The villagers were scattered around the field, each picking up a pilum and shield. The group of armed villagers grew larger, until each and every one held at least one weapon. Chief Vitalstatistix took command from his shield, raising his sword. "Hurry, men! We must help Asterix! Push it back!"

The group turned back, passing the hole in the ground, but at all a sudden, they stopped. Their morale had dropped dead; their faces collectively turning pale all at once. Some dropped their weapons in total shock. Obelix was the worst of all of them. He felt his world crashing down all around him when he realized what he saw.

The beast had taken him.

The limp body hung in the jaws of the monster. Dark red fluid was leaking through his clothes, down his arms and dripping into the dirt. He had no time to scream, no ways of defending himself, and now, he appeared to have given his final breath keeping this...this thing...from attacking anyone else. Obelix's surrounding were beginning to spin around him before they faded to black, all except for that beast, clutching his best friend in its malicious grip. No... No, no, no! It's not true! You can't be dead! Not you! The creature snorted as it held the motionless body firmly. Blood was staining its skeletal face and it stared out at the villagers, eyes glinting. As the beast shifted its grip, Asterix made a light twitch and gasped a short, pained breath, indicating that he still barely clung to life.

At that moment, something snapped in Obelix's mind; the vortex of emotions that plagued him were quickly replaced with nothing but sheer, blind rage. He roared out like a wounded animal and charged the beast alone, and before it was able to react, he relentlessly drove the pilum in his hand through its neck.

The beast stumbled away and gave an agonized shriek that was quickly cut short as it suddenly could no longer breathe. But it did not let go of Asterix, still keeping its jaws firmly locked around the Gaul's bloodied torso. It emitted a sputtering grunt as it began to drown in its own blood. But it was not done yet; it faced the large man, eyes fuelled with rage as it lunged wildly towards him. Its two spiked limbs were aimed forward, intending to perforate its attacker. Without time to think, Obelix lifted the Roman shield he held in his other hand, lashing out and bashing it into the monster's side when it was about to maul him. The creature was sent toppling down the gaping hole from where it came.

Realizing how stupid he'd just been, Obelix was snapped out of his fit of rage. Oh, no! Oh gods! What did I do!? Asterix! His hands started trembling so badly that he dropped the shield, his face shifting from red-flushed anger to a pale expression of hysteria. He was about to jump down after them, calling his friend, but other voices responded back at him, telling him to stop, and pairs of hands grabbed hold of his arms. In the end, Fulliautomatix, Unhygienix, Cacofonix and two more men were required to keep Obelix in place, and had it not been for the magic potion coursing through their veins, he would have been unstoppable. He struggled and jerked against their grip, wailing out miserably.

"NO!" He suddenly burst into tears of grief, horror, and above all: regret. What a huge idiot he had been. He should have freed his friend, not send him dropping down into the dark maw that laid before him! Asterix was alive, he saw it! But now, he... he might have killed him! His gaze was fixed at the sinkhole. He didn't want to stay here, he wanted to save his friend. He had to know if he was... Suddenly he heard an elderly voice calling his name, time after time. Getafix?

"Obelix! Obelix, please! Snap out of it! Look at me!"

The big man's red-rimmed eyes finally shifted down to the voice. Yes, it really was the druid calling his name. Slowly, the surroundings that were blacked out around him began to return. His lips trembled, uttering "I...I could have saved him..." Tears were flooding his face.

"There was nothing that could be done, Obelix..." the druid tried to reassure him. Obelix could hear the regret and grief in his voice, could see the tears the elder was trying to hold back. "He was already gone..." Getafix eventually added, hoping it would lift some of the guilt Obelix felt on his shoulders.

Obelix shook his head, tearful eyes fixed on Getafix's. No, that's not true! I saw him! He was breathing! Did nobody else see it!?

A long, deathly silence hung over the Gaulish people. To know that one of their own had to die, and like this? The moment Getafix had confirmed Asterix's death, nobody had the courage or will to speak. The men were joined by their wives and children after receiving the grim news, and the whole village simply stood morosely around the crevice in the ground. It was no longer a sinkhole in their eyes; it was an open grave.

