Hello! I hope you really enjoy this fic.
Disclaimer: I don't own Tower of God, and the only character I own is my OC, Silgram.
The girl was crouching on the ground, shivering in the bitter winds that rushed through the winding tunnels of bleak, jagged stone. She was was huddled, hugging her arms around her chest, in an attempt to ward off the cold. She was about seven years old, but was short and underweight for her age. Underneath the tattered gray rags that covered her, her body was emaciated due to malnourishment, her ribcage showing clearly underneath her skin. Her yellow hair, scraggly and unwashed, reached the small of her back. Her skin was pale, with a faint dusting of freckles adorning her face. Her meager possessions were in a small burlap bag secured around her waist with a red ribbon. While everything else about her spoke of hard living, and filth, the ribbon was clean, and pure. It was a vivid shade of red, and was not yet faded by the sour air and turbulent winds of the catacombs.
Her golden eyes were dull, and empty. They had once possessed the spark of childhood innocence and hope, but it had long since been beaten down by the reality of life in the underground labyrinth of tunnels she inhabited. Around every corner, there was nothing but darkness and despair. Violent tempests filled the tunnels, scattering what little possessions people had on the wind. Water was abundant, but that in itself came with its own problems. The humidity was unbearable at times, and everything was damp, with no hope of ever drying completely. At night, the darkness that already pervaded the day became all-consuming. With no sources of sustainable light, all activity had to stop at nightfall. However, while the darkness was horrible, the worst part of night was the cold. The cold was one of the largest dangers to survival in the catacombs. Without heat or proper clothing, it wasn't uncommon for many dwellers to freeze to death during the night. However, the greatest and chiefest danger, was starvation. Food was scarce, and even when the girl could get her hands on some, she never got enough to sate her hunger. Being too small and weak to forage for herself, she survived on any scraps that other dwellers deemed inedible. Not that people were too picky. Pride wasn't common in the catacombs, and dwellers would eat whatever they could bear to stomach.
The dwellers were as bleak and drab as the catacombs themselves. Many were concerned only with the basic necessities of survival. They simply roamed the tunnels, foraging for food, or some meager means of warmth to protect them that night. They had no hopes, they had no dreams, all they knew was the pursuit of their next meal.
The girl closed her eyes, trying to imagine that she was somewhere else, anywhere else, than the dark, murky catacombs that she had inhabited all her life. She imagined a world of light, a world filled with warmth. A world that was peaceful, a world where people didn't kill each other over scraps that a wild animal would refuse. The world she imagined was so wonderful, so enticing, that she wished with all her might that some higher power would descend from the heavens, and rescue her from this hell. But wishes didn't come true down in the catacombs.
Just as the winds began dying down, the girl began to hear the sounds of footsteps approaching her. She stood up in a flash, eyes flashing in every direction furtively, searching for possible danger. She turned in the direction of the footsteps, and her blood froze in her veins.
A group of roughly twenty men were lurking further down the tunnel. They were clad in ragged leather jerkins and rough leather pants, with cloth footwraps adorning their feet. They wielded simple weapons. Sticks, sharpened to a spear-like point, and sticks with a stone secured to one end with bits of cloth, making rudimentary clubs. However, what they lacked in complex weaponry, they made up for in aggression. Their eyes, wide and red-rimmed, were full of nothing but basic, carnal impulses. These men were akin to rabid dogs, hunting down anyone in sight, and ripping them to pieces.
Gangs like this were quite common, down in the catacombs. Able-bodied men and women would often band together and prey on the weak. Stealing food, clothing, books, anything of value from those who could not fight back, their odds of survival were greatly increased by working in a group. However, these groups would often dissolve within a very short time of being formed. The gangs acquired a bit of food from their victims, but it usually wasn't enough to feed the entire group. And so, one of them would eventually attempt to steal all that they had accumulated from the rest of the group. This would then lead to a full-scale struggle to attain the most of the loot, that would end in a majority of the members being killed off. The survivors divvied up the loot, and went their separate ways, usually joining up with another group. It was a brutal, and barbaric cycle, but it was just another method of survival in the catacombs.
However, this group was not like the others. They were legendary in this part of the catacombs for their unity. Not a single member, in all their time together, had stolen from, or betrayed the group. It was this solidarity that allowed them to become the most successful gang in this region of the catacombs. It was rumored that this was due to their mysterious leader, though nobody seemed to know much about him. They had an encampment, a few miles from their current location, in a large alcove in the stone walls. It was there that they stored all of the loot they had accumulated during their raids. After a long day of prowling the catacombs, that was where they would retire, rejoicing in that day's spoils, which they had ripped from the corpses of their victims. However, they would not always kill their victims. Sometimes they would let one go, to spread the word of their many who were released usually wished they had just been killed. And when the girl heard the stories that they had to tell, she didn't blame them.
