Gritty, slimy, downright foul-smelling, a pit of the worst order. These, and many more words, described the underground dungeon of the Chieftain's manor. Likewise, the chamber where its most recent prisoners now lay was in of itself a microcosm of the place, a soul-rending sight of rusted bars, broken chains, rodent droppings, and the leftover bones of some poor sod, who, in all likelihood, had formed part of the diet of multiple generations of the opportunistic flesh eaters.

Despite the demoralizing setting, however, one of the captives, the only one that seemed conscious of the three, did not seem to process the gravity of her situation or her place in the world for that matter. She had been laying down on the cold stone floor for long, long hours now, her wrists and ankles colored a numb, painful red thanks to the tight-wound rope. Her face was more haggard than ever, all remaining hope and spirit stripped away.

She only whispered, questions, mutterings, on and on, everything else little more than an afterthought. She did so until the Abyssinian began to grunt and shift.

Ariadne stared wide-eyed as Amram, whom she thought long dead, opened his eyes, looked at his immobile companion, and began to crawl over to his laying shape. "Zelikman?" he asked, shoving the Frank for all its worth with his tied fists. Zelikman did not respond.

"No…no, oh God no, Zelikman! Oh dear God!"

Such was the strength of Amram's hollering that Ariadne could not help but join in with shrieks of her own. These, however, were not the screams of grief or sorrow, but madness. Together, the cacophony echoed throughout the corridor, sending the rats into a fit of craze and waking the guard, one of the remaining Keepers of the Faith, one of two tasked by Chieftain Callinicus to keep watch over the prisoners until the time of the ceremony.

The Keeper, seeing that his companion had yet to arrive with the final meals, grabbed the cell keys, ran towards the prison cell, unlocked, and slammed the door wide open. The man dealt with the cries, with a pair of heavy kicks aimed directly at the prisoner's stomachs. Seeing them laying, coughing, and writhing on the floor, he chuckled and hunched over to check on the Frank's limp shape, a shape that then proceeded to tense and curl up like a ball.

"The fuck?" mumbled the Keeper.

Taking advantage of the man's surprise, Amram used all the strength his calves and core could muster in their trapped state and leaped, tackling and tossing the man to the cold stone floor. The Keeper, reacting almost in instinct, tried to claw out something from inside his belt pouch, and he almost did, revealing a light turquoise glow emanating from within. Amram, however, would not allow him any further luxuries.

The Abyssinian sprang forth once more, this time slamming the man flat on the ground with a loud crack. Then, using the rope that bound his wrists, he gripped the man's neck in a ferocious chokehold and pulled. After a brisk, but brutal struggle, Amram snapped the Keeper's throat with a sickening crunch. The man moved no more.

Amram huffed. "Confound me, Zelikman, I cannot believe that worked!"

"Cease your musings, Amram, and help me cut this goddamn rope!" Zelikman spat back, as he crawled over to the Keeper's body, unsheathed the man's saber with his tied hands, and began to grind the rope against its sharp edge.

Noting his companion's difficulty with the cutting of the rope, Amram pushed the pair of smaller hands aside and began to do the same himself, albeit at a much far faster rate. Zelikman was not amused.

Ariadne stared dumbfounded at the duo. "You…you weren't dead?"

The rope snapped. Amram caressed his now unbound wrists and smirked at Ariadne.

"But a pair of swindlers. True, Demetrios's blows left us rather battered, but they were the perfect excuse to feign our unconsciousness, if not demise to the unobservant. Tis only par for the course," having made short work of his ankle binds, he then began to aid a rather peeved Zelikman with his. "Why, your scream was a most convincing addition. There is not a doubt in my mind that this little gambit of ours would not have been nearly half as successful, had it not been for your amazing performance."

"It was genuine," said Ariadne.

Amram pursed his lips and nodded.

"Well it worked, did it not?" said Zelikman. "Make haste, Amram, my ankles are killing me!"