As the dusk settled, one by one, the villagers quietly walked home after paying their respects to their only warrior. The one who defended his peoples' lives, only to have his own robbed from him. Before leaving, they would share their condolences with Obelix, who was the only one that remained that night, continuously replaying the events in his mind. How was he ever going to get over this? Possibly never, but he had to try. Asterix would have wanted him to. Some hours passed, and he realized Dogmatix was also not beside him since the moment the second earthquake had struck. Hopefully, the little hound had fled to a safe place, and he would find him back again soon.

He remained sitting there all night, not caring for anything else anymore. Finally, he noticed a glint of metal shining in the corner of his eye. He looked, and what he found was Asterix's sword that laid unattended on the ground, shining as the sun slowly rose from the woods. It had been broken into two shards. Standing up carefully, he shakily walked over to the broken weapon, picking up its pieces. He choked back another waterfall of tears when he looked at the two shards in his hands. He swallowed, and stared back at the sinkhole. Then and there, he decided: if this was going to be Asterix's grave, he would turn it into a proper one.

Moments after the monster had bitten him, Asterix had heard despondent, panicked voices and drowning growls. Shortly after, he felt a sudden impact of force, and so much more pain. The beast began tumbling down, with the dying Gaul still tightly gripped in its jaws. Hitting against rocks and debris, most of the collisions were absorbed by the beast. But there were times Asterix could feel those fangs sinking a little deeper into his chest, nearly puncturing his lungs, and only to loosen again whenever the animal slammed against another wall of rock. The tightening of the beast's grip made him jerk out in pain, forced out what little air he had in him. At some point he thought he heard a branch snapping. Suddenly the creature's grip on him was lost as it cracked its head against a rock, and he faced the drop alone.

Thankfully, that drop had quickly come to an end. He felt a sudden burst of energy; unlike anything he had ever felt, but it left as quick as it entered him. Before even realizing it, the dry cold of a freshly formed crevice was replaced with a tropical, damp warmth. His back slammed against a flat, hard surface. He wheezed painfully, letting out a feeble yelp.

For some time, everything was quiet around him. But then... "What have we here?"

Asterix's eyelids fluttered open, unfocused brown eyes desperately trying to absorb the surroundings he was in. Everything was dark and fuzzy, lit dimly by purple and bits of red. A blurry figure, light grey and crimson in color, peeked over his bleeding form. Blue spheres examined him as he tried to focus on its face. But he was too far gone. He could hear his own heartbeat becoming weaker, his chest began to feel heavy like a rock, laboring his gasps for air further.

"What is it? Did it return?"

"No, it's something else. Looks like a human, but I'm not sure. Kind of short." the figure spoke up. "It appears he's been roughed up by the Teragriff we sent in, judging from these bite marks. We can still save him, if we hurry. Apply hemostasis, sir?"

There was a short moment of silence.

"No. Let him exsanguinate. And close the portal, too. We're done testing here."

Asterix couldn't quite understand the difficult words they used, but he knew for certain they were going to let him die. He had accepted this fate long before he came into this mess, anyway. Soon, he felt himself losing consciousness. He was going to die; here and now. Defeated, he closed his eyes as darkness enveloped him. His breathing halted. All he could do now was listen and wait for his heartbeat to fade out.

...Lub-dub...Lub-dub...

...Lub-dub...

…

"Oh gods!"

Asterix nearly fell out of the bed he sat on. He remembered everything now. He died! He died and then came back. But...how? How did he even... No. Wait a minute. He can't be alive. He must be dead. What if he's in the Hebrides?* But why? He was a honored warrior in the village; always ready to take on the challenges set before him, always prepared to put himself at risk for his people. Did he do something wrong in the gods' eyes? Was he expecting too much of his actions? There had to be a logical explanation.

