Warning: It's rated M for a reason. If you can't handle gore or blood, leave.

This story is inspired by LOTR and An Ember in the Ashes. The story will include plot elements that relate to both stories at times. I was thinking of doing something realistic between Gregor and the Underland, but in that time those two stories changed my mind and left me with no choice.

Try not to get creeped out with the Prologue, it's the only chapter I think is considered horror. This is my first time writing a lot, so don't expect great, and try not to expect anything amazing.

I need the audiences feedback and perspective in the form of reviews please! Express your feelings however you like. I'll write more chapters with each review

Nightmares

The consistent tapping of rain flooded his ears to no end, drumming on the bricked walls of the apartment, echoing with the distant noises of a busy city. Above, the sky dimmed beyond the night, pale with heavenly starlight.

There was an unsettling tension in the air. Through the cold gusts of wind that shook windows apart and rattled at loose piping, it was unmistakeable. It consumed Gregor like water, stilling the ever-faster beating in his heart, intensifying the throbbing in his muscles. His hearing deafened increasingly, as if he were underwater.

This was what he once called his rager side, the very word boiling at his blood. It was still there, awaiting to be summoned at any moment, an unstable hurricane to be unleashed with Gregor at the eye, who was holding it back with much strain.

But it was no use. Becuase it would not come to him anyways. Not after the realization of what was happening to his family dawned upon him. Fear and hopelessness stole him, chaining Gregor's eyes to the ones in front of him.

His eyes meet those of his family's who kneel painfully on the wet pavement, hands bound and mouth's gagged, prepared for their fates. A cloaked man in silver armor stands not a arm's length away, eyes fixed on our throats, almost too literally. He wields a sword with etchings carved along a curved hilt, death its only possible meaning. Soldiers stand behind his family, swords pointed in wait. A figure stands still behind the cloaked man.

The silver armored man smells of smoke and blood, a placid death when joined together, something Gregor wishes he hadn't recognized before. They are all arrayed before Death, a family-sized buffet to it's sickening taste. Beyond their circle, cars honk and flash, their lights painting the grim scene on the walls of the alleyway.

He knows what'll come next. He knows every detail that's burnt itself into his memory for years, every word and every scream, every movement and every face. He desperately wishes for it to change, but it'll be no different from the last.

The sword ran low, effortlessly across her neck a thin red line trailing against her skin, the sickening sound of it all too real.

"A sacrifice of blood and bone." the calm voice impossibly drowns out the pounding rain, yet it is eerie and smooth and spoken with a tone not of this world. The words are mesmerizing and hypnotic, as if it was singing a baby to sleep.

"A bridge for you to follow." The figure circles mom's lifeless body, it's face expressionless and distant, as if it was speaking to someone in its head. Mom's clothes are ragged and beat from hiding. Blood pools by her neck and the rain splashes it away, slowly reaching Gregor's knees. Gregor stares in horror, unable to register a response.

"You will emerge a shadow." It's Lizzie and Dad now, who sob in terror with their hands struggling from behind their backs, desperately trying to be freed. But the worst was Boots, who was crying and screaming, Boots who was only seven years old. Boots who only just learned to ride the bike. Tears were streaming down her face as she tried to get to Mom. But the soldiers slammed her into the cold pavement, blood seeping out of her noise. The soldiers grabbed her, delivering a blow straight into her stomach, their veins bulging out of their translucent skin, their shining silver armor glinting off the rain. Boots choked and writhed as more blood slid down her lips and off her chins, only to join the blood on the ground.

Lizzie screams and Boots' head lolls to the side. Poor, poor, poor little Boots. Memories of his little sister flash by, of all the smiling and happiness, of when she called him "Ge-go", or when he saw her giggling as she was luanched in the air by bats. She didn't deserve this. None of them did.

Then came Dad. And then Lizzie. Both dropped to the floor like a bags of stone, both unmoving, both eyes wide open in fear, terror, anger, despair and sadness.

And then the figure came to Boots. And Gregor found himself pleading, "Not Boots please, I beg you, please!" And he kept pleading until he gave up and pleaded Boots to look him in the eyes.

The executioner slowly walked around her, his silver sword low and steady, ready to deliver its unnerving death. The words etched into the blades' hilt glowed a faint orange, a strange chant-like hum emitting from it at a slow pace. His silver-armored boots clanked softly, the faint tinkering of layered amor louder than the thundering rain.

"I'm right here Boots! Boots! Look at me! I'm right here!"

"A sacrifice of blood and bone." Steel flashes, and Boots' body goes limp, hitting the floor with a thud. Her eyes are shining with tears as blood pours from her neck and seeps into the cracks of the stone. Her mouth forms the word Gregor.

And then Gregor falls into a silent stupor as he hears the echoes of his family whirl around his head. He stares at the ground watching blood form by his knees. His hair is wet and drenched in tangles. The shirt he was wearing was ripped, torn by claws and steel. His mom had bought him that shirt as a Christmas present one year when they were in a financial crisis. It was the only gift they could afford at the time.

