The Anomaly's Path

The iron gates groaned shut behind us, a final and heavy sound that swallowed the last bit of outside air. We moved deeper into the tunnel, the rattling of the wagon wheels echoing like bone against stone.

"Listen," Ren whispered, his head hanging low to hide his moving lips. "The moment we enter, there might be a chance we get separated. If that happens, do not panic. Locating the children is the first priority. Once we have eyes on them and the other slave blocks, we find a way to signal Seraphina and Cassian outside."

The wagons rolled to a stop at the edge of a massive shaft cut into the stone floor. The drop below was bottomless, swallowed by shadows that no torch could pierce. An iron lift waited for us, its cage suspended by chains so thick that they looked like they had been forged from the spines of dead giants.

We were dragged from the wagons and pushed into the lift. The cage groaned under our weight as the doors clanged shut, and then we were falling.

The lift descended into darkness.

The walls of the shaft were slick with moisture, black and glistening. The chains above us groaned with every foot we dropped, and the green torches on the walls flickered in the stale air, casting shadows that danced across our faces like hungry things waiting to be fed.

Ren stood beside me with his shoulders hunched and his face buried in the collar of his ragged shirt. Elena was on my other side with her hands bound in front of her and her eyes fixed on the floor. Dorian stood at the back of the cage, his massive frame somehow made smaller, his head bowed.

None of us spoke.

The demon guards watching us from the corners of the lift did not speak either. They just stood there with their iron masks and their crackling whips, their eyes scanning us like we were cattle being led to slaughter.

I counted the seconds in my head. One thousand. Two thousand. The lift kept dropping.

The air grew thicker, heavier, and hotter. It smelled of sweat and blood and something else, something rotten that clung to the back of my throat and made me want to gag.

Finally, with a jolt that rattled my teeth, the lift stopped.

The overseer stepped forward. He was tall and thin, his grey skin stretched tight over sharp bones, his eyes sunken and dark. Black veins pulsed beneath his translucent flesh, and his fingers ended in claws that clicked against the iron railing as he walked.

"This batch is small," he hissed, his voice like dry parchment being torn in half.

One of our knights, the one driving the lead wagon, the one we had called Marcus, stepped forward. His face was hidden behind an iron mask, but his voice was steady. "Quality over quantity. These were taken from the border. Fresh souls. Stronger than the usual trash."

The overseer’s eyes moved over us. They lingered on Ren’s broad shoulders, on Dorian’s thick arms, on the way Elena held herself even in chains.

"The big one to the mines," the overseer said, pointing a clawed finger at Ren. "He looks like he can still swing a pick. The others to the holding cells. Voss has been complaining about needing more slaves."

The lift doors opened, and we were dragged out into a cavern so vast that I could not see the walls. Torches lined the path ahead, casting pools of sickly green light on the stone floor. The ceiling was lost in darkness, and the air was thick with the sound of distant screams and the rhythmic clang of metal on metal.

Marcus grabbed me by the arm and pulled me forward. His grip was tight, almost painful, and I saw the way his eyes flickered behind the iron mask.

"Wait," he said to the overseer. "I have something to discuss with this one before you take him."

The overseer raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Discipline. He tried to escape on the way here. Nearly killed one of my men." Marcus’s voice was hard. "I need to remind him of his place before he causes more trouble."

The overseer smiled. It was a thin, cruel smile that did not reach his hollow eyes. "By all means. Take your time."

Marcus dragged me away from the group, toward a shadowed corner of the cavern where the torches did not reach. The other knights stood with the overseer, their faces hidden, their postures rigid.

The moment we were out of sight, Marcus slammed his fist into my stomach.

I doubled over, gasping, and he hit me again, this time across the back of my head. I fell to the stone floor, and he kicked me in the ribs, once, twice, three times.

"Stay down," he growled, loud enough for the overseer to hear. "Stay down, you worthless piece of—"

He crouched beside me, his mouth close to my ear. His voice dropped to a whisper, so low that I almost missed it.

"I am sorry for the beating," he said. "I had to make it look real."

I did not move. I kept my face pressed against the cold stone, my body limp.

"The others will try to get a message outside," Marcus continued. "We will find a way to send word to Seraphina. In the meantime, stick to the plan. Do not act until you have seen the layout. Do not underestimate Kael. When I find the children’s location, then I will come and release you all. So wait for us."

He stood up and kicked me one more time, this time in the thigh.

"That is enough," the overseer called out. "We do not want you to break him before the doctor has his turn."

Marcus grabbed me by the collar and dragged me back to the group. He shoved me toward the overseer, and I stumbled, barely catching myself before I fell.

"Take him," Marcus said. "He will not give you any more trouble."

The overseer chuckled. "We will see about that."

The holding cells were a nightmare.

The corridor stretched before us, lined on both sides with iron cages stacked three high. The bars were rusted and stained brown in some places, dark red in others, and the floors were slick with a greasy film that could have been water or could have been something far worse.