Bludgeonings so violent they rendered the victim unrecognizable, people being set on fire while they were still alive, the list went on. Some went insane from the torture inflicted on them. It was only when a person went past their breaking point, when the men would release them back into the catacombs. The girl had seen one such person once. It was a man. Or rather, it had been. All that remained by the the time the girl had met him was an empty shell. Rocking back and forth on the floor of a muddy cave that he crawled into to sleep, he muttered words that the girl was unable to hear. However, she had been grateful that she was unable to decipher his words. Anything that someone in that condition had to say, she was better off not hearing. When these monsters in the forms of men caught you, death would surely be preferable. The girl was debating the benefits of a death by spear over death by club, when one of the men stepped forward.
He was only slightly taller than the other men, but he seemed to tower over the rest. While the rest of the men wore tattered leather, he was dressed in fine cloth garments. While the rest of the men wielded their simple spears and clubs, he had a steel sword hanging on his hip, clad in a simple scabbard. But while he was better dressed and equipped than the others, there was no mistaking that he too was a marauder. His greasy black hair hung lank over his face, almost concealing his pallid features. His hooked nose gave him a severe look, and he had a thin goatee, expertly groomed when compared to the gnarled beards of the other men. But the most striking part of his face was his piercing blue eyes. They were cold and calculating, yet they seemed to almost burn with intensity. This man was clearly their leader. When he stepped forward, the other men immediately fell silent as he addressed the girl.
"Hello, girl. I believe we could use your help" the man said, his voice high, and cold. The girl was too terrified to respond. Her fear must have been clearly visible on her face, because the man's lips curled into a smile.
"Ah, of course, we haven't been properly introduced. Pardon my rudeness, my dear. My name is Silgram, and I am the leader of this little band of merry foragers. And what is your name?" he asked in a lazy, humorous tone, clearly enjoying his control of the situation.
"...R-Rachel…."
"Rachel, eh? Well Rachel, now that we've been introduced, maybe you can help us solve a little mystery". The men behind Silgram broke into small fits of cruel laughter, though they appeared to be trying to stifle it, apparently eager to hear more. "A few days ago, a sneaky little thief snuck into our camp while we were out gathering supplies."
The men's laughter grew louder, and Rachel's heart sank when she realized where this was going. Silgram approached her, so that he was standing right in front of her. Rachel wanted to run, but she was paralyzed with fear.
"They only stole one thing, though. A beautiful, red ribbon that was tied to my bedpost. When I discovered it was missing, I was devastated. But imagine my surprise when I discovered that that the thief had left a trail! So I gathered my men, and followed the trail here."
The men were no longer attempting to hide their laughter, and the catacombs echoed with their mirth. Only Silgram did not laugh, though his cruel smile grew ever wider. His right hand fell to the hilt of his sword as the men behind him finally fell silent. Evidently, they were waiting to hear the finale.
"So Rachel." Silgram said, his voice had lowered to almost a whisper. "Do you know who the thief is?" The men were all gripping their weapons tightly, the time for jokes had clearly passed.
"P-Please don't hurt me, I...I just wanted something pretty to wear. I just wanted something that wasn't torn, or dirty! Here, take it back! Just please, please have mercy!" Rachel fell to her knees in a desperate act of was then that Silgram finally laughed, a hellish sound, like an animal being gutted.
"Mercy?" He asked, his laughter fading. "No, I don't think so, Rachel. I don't take too kindly to people who disrespect me and steal my property. In fact, I don't even want it back anymore. You've probably ruined it just by touching it. So you can't return it, I'm afraid. Well, I guess I'll just have to take a more...severe course of action." With that, the other men began to inch forward, leering at Rachel with undisguised hostility.
Rachel's survival instinct took hold, and she turned tail and fled down the tunnel. She heard the gang give chase, but that only spurred her to run even faster. She raced down the tunnel at her top speed, running faster than she ever had before. She rushed through turns and bends in the tunnels in an attempt to escape her pursuers, but nothing seemed effective. It didn't help that these were fully grown men, and she was a starving little girl. She could hear the gang steadily gaining ground, closing the gap between them and her. She continued running, but suddenly was tripped up by a small crater in the ground, and was sent careening to the floor. She got back up immediately, and continued running.
However, that blunder was all the men needed to close the distance between them. She felt a hand grab a fistful of her hair, and tug backwards. Her pace suddenly checked, she jerked backwards, and fell to the ground. She looked back to see that it had been Silgram that had caught her. While the sudden running had exhausted Rachel's malnourished body, Silgram wasn't even breathing hard. His blue eyes were fixed on her golden ones, and Rachel realized that running had been pointless. Living in the catacombs, something like this was destined to happen.