Now she's dead. Like Dad. Like Lizzie and Boots, just moments ago. Life was made with so many precious moments. Then one day, a single moment comes along to define every second that comes after. And this was going to define their end.

Their executioner slowly walks towards him. And for the first time, he finally looks into the cold eyes of the girl wearing the studded gold crown behind this all. She stands behind the bodies of his family, surveying the carnage expressionless. Gregor searches her face for any sign of shame, of guilt. But it's empty and vast, holding back all feelings at bay.

Silver flashes before his eyes, the metallic hum of a blade inches away from his throat.

"A sacrifice of blood and bone."

And then Luxa locks eyes with him. Anger he's never suppressed before boils inside him as he stares into the purple irises he once thought were beautiful, eyes that stole his heart, and made his skin dance and flutter whenever he looked at them. But now she's prepared for death, cold-eyed and hardhanded. Not a single tear has shown. Did they never laugh when they once danced together? Did they never fight for each other's lives, or fight off a dozen rats or go on adventures to save thousands of people's lives? Did they never love each other?

But this is it. This is the end. They say your soul goes to heaven if you've lived a good life. Is that what awaits him? Or will he slip into endless darkness, unbroken and quiet?

And as the blade slowly tugs at his skin, time slows around him as he sees a sudden faint glitter in Luxa's eyes, offering him solace, even when a blade millimeters from his neck draws his blood. Gregor thinks of the last time he looked into those eyes with an honest love. I'll never get rid of you, no matter how hard I try, I love you. And she had said back I love you, too. They had won then, two lonely thirteen year olds, scarred by the evils of the world, but instead found an inspiring love that shone bright against all evils. Does she remember that day? Does she remember all the days since?

He'll never know. As he stares into her eyes, the sword slices across his neck, producing a painful creak as it cuts through his skin leaving him to feel the burn of steel biting into his neck.

Chapter 1

He awoke clutching his neck, rabidly gasping for air. He stood up, knocking over some pans and cups by the campfire and leaned on the side of the cave wall, slowly drawing breath. Slowly easing himself to a normal pace, he put his hand to the back of his head. He felt it throb in beating pain, every heart beart and breath beating at his skull. But nothing is worse then what'll come next. Great what did I just knock over? He's probably gonna—

"While your at it, you know, gasping for air and crying yourself out of sleep, why don't you go ahead and just knock down all the water and ingredients we have!"

The gruffly voice doesn't startle him, but it never will, he's gotten use to it for the past two years of his castaway life. And the humiliations never stopped, but maybe only in the worst of times when Ripred would decide its best to be encouraging by threatening each other, but Gregor's become use to that also.

"Why don't you watch your family die helplessly? Bound, tortured, forced to watch each other's necks slit? You have no idea."

And crap, he forgot again. Gregor instantly regrets it as Ripred phases into another one of his psychotic rants.

"Yeah? Well why don't you watch hundreds of rats and humans getting slaughtered all the while trying to find your wife and kids—" he dangerously waves a fish around, covered in makeshift shrimp and cream sauce, a costly endeavor that only fuels his happiness, "—knowing that there's no way they could've survived that many swords waving around! I found my kids washed up in a cave, with there heads severed and arms cut to bones. I even found my wife with a sword through her heart!" he hisses. "And don't forget, I had parents too warrior."

"Fine your right." Gregor says with an eye roll. Every story Ripred tells is exaggerated nowadays for lack of excitement. They are true and horrifying, but their real nature is always the same. After a while, telling stories of war and death becomes a task, a task that only brings sadness and memories of the dead.

Gregor adds with a smirk, "Only slightly though."

And suddenly Ripred's tail sweeps Gregor out from under his feet and he falls face first into the dirt with a thud, stars swirling in his eyes.

"Hey enough!"

Howard stares with a tired look, throwing daggers with his eyes at Ripred and Gregor, "Hurt each other once more, and I'm not going to help either of you!"

Gregor comes against the wall again his head throbbing even worse by now, making him wish he slept a little longer. Gregor moves his hand to the back of his head and seconds later his finger is smothered in blood Great.

"That was totally unnecessary Ripred."

Ripred slowly sits back down on a rock by the campfire. Well, more so plops on the rock with laziness tracing his every movement. He snarls at Howard's intrusion,

"Come on Gregor, we best not anger his Highness or else we might receive a whipping in return."

The surprise caught in Howards face turns from tired, to confusion, to anger, and then tiredness altogether again.

And just like that, all hell breaks loose as Howard charges Ripred full on, running savagely and wildly, like a bull with no food. Ripred not expecting this, is suddenly tackled off his rock, his burly form sprawled beside it. At the sight of this Gregor starts off, laughing hysterically, probably waking everything within a one hundred meter—radius. He can't control it though, the sight of Howard charging Ripred was the craziest thing he's ever saw. And even better was when he saw Ripred on the ground, shocked he just got tackled by an unarmed human.