The green torches along the walls did not so much illuminate as they did stain the darkness, turning everything the color of sickness and rot.

The smell hit me first. It was not one smell but many, layered on top of each other like strata in a grave. The sharp ammonia of urine.

The cloying sweetness of dried blood. The sour stench of infected wounds left too long without care. Beneath it all, a deeper, muskier odor that I did not want to name, the smell of bodies that had given up and were slowly, quietly rotting where they sat.

As we walked deeper into the cavern, the sounds grew louder.

Not just crying now, but the wet rattle of a failing chest, the rhythmic thud of a head being banged against iron bars, the high, keening wail of someone who had lost their mind and was never going to find it again.

A woman pressed herself against the bars of her cage as we passed. Her face was thin and hollow, her cheekbones sharp enough to cut the dim light. Her eyes were wild and desperate, darting back and forth like trapped birds. Her dress was torn, hanging off one shoulder, and I could see the bruises on her neck, purple and black, shaped like fingers.

"Please," she whispered, her voice cracking like dry mud. "Please, I have a daughter. She is only five. They took her. They took her. Please, let me go to her."

Her hands reached through the bars, bony fingers grasping at the air. Her nails were cracked and yellow, and there was blood under them, dried and flaking. One of her fingers was bent at a wrong angle, the bone pushing against the skin from the inside.

A guard slammed his whip against the bars, and the crack of it echoed through the corridor like a gunshot. The woman shrieked and scrambled back into the shadows of her cage, but I could still see her eyes, wide and wet, watching us from the darkness.

Further down, a man lay on the floor of his cage in a pool of something dark and wet.

His clothes were torn to rags, and his back was a mess of wounds, deep gashes that had been cut and recut so many times that there was no healthy skin left. The edges of the wounds were black with infection, and I could see something moving in them, small and pale, burrowing into the flesh.

He was just staring at the wall with empty eyes, his mouth slightly open, a thin line of drool running from his lip to the floor.

I looked away.

My stomach turned, and I felt bile rise in my throat.

There were children here too.

They were in the lower cages, pressed together in the corners like animals trying to stay warm. Their bodies were thin, their ribs visible through their torn shirts, their arms and legs covered in bruises and needle marks.

Some of them were crying, their faces wet with tears, their small hands reaching through the bars. Some of them were silent, their eyes hollow in a way that made my chest ache with a pain I could not name.

One of them, a boy no older than six, pressed his face against the bars as we passed. His hair was matted and dirty, and there was a cut on his forehead, still fresh, the blood tracing a thin line down the bridge of his nose. His lips were cracked and bleeding, and his eyes were red from crying.

"Help... me," he whispered. His voice was so small that I almost did not hear it. "Please. Help me..."

I kept my eyes forward.

I could not help him yet.

Elena walked beside me, her face pale, her jaw tight. I saw her hands trembling, the chains around her wrists rattling softly with every step. Dorian’s expression was unreadable, but I saw the way his fists clenched at his sides, the muscles in his jaw jumping.

The overseer stopped in front of an empty cage near the end of the corridor. The bars were rusted, and the floor inside was covered in a thin layer of straw that had long since turned black with filth.

"In here," he said. "All three of you."

The guards pushed us inside, and the door slammed shut behind us. The lock clicked into place, and the overseer walked away without another word, his claws clicking on the stone floor until the sound faded into the distance.

We stood there in the darkness, the three of us, surrounded by the cries of the dying and the hopeless.

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. The metal was cold against my back, and I could feel the rust flaking off onto my shirt.

After a long moment, Elena spoke. Her voice was hoarse. "What did that knight say to you?"

I opened my eyes and looked at her. Her face was smeared with mud, but I could see the fear behind it, the same fear that was crawling in my own chest.

"...He said they will try to get a message outside," I said. "He will find the information and will release us, so until then we have to wait here and not act."

Dorian grunted from the corner of the cage. His massive shoulders were hunched, and his head was bowed, but I could see his eyes moving, taking in every detail of our surroundings. "And if we do not get a message out?"

"Then we act anyway."

Ren was not with us.

He had been taken to the mines, separated from the group. I did not know if he was alive. I did not know if he had been recognized. I could only hope that he was smart enough to survive, strong enough to hold on until we could reach him.

"That bastard," I muttered, touching my ribs where Marcus had kicked me. The pain was sharp and hot, and I could feel the bruise already forming beneath my skin. "He hit me harder than he needed to."

Elena almost smiled. It was a weak, tired thing, but it was there. "You can hit him back when this is over."

A smile appeared on my face. "Of course, that is what I plan to do."

We sat in silence, listening to the sounds of the dying.

Somewhere above us, I heard the distant rumble of the lift descending again. I closed my eyes and leaned back.

Now, we have to wait a little for Marcus to help us.