He looked down at his ripped up tunic. He could see white linen showing through the holes and tears. Pulling his tunic up quickly, he saw that his torso was wrapped in a tight, clean bandage. This makes no sense, he thought to himself, but then again... He let his tunic down again, and then looked back at the injury he had caused from pulling out the conduit that had pierced his skin. His eyes weren't deceiving him earlier; his blood really did look different. It had already started to clot and form into a scab. Despite the strange silvery tint it had somehow obtained, it was still doing its job normally, thank Belenos. But it didn't fail to remind him that very little was making any sense so far.

A male voice spoke up. "Ah! Finally awake, I see."

The Gaul yelped and jumped, nearly falling out of the cot again. He turned his head sharply at where the voice came from, and his face went white as milk in an instant. In the large and only doorway of the dark room, stood two goblin-like creatures, and what appeared to be a colossal juggernaut of stone and metal standing behind them. The first two strangers were just as tall as Asterix himself, standing upright just like a human would. Their skins were shades of brown and grey, and they were dressed in red and black clothing decorated with intricate diamond shaped designs. They had large heads shaped like watermelons, and a huge lopped ear jutted out from each side. Their eyes were large and wide apart, and their pupils lit up in the reflection of what little light there was, staring right down into the Gaul's troubled soul. The hulking stone monster, also following the same color scheme of red and black, stood perfectly still behind the two, only giving away signs of movement when the goblin-creatures started to approach Asterix. A single red diamond-shaped eye made of crystal glowed and hovered in its open chest. It had no head, and even its limbs were floating in mid-air, connected only by more red crystals. The entire silhouette of the creature looked un-organic, as if it were carved by hand like a statue, but instead of being lifeless, this statue was animated and aware.

Asterix instinctively reached a hand for his gourd of magic potion, resulting in a quick reminder that his belt was missing, along with the weapons usually tied around it. "Devils," the Gaul uttered in horror, edging backwards on the cot until his back was pressed against the wall. "You're devils!"

"Devils?" the grey-skinned, male creature sneered, revealing shark-like teeth in his grimace.

"He probably thinks he's still dead. The poor thing," the other, a slightly chubbier one, with short, curly black hair, replied. This one had the same girly voice he heard before. And indeed, now that she was close to him, he could recognize her light blue eyes.

All of a sudden, Asterix's agitation turned into anger and annoyance upon realizing these strangers were the ones who watched and let him die. He immediately snapped at them. "Who are you? What did you do to me!?"

"I don't think you're much in the position to be demanding answers from your captors, my mustached friend," the first one responded.

"I'm not your friend," Asterix retorted dully, noting that the word 'captors' meant that he was their prisoner, and that he was indeed very alive. The male sneered back sadistically. His gold-yellow eyes shifted down at the drops of blood that stained the bedding of the cot, then he glanced at the scab on Asterix's arm. He bent over to look closer, and suddenly, that sneer turned into a creepy smile.

"Yes," he hissed. "The synthetic hemo-plasma is doing its job well beyond our expectations."

"A ground-breaking success, sir," the girl replied.

Asterix tried to back up further, but the wall wouldn't let him. "S-Synwhatic now?"

The creature's head shot up at him with an annoyed look. "Synthetic hemo-plasma, you dim-witted bookah!"

"Come again?"

"A blood substitute," the girl repeated in words he could understand. "We used our technology and knowledge of magic to give it the same properties as that of real blood."

Asterix gawked when the words settled on him. "B...but..." he stuttered, "How? You let me die!"

"A very well-made observation. I'm surprised you remember that," the male grinned. "Write that down, Vamma!"

Asterix suddenly felt like he could die again. If his stomach hadn't been empty at the time, he would have probably hurled. Swallowing audibly, he tried to take some deep breaths to calm his nausea. "I...I don't understand..."

"It's simple, really." the male replied as he straightened himself again. He began to walk slowly in little circles. "We were trying to see how far we could reach with our prototype long-distance portal. Completely experimental, you see. We sent in a Mordrem Teragriff to see if it would survive the trip." The creature tapped his lips with a clawed finger. "But instead of the Mordrem returning to us, you came out! We decided to put you aside for another experiment of mine that was on a hiatus; it was to see if we could successfully revive you, and keep you alive, using my synthetic hemo-plasma. You weren't dead for more than an hour, I assure you, and the experiment was a complete success!"