And then Ripred is on Gregor, holding him upside down off his ankles, with menace in his eyes, flashes of violence scattering across them.

Ripred flips Gregor back on his bottom with tremendous force, causing Gregor knees to buckle and lock in between, forcing him on his ass.

"Thats right warrior, criss-cross apple sauce!"

Gregor sighed. "I didn't know you read children's stories Ripred" He said groggily, he really had to stop getting hurt now. Howard was against the wall too, rubbing at his forehead that seemed to have a massive lump welling up in the middle.

Then Ripred, not being able to help it adds "Maybe if you didn't bring Boots around with you all the time, we would all probably be a little more sane."

The comment was just a plain insult, and it tore Gregor's insides up. Making him think of Boots was torture, especially after what had happened to her. He looked straight into Ripred's eyes, hating him for everything he was, whether they were comrades or not. Gregor got up and turned around walking out of the cave. Man, Ripred was becoming and idiot these days, not like he already was. But he used to be intelligent, and wise, he was strong and kind to Lizzie, but he's probably forgot all that now.

Gregor walked out of the cave following a narrow passage way that led to a ledge, overlooking a huge cavern. Jagged spikes hung from the ceiling, and the sound of water rippled below, all illuminated by an red stream of lava at the bottom of the river. Bats could never enter the cave due to the spikes, and a rat could never scale the slanted cliff that led up to their hideout, much less a human too. And the cave was humid, producing a slimy substance with the stalactites that covered the walls, making it hard to scale the walls. The light emitted by the river shaded their hideout too, as well as illuminating any fish that passed by. It was a perfect hideout, protected and supplied by nature. Yet at the same time, nature was trying to kill them.

He burried his head in his hands, wanting to forget about his family. It had been three years ago when he was fourteen that he had to watch his family die. Every dream he's dreamed about them has been too real, except for the part of him dying. He never had his throat slit, instead he cowarded in the corner of the alleyway watching Ripred fend off the attackers. Ripred never beat them, he just grabbed Gregor and ran as fast as he could.

And now Ripred was dead, and so was Howard, Howard that they had to leave behind in the cave with the bees. Nasty harvester bees the size of a rat. It was so sickening to watch as their stingers—Wait, Ripred's not dead. And Howard's in the cave, probably fighting with Ripred. Or maybe he's ignoring him like always. Where did he get these thoughts? He must be going crazy.

Gregor got up suddenly wanting to check on his friends. He walked casually back towards the cave. He didnt want his friends to think he was crazy, although they've probably all went crazy once. But when he's halfway down the narrow path, there's no flickering of the fire from the cave down the passageway like there always is, there's no crackling, there's no spitting of fire and heat flying from glowing embers. There's only a chilling silence. Gregor hurries up from walking to jogging, to running instead.

Maybe their pranking me, and there hiding at the entrance, waiting to jump scare me.

But as he steps into the cave, a cold, brisk chill of darkness envelops him. He checks the entrance sides for them, but no ones there. He adopts his echolocation naturally, clicking away. But nothing comes up. Only the occasional rock comes by his echolocation.

Then he feels a presence, a strange looming one that is standing at the back of the cave. He uses his echolocation once more, but nothing is there.

"Hello?" He calls. He waits a while. Still eerie silence calls back in response.

He's freezing now, the sharp cold of ice seemingly wrapping around his entire body, penetrating his bare skin. He doesn't know what to do next. Scream? Check for secret passageways? Go crazy?

But then something answers for him. Theres a light, an unearthly white light in the shape of a ball. It hovers in the middle of the cave, light shafts bouncing off the cave wall, reflecting its shape.

Gregor backs into the wall, unaware that the ball has just suddenly grown. Then he realizes its still growing. Oh no, its gonna burn me up or something. He shivers again. But its so cold. Maybe it's a burning cold. He closes his eye until it envelops the rooms entirely.

Assuming he hadn't burned yet, Gregor opened his eyes and found himself in the same room with the same unearthly light, except this time it was all around.

"Ripred?" He starts quiet, then frantically, "Howard!"

Then the light changes to an image in front of him.

And it shows Luxa. She's dressed in armor, silver and black armor with jewels studding the rims of her chestplate and boots. And he notices her crown, a silver one that has markings, like honorary ranks. A star with a wreath around it, posing two marks below it. And then a man shifts into view, and Gregor realizes he's talking to her. Then Gregor notices the crown on his head. It is gold and spectacular, jewels beyond the underland donning every angle and smooth surface. A torch in the background shines a reflective light against the jewels, all creating a dazzling image.

Gregor shifts his focus to the man. He looks like an older man, like a beggar, but his body movement shows dangerous power and possesiveness. He speaks to Luxa with an extreme possesiveness in his voice, like she's a slave. Luxa nods her head to his words, her eyes staring into the ground, as if one look into the older man's eyes and she'll be burnt to a crisp.