He released his hold on her hair, only to sink a fist into her stomach. Rachel gasped from the sudden blow, feeling as if she had been hit by a falling boulder. Silgram stood up, seeming to Rachel like a giant, towering over her. Still shaken from the blow to her stomach, Rachel remained cowering on the ground, lacking the strength to move. Silgram looked down on her with something that resembled pity. Not that someone as cruel as Silgram was capable of feelings such as pity.
"Well Rachel, I must commend your valiant effort. Most people are too terrified to run until it's too late! It was a brief, but exhilarating chase. However, if I'm being honest, I'm going to enjoy what is about to happen even more. I think we should use the clubs, boys. What do you think?"
The other men raised their clubs and shouted their approval. Rachel didn't understand what they meant at first, but then the realization hit her with the force of a stampede. She tried once again to get up and flee, but it proved futile when two of the men grabbed her arms and held her down. Silgram took a club from one of the other men, and raised it high above his head. Rachel's mind was in an endless loop of one thought.
nononononononononononononononononononononono
But all that came out of her mouth was a wordless scream. And then the club came down.
Rachel didn't know how long it lasted. She didn't know how many times she was struck. She didn't know how badly hurt she was. She didn't know why she was born into a world where things like this could happen. All she knew was that the agony she felt seemed as if it would never end.
And then, after what felt like an eternity, it was over. Silgram struck her one more time, and it appeared that every man had their fill of bludgeonings, for now at least. Silgram returned the club to the man to whom it belonged, straightened his clothes, and looked down at her one last time.
"Well Rachel, I think you've learned your lesson. You know what they say, right? Spare the rod, spoil the child. Anyway, I don't think you'll be stealing from us again, so I'd say this is a job well done." He turned to walk away, but only took a few steps before he spun back around. "Oh my, in all the excitement, I almost forgot."
He walked back to where Rachel lay, and knelt down next to her, his hand falling again onto the hilt of his sword. Rachel didn't know what would happen next, but she silently prayed to whatever might hear her that Silgram would just pull out his sword and end her suffering. But instead, he simply leaned in and whispered, so that there was no way Rachel would mishear him.
"If anyone asks what happened to you, enlighten them, will you? It's important that people know what happens when they get in our way." And with that, he stood back up, leaving Rachel to bleed out onto the floor of the catacombs. "Well, I hope you have a good evening, if you don't die from your wounds. Or the cold. Or the hunger. In any case, farewell, my dear, and thank you very much for the entertainment".
And with that, Silgram turned on his heel, and began walking back to their camp. The other men followed, most of them looking back at her battered, bloodied form one last time before turning their backs and walking away.
Rachel watched them go through eyes that were so bruised, they were barely able to stay open. She was in so much pain, she was sure that her body was broken beyond repair. Just as her vision began to grow dark, she had one last thought before the darkness took her.
At least when I die, I'll be somewhere else.
But Rachel did not die. Several hours later, she regained consciousness. As she came to, she groaned in agony. During her time unconscious, she had been unable to feel the pain from the beating, but now it crashed back into her like a tidal wave. Upon realizing that she was, in fact, still alive, Rachel's eyes filled with hot, bitter tears.
I can't even die right…...Why? Why is this happening? I don't deserve this, I…..I don't deserve any of this. I deserve better. I deserve light. I deserve warmth. I just wish there was a way I could find some. I wish…
Rachel's lamentations stopped as a sudden thought hit her with the force of a thousand clubs. She had heard stories of a place that can grant any wish. A Tower, somewhere deep in the catacombs, that seemed to stretch into the sky forever. And if you could make it to the top, you would receive whatever your heart desired. She hadn't believed them before, but now she was convinced that there was nothing for her in the catacombs. Rachel opened her eyes to the same dark, stone walls she had seen her whole life, but now it was as if she was looking beyond them, searching for the Tower even as she lay half-dead. She was going to find that Tower, or die trying..
Rachel pulled herself up onto her hands and knees. She began to crawl along the floor of the tunnel, seeking an alcove or cave, that she could use as shelter. The wind was picking up again, and she needed to find a place to sleep. After all, she couldn't recover in the middle of a maelstrom.
And I will recover. My wounds will heal, and I'm going to get stronger. But more importantly, I'm going to get out of here. I'm going to find a way out of this hell. No matter how long it takes. No matter what I have to do.
Rachel didn't know it at the time, but this was one of the defining moments of her life. It was in this moment, her resolve to enter the Tower was forged in the heat of suffering. It was in this moment that her innocence was lost.