It took some moments to piece together the story presented to Asterix, but the more he began to understand, the more he felt his rage boiling up. Suddenly he furiously shot forward and snagged the big-eared goblin-man by the collar, his face flushed red. "So that's it!? I became a victim of one of your cruel tests and then I happened to fit the bill for anoth-"

Asterix suddenly felt a huge stone hand hitting him brutally, grabbing him at his throat and forcing him to let go of his captor. His back and head made a resounding impact against the wall he leaned against earlier, knocking the wind out of his lungs and almost knocking his consciousness out of his mind. He gasped painfully, gripping his hands at the fist that nearly threatened to squeeze his throat shut. He opened his eyes, witnessing the stone monster looming over him threateningly. It made a low, mechanical buzzing noise, as if it were growling.

The girl named Vamma quickly helped her mentor stand up. He dusted his clothes, frowning bitterly.

"You would do wise to not try that again," he warned. "Our golems are programmed to take out anyone they detect to be a threat to us." He shot a look at the golem. "Let him go."

Obediently and without question, the animated statue complied, and it dropped the Gaul with a thud. He was glad that he landed back in the bed, or he would have been hurting in more places than he already did. He slumped against the wall, wheezing for air.

"Now I suggest you make yourself at home here. You won't be leaving this place in a long while." He turned around, intending to leave.

Asterix looked up shakily. He knew what this meant. A raspy voice escaped his mouth, "You can't do this..."

"Can we not?" the lop-eared man retorted as he turned his head. "We have made you into just another of our test-subjects. You belong to us now. The Inquest owns you!" The sharp teeth flashed under his grimace once again. "And there is nothing you can do about it. As far as anyone in this facility is concerned, you are just as dead as you were two days ago! Is that clear enough for you?"

The Gaul simply stared back quietly, feeling the sensation of hopelessness and defeat washing over him. But he wasn't ready to give up yet. The two and their golem turned around, walking toward the doorway. The doorway...his only chance. Maybe if he could slip through before they locked the door behind them... He was a fast runner, when the situation called for it. With a little luck, he could outrun them.

He quickly jumped to his feet, making a sprint for the doorway, but as soon as the golem had walked though, a red glowing wall of some form of transparent plasma flickered on, blocking his way to freedom. He found himself smacking his face right into the force field. What the-!? "No! Let me out!" he yelled, slamming his fists against it. Vamma, the Inquest apprentice, stopped to look back at the desperate Gaul, seeming almost remorseful. Asterix looked into her big eyes, his own pleading for his freedom.

"Vamma, don't trail off!"

Vamma lifted an ear towards the direction of her mentor's voice. Her lips moved, muttering a whispered "sorry" before running off after him.

Asterix was now alone once more. He leaned his forehead against the plasma wall, his fingers pressing against it until they turned white. He felt so frustrated. So alone. And that goblin guy was right; everybody, his village, his friends, family, maybe even his enemies; they probably all think he's dead. They don't even know he's out here. And the worst of all: he didn't even know how they were doing after all the things they had gone through. Eventually he turned, walking back to the cot, where he sat down. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, and discovered to his dismay that his helmet had also gone missing. He didn't have the time to notice it before, but now that he did, he felt naked without it. And vulnerable. He always had it with him. A long, lonely sigh left him.

Another discomforting feeling began to tug at him; this time, a physical one. A hot sensation combined with the feeling of emptiness stirring up from deep within. He recognized it and realized he hadn't had any chances to eat since that dreadful day. The day he would have eagerly skipped in his life, the day he wished had never come to pass. Crushed and defeated, he laid himself on the bed gently. No point in wasting his energy, he deduced, and he closed his eyes, wishing this was all just a horrible dream, and that he would soon wake up in his own bed, in his village, in Gaul.