Then Luxa leaves, and the older man slowly walks to a polished stone desk and takes a seat. He flips open a golden mirror that's attached to the wall in front of the desk, and says a strange combination of sounds, some kind of ancient language. He suddenly becomes stiff, every muscle in his body locked up. In a trance-like motion, he turns away from the mirrior slowly, his eyes staring straight only.

Then as if he was being burnt by cold, wisps of black shadow trail from his body in curls and random patterns, like an octopus that's lost all its senses. They slowly reach the mirror, and curl into many different forms.

Gregor can see a hand then, emerging from the shadows – no, the shadows are creating a hand. The hand grows arms, a body, legs, feet, and fingers, and slowly a head. It resembles something of a nightmare, seething black shadows pooling at it's feet and hands, a black so dark that it absorbs the majority of torchlight from the room. It takes a swift step from behind the old man, who still looks straight, eyes distant and lost.

The figure now, looks around not noticing Gregor.

Of course he doesn't notice me, this is just a hallucination, and this has to be some sort of image. Images can't come alive.

It looks around for a second time, looking at every corner and spot on the stone walls, as if trying to will something to come out of the shadows.

And then for a surprising moment, it's eyes meet with Gregor's.

The eyes burn orange, then blue, and Gregor can suddenly see his own face reflected in his eyes, his own memories, his whole life shown in front of him. He sees his family dying, he even sees himself dying, a sword through his heart. Then it gets worse as he see's everyone he's cared or loved for dying in this creature's eyes.

And Gregor comes back to reality. He's suddenly aware that this creature might actually be able to see him, or else it wouldn't have held it's gaze for this long.

No, no, no, I n-need to g-g-get out of here. He thought.

But then Gregor is only sure that it can see him because it's lips tighten and its mouth curls into a devilish smile, an umistakeable evil that is only seen in the deepest, darkest depths of hell.

"Hello Gregor." It's voice carries the dying screams of tortured men and women, all woven together to form the most evilest of songs. The malice it's voice carries is nothing of the hatred and venom it seems to direct towards Gregor.

"I've been waiting for quite a while you know."

Gregor locks every bone in his body, unable to process what he's heard. Please dissapear, please, please, please. The figure outstretches its hand, it's fingers are claw-like and the size of a rats. Each claw extends out in a harmonously way.

"Come to me Gregor. I need you. You need me. I have what you want."

And then Gregor slowly backs up, aware of his body for the first time, finally coming to his senses. It was Gregor's worst nightmare, and now he can only wish that he blend with the shadows and hope to be unseen by such a creature.

Then the voice get's louder as Gregor backs up, it's song in its voice is broken, changed to down right horror and screeching "Come with me Gregor!"

And then without warning, the figure dives at him, a whirl of shadow streaming towards him like an asteroid. Gregor balls up in fear, suddenly too scared to move, too horrified to respond.

In seconds the shadow is upon him. It collapes straight onto Gregor. But there is no horrible death, there's only a cold shiver that runs through his body, leaving the effect a sheet of thin-layered ice would have. And for the second time of the day, he wakes up.

Chapter 2

He woke for real this time.

He could tell becuase the memories of his sword rushed to him when he picked it up, reminding him of who he was, and where he was. He sat up against the cool cave wall, that made up the back wall oh his tent. He put his blade by his side, laying it on the smooth rug that covered the floor.

He remembered the pot he had smelt over by the embers of the campfire, beady sweat, trickling down his face like water, the heat slowly accelerating it. His arms burned as he had slowly held it in place for hours, shaping it to perfection. The smell of burning coals somehow helping him focus, his Rager sensations fueling his strength.

He remembers the blanket that covers his whole body, giving him an unnatural warmth that Helene had given him when they found each other in a cave, hiding from a Regalian patrol. He was beat and bloodied, and she offered her help immediately, only asking for him to promise he'd help her get to a refugee camp.

I'll watch your back if you watch mine. Then we can get to the refugee camp, and live free and safe, she had said.

Her voice was like a cool desert breeze, her scent of cherries wafting past his broken nose. He had looked up at those eyes and wondered if he had already died, if he were in heaven. They were linked after that moment. Always together, saving one another. Dodging patrols of all sorts, tracking foot prints to the camp, laughing at each other when they ate, sleeping beside each other and staring into the darkness, knowing nothing could hurt them as long as they were together.

And here they were, at the refugee camp, living a normal life. Only if living in eminent fear was normal.

He looked at the spot where Helene usually slept. Even though they were free and somewhat safe, Helene had insisted on sleeping next to him every night, still afraid something was going to jump from the shadows.

Her parents had smuggled her out of the city when they heard that the Regalian generals had started enslaving people who weren't with their cuase. She was just turning fifteen then, and her parents celebrated her birthday a week early, knowing that they might not see each other ever again. About the same time Gregors family was executed.