"Come now, Zelikman, what's a little levity to be had after such dire moments? No? Well, then perhaps you agree with me, eh, Ariadne? Ariadne?"

She did not answer, her attention instead focused on the wide-open cell door. Sparing not a moment, Amram and, a still foot bound, Zelikman turned around.

The other Keeper stood there, mouth agape, holding a modest lunch tray of a single, half-eaten, loaf of stale bread, and three cups of dirty, grey-looking water.

The bronze tray fell with a loud clang as the man began to scramble for the contents of his belt pouch. However, Zelikman, infuriated at the confluence of Amram's intentionally slow rope cutting, the pain of his ankles, and the mediocrity of their intended last meal, swiped the saber away from the Abyssinian's hands and flung it at the Keeper's throat.

The man grasped at the saber that pierced his gushing wound, gurgled copious amounts of blood, and crumpled to the floor. Amram went over to the body, removed the weapon from the Keeper's neck, and resumed the cutting of Zelikman's binds.

"Must you use that one?"

Amram nodded repeatedly.

Once finished with the Frank's rope, Amram too began to cut Ariadne's bindings, though this time the Abyssinian opted to use a blood-less, throwing dagger, which he drew from one of the Keeper's corpses. Zelikman muttered several colorful comments at this fact, comments Amram ignored.

After a series of loud, popping stretches—and a couple of more elaborate complaints—Zelikman let out a gasp and began to inspect the bodies of the fallen Keepers with intense scrutiny.

"…I see. It is just as I suspected."

"Is it now?" said Amram nonchalantly as he continued with the rope cutting.

"A ground powder, made from a mold-like plant component of unknown origin, possessing of glowing green and blueish hue. The exact same turquoise hue, in fact, like the one that smeared all over the nose of the man you beheaded a while ago."

Amram gave him a knowing look. "A plant component of unknown-"

"Not a word," Zelikman interrupted before his companion could have commented further. "Can you not see what this means. Whatever this foul powder and its source material may be, it must have unique properties, and through the mere process of elimination—considering how desperate these cutthroats were to reach for it, rather than their weapons—it must be the sole logical reason as to why—"

"So they drugged themselves with the powder, and, somehow, gained inhuman strength from it? Is that it, oh precious wit?"

"Putting it bluntly, but yes."

"Well, that explains the camel-like drool spilling from that man's lip. Poppy is destructive enough as it is, now imagine yourself sniffing a ground, powdered mold of unknown origin," he finished his work and helped Ariadne up with tender care. "Are you alright?"

"I…I," the words wouldn't come out. She stared, directly into Amram's eyes, and yet, at the same time, stared at nothing at all.

"You need not say anything. You should lay down a while longer," he stared at the corpse of the once tray-holding man. "We have more than enough time."

Ariadne shook her head, finally snapping out of her daze. "You saw him."

"Who?" said Amram.

"Demetrios, you saw him. He was right there. I cried out to him, begged for him to listen, and he stood there. He did nothing.

Amram shook his head. "Ariadne, blame him not, you know it is beyond him. Kind soul as he may be, he is trapped by the will of the man destiny cruelly assigned as his caretaker, an iron grip that shackles him in place. Worry not, however, for we shall soon tear these chains asunder. Won't we, Zelikman?"

Zelikman sighed. "Metaphors, Amram. That and it would also do you well to curb your optimism for once. We'd be far better off reclaiming our steeds, and leaving this entire nightmare behind us, while we still have the chance anyway," he smirked. "Still, I do suppose we do have enough time for a little detour, enough to deliver the good Chieftain a well-deserved parting gift anyway."

"How?" bellowed Ariadne, her voice somewhat shaky and uneven. "The sacrifice is nearly underway. He will notice his two missing Keepers. Not only that, the eyes of the entire village will be there. How do you plan to end his life?"

Amram and Zelikman shared a look, and glanced at the ceremonially clothed bodies of the Keepers, at the masks that hung by their hips. They smiled.

