It was hardly the first time Morgull ended up dragging someone's still-fresh corpse across these wretched and seemingly hellish corridors. Even though the boxer's body weight could have been wholly disregarded, the sheer contrast between the building's above-ground floors and this ... was more than slightly bothering. One could have logically come to the conclusion that these halls and corridors linking them into one apparently endless maze originated from medieval times. The dark-haired man did not like treading through them one bit. But ... what else he was supposed to do? Abaddon's will was clear ... and as much as Morgull did not like being ordered around, he was not foolish enough to openly oppose the masked man. He knew a few people who had done so and ended up the same way as this pitful ex-boxer. Abaddon's silhouette might not be visibly imposing, yet his voice always contained something inexplicit and terrifying.
With thoughts like these filling the dark-haired man's mind, he ventured deep into the building's devastated underground sections. Its walls were engraved with cracks, fluid marks, and dust, indicating that they were rarely used. Once again, the place painfully reminded him why he did not want to be there. Even though it would take him at least a few additional minutes to get to Cerberus, the unmistakable stench associated with the beast already filled Morgull's nostrils, forcing his stomach content to stir. But ... there was nothing he could do; hence ... he continued dragging the corpse through the ravaged floor, leaving a thin trail of fresh blood in his wake.
The stroll was seemingly lasting indefinitely as the surroundings hardly differed. If regarded for a moment, it might have been one of the many cruel requirements Abaddon set when this pitful maze-like structure was built. Yes ... it made sense, a terrifying amount of sense. The dark-haired man would not have been surprised if, occasionally, people were being thrown down here only to be chased and inevitably consumed by the monstrosities lurking between the shadows. From someone as sadistic and cruel as Abaddon's perspective, this must have been thrilling entertainment. Moments like this affected Morgull in a peculiar way. No matter how hard he tried to forget, his mind forcefully took him back towards his dark past. Once again, he would relive that faithful day the masked man had brought him to an underground arena deep below Moscow.
"It is so nice to venture into places like this from time to time," the heavily-filtered voice stated, emotionless as ever. "Is it not?"
"I do not see a point in us being here," the dark-haired man replied reservedly. "For all I know, I could have been down there," he pointed towards the muddy ground where the fighters kept killing each other. "But you? No ... I do not see a reason behind your visit."
"Oh?" Abaddon chuckled, clearly amused. "I thought it was crystal clear.
I love watching people struggle," he added, allowing this rather strange amusement tone to continue. "There is something inexplicit about seeing someone inches away from death," he stated, pausing for a moment as if gathering his wits. "I think ... I find it intoxicating. This thrill of death and blood."
"That sounds like you, Abaddon," Morgull commented, comfortably resting against a railing of questionable quality that separated the lodge from a twenty-meter fall into the arena.
"Is it?" the masked man questioned rhetorically. "It matters not. Though if I were to run these games ... yes, I would have made them a little more dramatic and interesting."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Think about all you can see for a moment, Morgull," Abaddon took a step forward and rested his left hand on the railing while gesturing extensively with the right. "Is it not a tad too straightforward? A small arena filled with nothing more than sand, mud, and blood of the dying? Look at these modern gladiators fighting for their lives to sate the audience's bloodthirst."
"I think the organisers wanted such a design," the dark-haired man remarked, shrugging nonchalantly.
"That is the problem I am pointing at," the filtered voice agreed. "It lacks depth and mystery. It is nothing more than a cheap way of providing entertainment."
"What would you do differently, then?"
"I would have built a confined complex where the games would take place," Abaddon started somewhat passionately. "Then ... I would have carefully selected a group of challengers, placing them there. Their task would be trivial in overall nature but would require wits, intelligence, and sacrifices. With helpful items and hints scattered all over the dungeon, they would have everything - in theory - to save themselves."
"You would not make it this easy for them," Morgull pointed out, already tired of this so-called conversation. "What is the catch?" he blurted openly.
"I think you already figured it out," the masked man commented. "All of these 'gifts' would only be there to give these poor souls a fleeting hope of making it out alive. In reality, they would be constantly watched and preyed on by someone or something," he halted momentarily. "Imagine the thrill when one of these challengers would be torn limb from limb. The sheer shock and terror ... delicious."
"Let me guess, you would rig this competition to ensure no one would survive?"
"No ... no, I am not a monster," Abaddon stated nonchalantly. "That being said, most would certainly die ... especially with the hunter I have in mind," he giggled, making Morgull's skin crawl uncontrollably. "For now, though. Let us go. One day ... this vision of mine will be forged into reality," he added, taking one last long stare at the arena below before turning around and leaving.
"Yeah, it is high time to leave this hole behind," the dark-haired man agreed, following suit.
Expectedly, it took Morgull a good while to reach a circular section intersecting a few dark corridors like the one he used. The area was unsurprisingly messy and filled with a terrifying amount of rubble. But ... if he thought this was this location's main obstacle even for a fleeting moment, he must have been deluding himself. After all, compared to many unnamed fools who marched through these passages, the dark-haired man knew exactly who or maybe rather what considered this maze its lair. Without as much as an ounce of care, he threw the corpse forward, intently spectating its short-lived flight before it inevitably crashed against a crumbled stone floor's face with a disgusting clatter. Immediately, a clear response came from the opposite tunnel. Even with his enhanced eyes, Morgull could not penetrate the darkness covering the hole from which the sounds were coming, getting closer by the second. Though it mattered little. With his eyes constantly fixed on the tunnel's exit, he took a few slow and deliberate steps forward, pocketing his hands. What was nothing more than a low hiss at the beginning turned into a cacophony of roars and gouging. Undoubtedly, Abaddon's twisted creation and personal pet was fast approaching, lured by the smell and promise of a feast. With time on his hand, the dark-haired man allowed himself to ponder briefly on matters with little importance. How long had it been since the madman led him into these corridors, showing off his newest and proudest accomplishment? Ten, fifteen, twenty? The more he thought about this, the less certain he became. It had been a while, about this the man was positive ... but specific numbers seemed to ellude him.