Helene walks in, holding a stone platter. She sits down beside Gregor, leaning against the smooth wall. Her long black hair flushes over her shoulders, making her look like heavenly. She looks at Gregor through impossibly long eyelashes, her dark gold eyes glinting in the torchlight. Despite the scar that traces from her chin to lip, or the marks on her neck that brand her as a Regalian slave, nothing about her says slave. Her black dress fits her like a glove, sliding over every curve in a way that makes more than one head turn. Her full lips and fine, straight nose would be the envy of any girl. He stares at her, realizes he's staring, tells himself to stop staring, and then keeps staring. It's not like he hasn't seen her before like this, but the nightmares keep pulling at his mind, making long term memory a hard thing to keep.

She notices him staring, and flushing a deep red, she quickly pushes the platter in front of him. "Here." A rough stone bowl with a make shift spoon sits in the thick soup, something like mashed up fish with chunks of oddly shaped mushroom.

"Fish and mushroom stew? Really?" Gregor groans.

"Yup. Your favorite."

"I wonder when our cooks will start to make pasta, or something good. I mean it's their only job right?" She understands the reference quick. All those times in the cave, when they were laying down together, she had insisted on learning about the Overland. So he told her of the cities, of the stars, schools, and glass buildings, the people, and food, the toys and gadgets, cars and trains—she was endlessly fascinated with the idea. But all that will never be reachable. The Regalians filled both entrances to New York with stone, as well as all the others. He quickly changed subjects.

"You hear anything about the reports? Of the raid?"

"Yeah, the scouts said the patrol cleared out of the tunnels hours ago. I think they've given up search." Helene looks away with sad eyes, a knowing look flashing across her face.

"That's a relief" Gregor says. The patrols have become more frequent lately. And they've been venturing closer to the Dead Lands, in search of the camp. Helene and Gregor both know that they'll come one day. The Regalians will stop at nothing to find them. And when they do, they'll kill everyone. They will gather the strongest and send them into slavery, theyll torture the women and children, if they haven't already raped them. And then the ones sold to slavery will become soldiers just like the last, emotionless, deadly, and ruthless.

Gregor recalls the time when he was sending notes to Luxa through the laundry grate. It was after the final war with the rats, after they broke the code of claw, after he killed the bane, and after Ares had died.

They were fourteen and Luxa was telling him of how everything was going to be amazing, how the rats had their food sources back, and the mice had land of their own, of how Vikus was recovering and Mareth could do tricks with his prosthetic leg. It was all too happy and joyful.

Then the notes stopped and for a full month, nothing came. No bats, no humans, no notes, and no currents. He worried a lot, but he worried too much.

Because one day, in the dead of night, Regalian soldiers barged into their apartments, dragging them to the backend of an alleyway by their apartment. Boots screamed as the soldiers yanked her hair, forcing her to follow, and Mom was screaming at the soldiers to let go of her. Lizzie started heaving, her chest rising and falling faster than ever. And dad was trying to get her to calm down, frantically telling Lizzie that everything was fine, this was just a mistake. But it wasn't. The soldiers never listened to a word they said. They gagged his family, restraining their hands.

And as they entered the alleyway, Gregor could make out a younger man in full silver armor with a cloak, his eyes a glowing orange, a sword, pointed at the ground, lazily in his grip. Flanking him was Luxa, she wore a silver crown, and was also dressed in full armor.

And he stared into Luxa's eyes, trying to figure out why they were here, why they were treated like this. But she didn't look. She never looked him in the eyes. Gregor was begging again, pleading Luxa to make the soldiers let him go, at least his family, but she only stared at the ground. He couldn't tell becuase of the rain, but he was sure she was crying, becuase Gregor was yelling at her then, screaming, reminding her of all the things they did together, of all the moments they had.

It was like they went past her head. And the younger man drew his sword. And slit every throat of every family member he held close to his heart.

And then the panting came and the slapping footsteps were so loud that even the executioner hesitated before killing him. And that's when Rired charged in and knocked over everyone with a whip of his tail.

Ignoring Gregor, he carefully kneeled down by Lizzie, as if not to disturb her body, actual tears leaving his eyes. He took one last look at her, and then picked up Gregor and fled into the Underland. Gregor wanted to die back there, with his family, but Ripred wouldn't allow it. So instead he asked why Luxa would do such a thing.

And Ripred had filled him in, every word stinging at Gregor's insides, making it unbearable to believe, "Sandwhich one day just materializes out of thin air, claims a right to the throne, and becomes king of Regalia. Then suddenly he turns evil, gets the generals to listen to his every command - enslave, torture, and kill all opposers—and like that, everything changes. The city is purged and the generals, even Perdita, are leading armies against the gnawers, and the fliers, the crawlers, the spinners, everyone and everything is under attack. They force us to submit to their will, and any that oppose are of course, killed. I even saw shifters and pinchers in the armies—centipedes and beetles. Gregor, I don know what's wrong with Luxa, but just know that some kind of evil is working it's magic on the Underland, destroying it from within, weakening it for... a reason I do not even know."

Gregor looked at Helene again. She was the only one he could call family now. They've been through so much, just like him and Luxa. And once they got to the refugee camp, Gregor had made a silent vow that he would not let Helene become any bit like Luxa, he vowed to protect her and follow her very order, whether he liked it or not.