"Callinicus would not mind it if either of us were gone beforehand, truth be told, be it as victims of a Keeper's brutality, or due to an internal hemorrhage courtesy from Demetrio's blows," said Amram, his pupils glinting with mischief. "You, on the other hand, are the centerpiece of his vile wishes. It would be your absence that would alarm him, not ours."

Ariadne's face fell. "What?"

"Downright devilish, Amram," Zelikman chuckled. "Worry not. No harm will come to you, nor will good Callinicus grow alarmed whatsoever, for we are going to do exactly as he told."

Hundreds of orange specks dotted the imposing, seaside cliff, the flames swaying back and forth with the cold, coastal winds, perfect synchronicity, as was the canticle that came out of the crowd. A cacophony of indoctrinated platitudes best left undescribed, one that only grew in fervor as from one light came another, the chosen's torch lit by the Chieftain's own.

Callinicus silenced the crowd with a wave.

There he stood. Behind him, his three Keepers, masked, clothed in their ceremonial attire, and the pitch-black maw of the cave, an enormous boulder by the side of its entrance. By his own side, the chosen, her face brimming with joy as she held both the torch and the rose of selection.

He lowered his hand and bowed. "My children, the time is nigh. Soon our chosen will embark on the holy journey into eternity. Let this be a moment joy—"

Murmurs came about, as the crowd turned to see the reason why Callinicus halted his glorious, ceremonial speech.

There she was, Ariadne, escorted by two Keepers of the Faith. The discontent of the people was clear, but none dared object or speak aloud, for Callinicus spoke nothing of this interference, and as the village well knew, the Chieftain always knew best.

Callinicus bowed to her as she reached the top, showing the ghost of a smirk. Ariadne responded without emotion, in defeat, pleasing the Chieftain to no end. Her two escorts left her by the side of the chosen, before going to stand with the rest of the masked guards.

The Chieftain turned back towards the crowd and began his speech anew, his expression a picture of self-indulgent satisfaction.

He went no further than the screams of his people would allow, shrieks of terror that could only do so much to muffle the wet cleaves, stabs, and dying breaths. Shock painted his features, as he spun back and came upon the terrible sight. Three of his Keepers lied dead on the floor, the remaining two, Ariadne's escorts, wielding a familiar bloodied axe, and a most unusual modified, gore-covered bloodletting lancet, the culprits of the massacre.

"Three and three, Zelikman," the man threw the mask away, revealing his Abyssinian heritage. "It appears that we are in dire need of a tiebreaker."

The other nodded as he too revealed himself a pale Frank, who cleaned the blood and bits off his lancet with his mask, before throwing it aside. "That it would appear so, Amram."

Callinicus almost stumbled backward, but through sheer force of will—and the maniacal need of appearances—he stood his ground. The chosen girl dropped her torch and rose, and ran to his side, whimpering, cowering behind him. He grasped her hand with tender care, shielding her from the sight of murderous treason and its malefactors.

Despite the blood-lusted glint in their eyes and the anxious twirling of their weapons, however, the arms-wielding duo moved not an inch from where they stood. Instead, Ariadne herself stepped forth, to face the Chieftain eye-to-eye.

"I will speak my mind now," she whispered. "I will end this,"

The child cried out and buried her face against the Chieftain's tunic. Callinicus, his face solemn and calm, whispered reassuring words to the young one. He caressed the child's temple and shoulder, before giving Ariadne a curt bow, a gesture for her to do as she pleased. She did not bow back.

Ariadne took in a breath and faced the crowd, a faceless mass speckled by flames that stared back in complete and utter silence. She gathered her fear, her hate, and her pain. She was ready to reveal Callinicus for the monster he really was, and yet, the words did not come out, not until Amram and Zelikman gave her reassuring words of their own, lifting her doubts during the moment of truth, and so, she spoke at last.

"To you, I am a pariah, an outcast set aside by the words of many, but it is in this state of exclusion and wither that one comes across the glaring truths; those we prefer to ignore for the sake of peace and bliss. Your so-called savior, the voice of the Gods, is naught but a fiend, a demon! The strength supposedly granted by the heavens, to the now-departed Keepers, a sham, product of a mundane substance!"

