.
Bural led the way, his steps light, almost a dance. They followed, a procession of shadows, their eyes scanning the walls. Strange symbols, etched into the stone, seemed to writhe in the dim light, painting a scene from a horror film.
Other cages lined the path, filled with silent, hollow-eyed slaves. Some watched them, a flicker of curiosity in their vacant stares. Others were too broken to even lift their heads.
Guards, scattered like forgotten stones, chuckled, their laughter a harsh, grating sound in the oppressive silence.
I must find a blind spot. But where? Where is it? There is at least one guard in every place. Tch.
Veythor's mind raced, a frantic calculation against the ticking clock of their impending doom.
Then, a sudden widening of his eyes. Found it. He murmured the words, a breath of triumph. Bural, sensing a shift, glanced back, then forward again. A less-lit place, a pocket of shadow, stretched before them. Fortunately, it was empty. A blind spot. A sliver of hope in the encroaching darkness.
Veythor coughed twice, a signal. Both Raika and Shimi nodded, their innocent eyes still haunted by fear. The fear of killing. The fear of being killed.
All of it vague, indistinct, before the blinding allure of escape. Freedom. Beautiful freedom, or ugly. It mattered not. Veythor craved it, at any cost.
But could he do it? Was he capable enough? Was he worthy? Or was anyone truly free in this fucked-up world? Only time, that relentless, indifferent master, would tell.