And for a moment they just stared silently into each other's eyes, their memories intertwined, their fates woven together.

Gregor prepares to say something funny, or romantic even, but as he opens his mouth, a terrifying shriek let's loose, echoing throughout the cavern. And following it, the louding beating that instills fear into every heart are heard, the unmistakable drums of a Regalian raid echo in harmony with the screams.

Chapter 3

Gregor frantically picked up his sword again, sliding it into the sheath buckled onto his waist.

Helene stands, clutching Gregor's waist with surprising force, her body trembling in fear. Gregor knew Helene wasn't weak, or frail, she was just scarred and tortured by the burning memory of what a Regalian soldier did to her family. Rape, then torture you through shoving burning coals down your throat—well, if they haven't already maimed you. Helene had recalled it to him in their days of hiding, looking up at the ceiling of the cave, wishing the memories to go away.

A consuming defiance surpasses her surprise and shock, amplifying her features. The she closes her eyes again, shivering once more. Gregor crosses the space between them and puts his hands on her arms to still her. When she lifts her lashes, he realizes he can feel the heat of her body, the mere inches separating their faces. He meets her gaze for one intimate, infinite moment. She suddenly leans towards him, her lips parting. A violent throb of desire tugs at him, followed by a frantic alarm bell. Bad idea. Terrible idea. She's your best friend. There's a raid going on and your–

He drops his arms and backs away hastily, trying not to notice the flush on her neck. Helene's eyes flash – anger or embarrassment, he can't tell.

He quickly turns away, stooping down to pick up a leather satchel. He hands it to her, "Hel, we're getting out of here now. Take this bag to the kitchen and fill it with food. I need to get some supplies."

Gregor steals a glance out side of their tent. The once dimly lit refugee cave is bright and hot, torches burning at the arched entrance a couple hundred feet away. Screams and shrieks fill the cave, belonging to people running with babies in their arms, clinging to baskets of food, multiple layers of clothes fitted over them. The shining armor of Regalian soldiers are everywhere and already engaged in combat. He doesn't spot any nearby. More soldiers stream through the entrance, some on bats, or on gnawers. A group of spiders work their way to the top of the cave, ready to pounce on unsuspecting prey. The cave roars with screams, and the barking of orders ripples through everyone's ears.

"Kill everyone! Take the able to the carts! Do not fool around!" With their sheer numbers, they'd clear the camp in minutes.

Gregor looked at Helene, who was trembling in fear, her face gone a deathly white. She stared at the carnage around them, her mouth gaping, tears rolling down her cheeks. Trying to muster all the confidence and strength he had left, he shakes her into reality, "Ok no time for that. Just hold my hand, and don't let go!"

He threw a blanket over Helene, who was now tightly clutching Gregor's hand, cutting off all circulation with her iron grip. Gregor draws his sword, replacing it with a torch instead. They were going to need as much light as possible or else Helene was going to be stuck in the dark, which was no better than being blind.

He pushes away the curtain to the tent as a woman carrying a baby is suddenly pushed forward by a man, the father it seems, into the tent in front of them. A soldier steps out from behind the man sword raised, ready to strike.

Gregor's instincts come alive as his whole body readies it self for death. Stepping out of the tent with Helene, he lunges towards the soldier—but he'll never make it. Instead, he raises his sword tensing it for a second, the enemy's heart glowing in his eyes. With one flick of his arm, the sword flashes through the air, finding its mark with deadly accuracy. It strikes the soldier, slicing right through the side of his breastplate. He collapses to the ground, mouth gasping for air.

With Helene in one hand, he dashes to the body wrenching the sword from the corpse. The father takes one look at Gregor, nods his head in thanks and leaves after his family.

He turns around, watching actual bodies piling up on one another. Bats swooped in, crunching prey to the gravel with their claws, soldiers plunging swords into their victims. Some instinct in his mind was telling him to save them all—Are you sick? Weak? You'll let all these people die? For what? But another one clouded all his thoughts, forcing its way straight to the front—You want to lose Helene? Again? Just like all the others you've loved and befriended? He couldn't risk losing Helene after all they've gone through. It just wasn't an option. Making up his mind, he focuses on an escape route.

"Over there Gregor!" Helene points to a rock formation by the entrance. The rock blocks a hidden passage way that widens out to the Dead Lands, something Helene and Gregor had found while exploring. Soldiers run past it frantically trying to claim a kill, the General threatening to punish any that fail. It's the only exit out of the cave that is not the entrance, so they'll have to find a way to get to it.

Gregor slowly pushes his way past the people and tents, but Helene tugs at his hand, desperately pulling him away. "No Gregor," a stifle escapes her. "We won't make it, I don't want us to die."

Gregor looks at the incoming soldiers who've made their way off a branch of the main path, half of them carrying shackles, looking for potential slaves. He turns to Helene with a look of steel, "I need you to be strong Hel, or we're not going to make it. And if we don't... I'll fight them for you Hel, I won't stop until we're safe, until we've won."