A long uneventful week had since passed. Inquest golems, serving as prisoner guards, were constantly keeping an eye out. The benefit in allowing the living statues on guard was that they never faltered or tired, taking only one short break to recharge themselves in their stations on a set hour every day. Without windows to look outside to, the only way Asterix could tell the time was by how the Inquest went about their days. Once a day, in the afternoon, apparently, they would present him a meal; a cold, paltry mix of pulped...Toutatis knows what...presented in a bowl and accompanied with a spoon, as well as a jug of water. Despite not knowing whatever things were put into the mingled pile, he ate it. It didn't taste like much, but at least it wasn't so revolting that it would make him sick to his stomach. Still, the food was severely lacking in nourishment, and it was starting to show. He was weak and pale, and his features had become thinner. He often found himself sleeping much more than usual. And those moments of rest were often accompanied by nightmares. The lack of a proper place to tend to his personal hygiene resulted in the growth of a light stubble on his face.

There were more prisoners than just him, Asterix had learned. He would try and talk with them through the plasma prison doors every night when the days were the most quiet. Whenever he did manage to have a conversation with one of the prisoners, they would each have a different story to tell about who they were and how the Inquest caught them, but they were never stories involving earthquakes and a rogue portal. One was literally a bipedal rat, who was just as tall as him. Her name was Srikk'chita and she called herself a skritt. Her speech was fast-paced and almost gibberish, he couldn't learn much from her. Another prisoner, Braggan, called himself a norn; a huge muscular man, who looked almost Gaulish like Asterix. But he held a much closer resemblance to a Viking, with braids in his blonde beard and Celtic designs crisscrossing in the form of dark-blue tattoos on his bare arms. The only difference that Asterix could make out between norn and humans, was that the norn were giants; the one he met in particular must've been at least a foot taller than Obelix.

A third prisoner, much to Asterix's surprise, was one of those big-headed, grey-skinned 'Inquest'. He told him that not all asura, for that was the true name of their kind, were as villainous as the ones who imprisoned them. "The Inquest are no more than inexorable cultists," he explained. "We asura are experimenters and scholars by nature, always seeking knowledge. But we know when to draw the line. The Inquest will cross that line. They don't care about the well-being of their test subjects. They'll even imprison their own kin... And they're not afraid to kill in the name of science."

And Asterix knew this all too well. Feeling at his chest carefully with a hand, he was reminded of the way he died, with them watching, doing nothing. In the name of science… Heh.

But these prisoners never stayed long in their cells, being dragged off by the golems again for their next punishment. Asterix was the only one who remained locked in his cell for this long, aside from being dragged out every once in a while for a check-up, mostly to see how well their 'product of science' was functioning, and if it had any side-effects. Only when Vamma was the one checking his pulse and taking blood samples, he felt at least slightly safe. Unlike the other Inquest, she would talk to him, remarking how his body was slowly beginning to produce fresh new blood to replace the fake, and then she would smile warmly. At him. Another thing only Vamma would do, was checking and cleaning the injuries he had 'endured' from his encounter with the Teragriff. She was the one with the doctor's degree, after all. She always refreshed his bandages too. Taking the samples stung; a thin needle had to be pressed down on his arm until it pierced deep into his skin and drew blood. He was very disturbed about it first, but after a short while, he became used to it. That didn't make it any less discomforting, however, and the pricked area on his arm would feel stiff and sensitive for the rest of the day. Certainly not a pleasant experience.

Asterix always just sat quietly, waiting for the ordeal to be over. Despite Vamma's involvement with his unfortunate situation, he felt like he was being rude to her, as she was the only one who tried to comfort and take care of him at least a little bit in this dark place. And he regretted it when he didn't talk back to her, time after time again. And when he could finally settle back into the comfort of his bed again, he would think about what he could have done to show his appreciation to her, until he became too tired to stay awake anymore, and went back to his fitful sleep.

*The Hebrides Islands were the home of ghosts in demons in the ancient Gaelic beliefs and tradition.