Finally ... after what felt like an eternity, the Cerberus came into view, terrifying in all of its beastly glory. Morgull sighed heavily as he spectated its monstrous shilloute. If his memory served him well, it must have bloated once again, expanding its already imposing frame. Still ... if it came to that, the dark-haired man would be capable of defeating this abomination. However ... the same could not be said for many.
At some point, Cerberus was just another typical werewolf, but its fate was sealed the moment the masked man got interested in it. With Abaddon's seemingly endless resources and desire to twist and mutilate, it was only a matter of time before what was previously a normal and healthy specimen became a three-headed monstrosity whose sole reason to live was to consume and bloat further. Sometimes ... Morgull pitted this poor creature, but when he thought about dozens - no hundreds - of people it had devoured over the years, this sympathy vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"I brought you a gift from your Master," the dark-haired man said plainly, completely not interested in any discussion with the beast. "You can do whatever you want with it, but he expects you to be ready to leave this pitful hole the moment the corridors are filled with the red light."
"When?" Cerberus responded in broken English. "What does the Master want?" it questioned as it sluggishly approached the dead body.
"That is all he said," was all the monster received in return. "But ... I suspect he is scheming something ... not that it is something unexpected."
"It will be done," the beast screeched, sinking its teeth into the still-warm flesh.
"Whatever," Morgull scoffed and turned around. "Enjoy your meal, beast."
By the time Morgull finally left the dungeon that reeked of death and suffering far behind, it was already noon of the following day. Usually, he would have been pretty irritated by the fact that it had taken him this long to deal with such a minuscule task, but today, something felt off as he paid no mind to his surroundings. It quickly became painfully apparent that all the dark-haired man wanted was to stroll through the city streets with no real destination as a mean to tame his mind and put it back under his sole control. But ... as always, it was an extremely tricky thing for Morgull to accomplish. With his mind virtually split into two vastly different and seemingly contradicting beings, it was only a matter of time before the sadistic and bloodthirsty monster residing inside him would reign again. For most people, this premise alone would be devastating and heartbreaking, yet Morgull had learnt how to accept things outside his jurisdiction many years ago. After all, had he not managed to solve that issue, he would have committed suicide - there was no other feasible option. Then, again, by the definition alone, he was an exception that only proved the rule. Whatever he deemed worthy and acceptable to do mattered not, as his life was never truly his to rule over. Perhaps ... in the past, his younger version had dreams and ambitions, but with the inevitable passage of time, all of these pieces faded away into nothingness, brutally eradicated by his cruel master's doing. But ... at the end of the day, it was his day-to-day reality - there was no reason for pity.
With hands deep inside the pockets of his ungodly expensive Italian suit, Morgull treaded through the streets pretty much mindlessly, focused solely on thing alone - to put another step forward and maybe get somewhere eventually. By any extension of logic, it was a bold and vastly ineffective strategy, but the man seemed uninterested in optimising his ways, it seemed. However, it did not mean that the world itself and the higher powers associated with it slumbered. No ... it was quite the contrary, as fate had something planned for him. As invisible and unexplainable as it had always been, fate guided Morgull with its invisible hand towards a solid pavement crossing one of many luxurious districts of the city. As he was unaware of the intervention, he kept going forward as previously with no regard for anything. Yet something changed ... seemingly abruptly as the corner of his left eye caught a glimpse of something ... something interesting. Turning around, the dark-haired man was faced with a thick wall of glass separating the outer world from a cosy-looking coffee shop with diligent and extraordinary design. Whereas others would seek modern trends, this one stuck to a more rounded approach one could describe as classic, something that, by today's standards, one could see in the movies or photos from the past. But ... let's be realistic; it was not the place that lured the monstrosity Morgull undoubtedly was. No ... it was a certain platinum-blond-haired woman clad in a modest, long, and dark skirt matched with an ashen shirt. Unwittingly, he exposed the canines, pleased with what he saw. Yes ... fate apparently had a very strange sense of humour.
Without as much as a single thought crossing the man's mind, he smoothed his suit and entered the coffee shop, ready to sin.
Author's notes section:
The main focus for me remains the rewriting of "My home is where my heart lies". That being said, I know fully well that this process will be long and painful for me, so in the meantime, I will be dropping smaller updates of various stories.
Oh well ... it has been a while. I'm deeply sorry for staying quiet for a few weeks, but finding both time and motivation to write has been a rather problematic matter recently. I would have wanted to announce that I'm getting back with 10k words long chapter, but it would have been a lie. That being said ... I think it's at least decent, perhaps even good, but in the end, it's hardly up to me to decide. So ... welcome back and please enjoy the read. My plan going forward is to post weekly, but it might be adjusted to biweekly depending on my capabilities and overall quality of what I write.
Please note that the dialogues written in italics are flashbacks.
As always, I would like to thank you for everything. See you soon :)
Changelog:
[2025-02-25] - Chapter fully released.
References:
- Yakuza 0 - Judgement
- Bonnie Tyler - Making Love (Out of Nothing at All)
- Linkin Park - Numb
- The Lord of the Rings - The Road Goes Ever On (Epic Metal Cover by Skar)
- Gunslinger - AX7
- Honor him - Gladiator - Hans Zimmer
- Crazy Lixx - Hunt For Danger
- Eir Aoi - Ignite
- Andreas Waldetoft - The Imperial Fleet - Stellaris
- Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time - Gerudo Valley
- Anastacia - Left Outside Alone
End of the author's notes section.