So she hugs his arm, her breath coming short and fast. Gregor doesn't stop to wait. His eyes are peeled for foot soldiers, bats, gnawers—anyone who wears the colors of Regalia. He jumps from tent to tent, carefully checking all his sides, taking note of his surroundings. He keeps his Rager sensation at a low, thankfully keeping him from lunging at soldiers passing by. If he dared even try, a bat would notice immediately and send out an alarm, then they'd be dead even if Gregor could fight them all—he had no way of protecting Helene on foot from hundreds of ruthless, deadly soldiers.

And the bats were a problem. Everytime they swooped by the tents, their wings would send gusts of wind that rattled and blew the fabric interwoven between each one. The rattling is loud enough to cover their hard foot steps though, but also making it hard to hear the enemy's.

They make it to a tent by the main road that spans the entire length of the cave. Helene looks behind them and mouths, Clear. He looks on the right and left side of the tent—he decides to take the left side. On the other side of the road, across some tents and tables, Gregor could spot the rock formation that was their only escape. He quickly plotted his route—Ok, first run behind the tent there, take the tent in the right, get past the wagon over there, crawl under that table and get to the rock. Simple.

He takes his first footstep forward, ready to pull Helene along. Pandemonium lists the main road. People are still running from soldiers, dodging bats, only to turn the corner to a sword pointed at their throat. A gnawer runs down the main road, it's claws and teeth bloodied, a chunk of flesh hanging off a teeth. He bites down his teeth. Just another day in the Underland. He takes another step forward, ready to run, to bolt across the main road like a flash of movement in a busy city.

He doesn't expect the cart. A huge cart with open square holes, jagged stone spikes protruding from each corner. He doesn't expect the wailing of people from inside the cart, giving it the impression of a prison on wheels. Then, when Gregor realizes what's inside, he immediately backs up with the momentum he built up, sending him back with force. Forcing him to fall into Helene and pushing them both to the ground. Men in brutish chainmail armor run up to the sides of the cart, opening a creaky stone door with chains draping each square. Each grip a stone-tipped riding crop, opening the door for a new arrival.

Slave cart. He mouths to Helene.

They scramble up onto their knees, slowly backing away to the back of the tent again, eyes wide with fear.

And then, behind him, Helene gives out a yelp, a girlish high-pitched yelp that attracts the sudden attention of everything around him. He whips his head around him, momentary shock coursing through his veins.

But Helene isn't behind him anymore. His eyes dart up, and through the ash of burning tents and the visible dusty air he spots a soldier wringing Helene by the neck, bringing her off the floor. She tries to fight back, kicking at the soldier mid-air. But he sees it coming and spins her around, throwing her into a stone pole. The soldier moves toward her, a disgusting lust in his eyes. He yanks her to her feet and whispers something into her ear. She gives out a painful whimper in response.

Gregor is on his feet at an instant, letting his Rager side take full control, ignoring everything except the target in front of him. He charges through a crowd, knocking over several people. He doesn't notice. He covers the distance in two strides, aims without hesitation and shoves the sword into his target, bringing it with the sword in an upward motion. He slides the carcass off his sword, slowly removing it of blood against the corpses armor. He looks for his next target. Then a familiar cry in front of him brings him back to his senses, reminding him of something important. He shuts off his sensation completely and forces himself to focusing on Helene who lay sprawled before him, her arm twisted in an awkward way, limp and dangling.

Hel is slumped on the ground, her head tilted to the side. One arm is splayed out uselessly while she paws at her shoulder with the other, trying to stanch the sluggish pulse of blood draining out of her. He gingerly kneels down beside her, pulling a cloth from her bag, wadding it and pressing down on the wound. She bucks her head, her knotted blonde hair whipping at her back as she cries out, a keening animal wail. "It's all right, Hel," he says. His hands shake, and a voice in his head screams that it's not all right, that his best friend is going to die. He keeps talking. "You're going to be fine Hel. I'm going to fix you right up." He grabs a canteen from her bag. Clean the wound, bind it. Done. "Talk to me Hel." But she moves her lips slowly, not being able to muster any real strength to speak. He cuts open her shirt with his sword, jolted for a moment by the delicacy of her silky, smooth skin. It's joined seconds later by the warmth of her blood as it oozes into his hands. Torches flicker around him, fluttering and flashing at the wound, allowing him to only barely see the wound.

Helene grabs his arm with her good hand as he pours water over the injury. He bonds her up with what's left of the cloth and some strips form her shirt. After a few moments, he slips his hand under her neck and legs, ready to carry her to safety.

Then for one perilous moment, a horrendous screech of stone whipping through the air invades his eardrums. It's followed by the ripping sound of a stone-tipped riding crop slashing into Gregor's back. He drops Helene in pain, visceral shock running through his every nerve and muscle, making him feel as if he was struck by lightning.