On cue, Amram and Zelikman undid the belts from the dead Keepers, took the belt pouches, and threw them to the floor. From the leather bags, spilled a turquoise powder, some spreading over the stone and sand, the rest dragged away, airborne, carried by the currents of the coastal winds. The whispering returned tenfold.

"And now you may ask; what of the blessings, our prosperity?"

Amram and Zelikman threw two cloth sacks over the floor, spilling a fortune of gold, silver, and jewel alike, but a mere fraction of the Chieftain's hoard.

"Banditry, murder, and theft! It was through bloodied coin that Callinicus 'revived' our village, not through the blessings of any Gods," Ariadne's voice grew shaky. "It was through all these lies that he fooled you, all of you, into giving away child after child, year after year; for no more reason than to revel in the drunken sense of power! There is no path to eternity! There is nothing inside that cave, but the remains of those you have sent to their graves!"

The village folk ceased to speak. Ariadne took a deep breath.

"But it is not too late. We can still right our wrongs. We can still start anew! Our fate is in our hands. We can band together, break the chains imposed upon us by this foul beast of a man. Let us band together, my people. Let us fight for our freedom!"

Not a soul spoke a word. Only the coastal waves and the cold night winds resounded throughout the elevation. Ariadne stood firm, her fist raised high. Amram and Zelikman shared a nervous glance.

Then, the people began their approach. Their silence became whispers, their whispers a muted chant, and from that chant, came a song, interpreted in chilling unison. Their masked faces did little to cover their emotions; the voice of legion was more than enough, for in that melody they proclaimed unbreakable faith and clamored for the punishment of the liars and infidels.

"Stop!" shouted Callinicus. The crowd obeyed, ceasing their cry for comeuppance.

The Chieftain looked straight into Ariadne's eyes, as the woman froze in place, his expression solemn, his self reveling with glee.

"Show them not the same bloodshed they have inflicted, nor will you punish them for the sinful lies they have spouted. Forgiveness, my children, it is through forgiveness alone that our souls shall gain the favor of the Gods. Let us bless these infidels with forgiveness, by granting them a final chance at redemption," he picked up the torch and rose, lit up the flame with his own once more, and gave them both back to the chosen girl.

She took them, yes, but she too stood motionless, puzzled at his declaration, as did the rest of the crowd, who looked at one another and, realizing what their leader implied, began to voice their disbelief. This lasted not, Callinicus merely waved his hand.

"Our forgiveness will not grant them parole from the god's punishment, for that is beyond our jurisdiction. This act is merely a reinforcement of our faith. It will be through this final test, guided by the light of our chosen; that the souls of these infidels will either suffer in brimstone eternal or find peace in the heavens above!"

The mob swarmed and seized the trio, taking Amram and Zelikman's weapons without trouble or struggle, for both of them knew better than to test their fortune any further. As the villagers restrained them, Zelikman never once stopped glaring in Amram's direction, who on the other hand, feigned ignorance of the Frank's existence.

Callinicus patted the chosen girl's shoulder and whispered to her ear, loud enough for Ariadne to hear.

"Follow the path that calls to you, my dear, worry not about them. If the Gods will it so, they too shall find the way."

She gave him a firm nod and walked right into the maw of the cave.

As the girl's light began to fade away, obscured by the shadows, Callinicus gave the order, and the crowd obeyed, shoving and throwing the group inside. With that, the Chieftain waved yet again, and a dozen grown men began to push the boulder, while the rest of the people guarded the entrance.

The trio watched, powerless, as little by little the enormous rock ate away what tiny shreds of moonlight crept inside the cavernous wall until nothing but a speck remained, a small crevice from where only one thing was visible to them, the last sight before being shut off from the world: the eyes of Callinicus. A pair cold and gleeful, the windows to the soul of a man to whom revenge was a pleasure beyond compare.

They were the eyes of a monster, and darkness followed with it.