He turns around to find a slaver posing his crop, readying it above his head to strike at Gregor. "Don't move and submit in the name of the king!" He yells, no doubt hungry for more lashing. But there's no hesitation or warning as the whip screams out, flying though the air and coming straight for him. He puts out his arm as a defensive measure, but the whip bites into his arm, grazing it all around.

He pulls himself up with every ounce of strength he has left and charges the slaver. The slaver lashed out again. Gregor slid under the whip, also coming under the mans arms and in one swift movement he disabled him.

He looks back at Helene, who had leaned up against a pole clutching her shoulder. He needed to escape now, before things get worse.

Then, Gregor notices another slaver by the same cart, his mouth wide open staring at the lifeless body Gregor had just disposed of. But he wasn't stupid. Before Gregor could get to him, he shook someone's shoulder next to him, frantically shouting at the slavers.

It never came. The Rager sensation he always relied on betrayed him. He stumbled back, all the way to Helene as soldiers started charging him, bats picking up his location and swooping down upon him. It was too much. So he just hugged her body, trying to protect her from the lashing of the whips, the scraping of the claws, the stinging of the swords. Soon, the pain became nothing, the feeling in his body gone, the sound in his ears ringing, his vision soon stars.

"No don't kill them, you fools! We need more slaves or else the Commandant will flog all of us herself!"

A rough force nags at both his arms, digging into the cuts and bruises with harsh movements. In seconds he's being dragged to his feet that. His swelling eyes catch a glimpse of a number of large prison carts, all attached to each other in a line. People inside bundle around, their faces all sharing a petrified and run-down look. Gregor's shuts his eyes tightly, trying to undo everything he's witnessed, everything he's heard.

A slavers voice grows louder nearby. "Ah, what a find! He'll sell for a good price, and, what's this?" His voice seethes in malice. "Aren't you a pretty one," he says.

Gregor painfully opens his eyes, his suspicion growing larger. In front of him, a menacing man the height of a gnawer holds a pair of cuffs, ready to take Gregor in. But when he opens them he doesn't go to Gregor, or to the slave cart in front of him, instead he goes past Gregor to a girl that seems familiar to Gregor. He tries to squint his eyes, but the stinging pain reshoots itself into his head, forcing him to relax his eyes.

"Leave the girl to me," There's a shuffling of armor and then the clank of a distant jog soon after. The tall man walks behind the kneeling girl, observing her like a hunter would, the way they admire their dying prey. Then he grabs her hair by the hair, twisting until she cries out a heart-breaking cry. "Mmm." He bends down to her ear, poison in his voice. "I've always loved dark-haired girls." The girl cringes, a panicking look in her face, a look he knows so well. Helene! She pulls at her dress protectively, desperately trying to make it shapeless. The man slides a finger up her chin, an animal look in his eyes. Suddenly the cave comes into view, his senses intensified for a moment, a soft adrenaline repumping blood into his body.

"Leave her be." Looking up with what little strength he had, Gregor growls with an intensity in his voice, backed by all the times he had rose to a challenge, or all the times he fought for something he believed in. And always to come away victorious, always a warrior.

The arms holding him up suddenly shift, and the tall man behind Helene tilts his head, staring up at Gregor curiously. Helene looks into his eyes, tears forming in her own, blood trickling down her head, her face a quick flash of gratitude towards Gregor. But it was short-lived.

"Yes your right, indeed." He teeters to Gregor, his mouth seemingly foaming. "I'd best leave her be, leave her to the Commandant, she'll know what to do. Yes, yes, yes. Flog her first, then poke her eyeball out with a hot, burning stake." He became feral almost, hissing at Gregor with evil joy. "Then she'll rape her like the nasty bitch she is!"

Gregor isn't fazed. He looks plainly into his eyes, not letting the man win.

But he continues on, overly joyed by his craziness. "Oh, you care about the girl. Is this is what it's about?"

His wolffish smile widens impossibly. His hand flicks out and a dagger slides out of his sleeve. He stares at Helene hungrily, turning the blade over and over, inspecting it endlessly. He kneels down facing Helene.

"I think I need to teach him a lesson. Your boyfriend over there needs to keep his mouth shout, else he'll never survive the Commandant!"

Helene tightens up, her eyes widening at the dagger in front of her, panic awakening herself from her own pain again.

And without warning, the man spins around quicker than a bat, hitting Gregor's knee. He falls to the floor laughing, giggling hysterically.

And then Helene is sobbing, desperately trying to get to Gregor, but the man holds her back, cuffing her hands. With sickening horror, Gregor searches her for the dagger, not wanting to look, not wanting to know where it hit her, but he never finds it. Instead he feels a warm feeling burn into his leg as he looks down to find the hilt of the dagger protruding from his thigh.

"Cuff the boy and gag them both." The voice drowns in his head, muffled by blind pain. "Wait, one more thing, put them in different carts."

Gregor heard Helene cry one last time as a door slammed shut. The sound was too loud and it hurt his ears. His body slowly shut down, numbness trailing a path in his every muscle. He can't see. He can't think. Far away, a cackling fire burns away, becoming louder by every second.