They shoved him into a rough, iron-bound carriage meant for prisoners. The air inside reeked of oil and old blood. "Once I get out of this cell, I will kill you all. You hear me," he snarled, voice raw.
A knight's sheath caught the side of his head with a sick crack. Pain flared white at the edges of his vision; then the world folded into black.
When he came to, hours, maybe a day, had passed. He lay on a narrow pallet in a stone cell. Light slatted through a high, barred window. Men filled the room: gaunt faces, broken hands, clothes mended more than once. Some bore fresh bruises; others watched with the bored attention of people who had learned to survive in small cages. Murders and thieves, fighters and revolutionaries, their reputations sat on their shoulders like heavy cloaks.
A voice cut the silence. "What's your name?"
He turned his head. The questioner was young, maybe barely thirty, but one eye was gone and the socket was a pale, angry ring. The man's stare was neither kind nor cruel, merely practical, the way someone assesses what value a newcomer might bring.
'They're criminals. What's the point in answering? Well, I'm a prisoner too. No harm in a word.'
He opened his mouth. "I —"
'Wait. I can't tell them I'm a hero from another world. And now I know what my badass name stands for. I better change my name.'
He swallowed, kept his voice low and even. "I don't have a name."
'Better I don't pick another cursed name again.'
"Well, that's cool," the one-eyed man said, leaning back against the wall like this was a tavern. "So what'd you do to end up here?"
"I was being good," the hero muttered. "That's what I did."
'Yeah… shouldn't have let my guard down. Got excited, got sloppy.'
"Oooh," the man chuckled darkly, "so you're that type. Betrayed by your own. Happens a lot in this kingdom."
"What do you care?" the hero snapped. "Shut up and stay out of my sight."
"You know why I'm here?" the man tilted his head, his single eye glinting. "I told the king he was mad. Said he'd kill us all just to save himself. Guess what? They threw me in here for it."
'Why won't he just shut up?'
'What's my purpose here anyway? No power, no support. What am I supposed to do now?'
The man's voice lowered, like he was letting him in on a secret. "Every man in here isn't just some petty thief. They're the ones brave enough to spit in the king's face. Fighters, rebels, people who refused to kneel. That's why they lock us up, not to judge us, but to let us rot out of sight."
'I shouldn't have answered him at all. What is that smell? Feels like the air itself is rotting.'
"What's that smell?" the hero asked, covering his nose.
"I told you," the man said with a hollow grin. "They lock us here until the stink of death becomes part of us."
The hero doubled over and retched.
'I can't take this any longer.'
Several knights came stomping down the corridor. The door to the cell groaned open, and they grabbed the hero by his arms. His head still spun, but he forced his voice out.
"Where are you taking me?" he demanded.
No answer. Just the sound of metal boots echoing against stone as they dragged him through the ascending stairs.
"Answer me, you bastards! Why aren't you saying anything? Are you dead, or are you just mute?"
The knights exchanged irritated looks. One finally lost his patience and shoved a cloth into the hero's mouth.
"Mmmph!" he tried to spit it out, but they held it tight.
They dragged him into a pillar-shaped chamber. The air was thick, heavy with an unnatural hum. At the center stood two grotesque stone pillars, unnaturally close, their surfaces crawling with pulsing red veins, like roots from some cursed tree.
Five men stood waiting, the king among them, his gaze cold and unyielding.
The knights forced the hero forward, pressing his hands against each pillar.
'What the hell is this place?'
Chains snapped into place around his wrists. Then came the nails.
THUNK.
The first hammered through his palm.
"AAAAAH!" the hero's muffled scream echoed, his body thrashing in agony.
'What the hell are they doing?!'
THUNK.
The second nail pinned his other hand. His blood seeped onto the pillars.
The red veins stirred. They slithered like living things, twitching, climbing from the pillars onto his hands, creeping under his skin.
'It hurts. It hurts!'
His veins bulged, the red lines spreading through his arms as if the pillars themselves were infecting him. His vision blurred with tears and fury.
They took out the cloth they shoved in his mouth.
The king finally spoke, his voice calm, chilling.
"Now we will see the truth. If you are human… or something else entirely."
"Will it work?" the king asked the man standing beside him.
"There's about an eighty percent chance of success," the man replied. He wore the look of a scholar, careful, eager, and a little too confident.
Pain sharpened into anger in the hero's chest. He spat through clenched teeth, "Hey, King, I will not forget this. I will take my revenge."
The king's eyes were ice. "You won't be alive to carry out any vengeance."
"Make sure I'm dead," the hero snarled. "Or I'll hunt you down and kill you."
"You can try."
The king said almost mockery. And then something impossible happened. Gold-light swelled beneath the hero's skin, bright and hot, threading through the wounds in his palms. The golden current crawled along the red veins, surged into the pillars, and flowed straight into a crystal set between them. The crystal drank the light, pulsing as it filled.
For a beat the chamber held its breath. Then the scientist's face broke into a grin of disbelief. "It worked."
"The fact is clear, you are a hero," the king said, voice smooth with satisfaction. "Well done. Now we can profit. A hero's power is rare; those crystals will fetch a high price on the market."
"You're going to sell them?" the scientist asked, surprise edged with skepticism.
"Don't you like the idea?" the king replied, amused.
"If we keep the crystals, they'll help us fight the demons," the scientist countered. "They're rare, the hero's power could bolster our armies."
The king's smile turned hard. "Listen carefully. Dark days will pass, as history shows. After the war, coin will be worth more than glory. If we gather wealth now, we won't need to worry later. Anyone who opposes this plan should leave the kingdom at once."
"Of course not, Your Majesty. It's a fine plan, we'll proceed," the scientist said quickly, bowing.
His face, however, gave him away; he disliked the idea.
The hero stared at the scientist. The scholar flinched for a moment, then buried the look and turned back to his instruments.
The king's investigation team thundered across the dirt road, hooves striking like drums of war. The sun was sinking low, bleeding the sky in red and violet. Shadows stretched long across the land, and the air turned colder with every passing minute.
"The sun is almost gone," their captain called, his voice rough beneath the steel of his helm. "When night falls, we'll make camp. At dawn, we ride again."
"Yes, sir," the knights answered in unison, their words echoing into the growing dark.
But then—
A sound cut through the silence. Hoofbeats. Not theirs. From ahead.
The knights halted, hands tightening on reins, blades drawn from sheaths with the scrape of steel. The noise grew louder, pounding toward them through the shadowed road.
"Ready yourselves," the captain barked. His men formed a line. Eyes strained into the twilight.
The galloping slowed. The shape emerged. A single rider.
It was a woman. Her body slumped, barely clinging to the saddle. Her head lolled like a broken doll's. The horse was foam-mouthed and wild-eyed, as if it had fled straight from hell.
The knights seized the reins, dragging the horse to a stop. Two men pulled her limp body down. Her skin was deathly pale, streaked with dirt and blood. One knight splashed water on her face.
Her eyes snapped open. The hollow stare of someone who had seen too much.
"What happened to you?" a knight asked, though his voice faltered.
Her lips trembled. She spoke in a whisper, but it cut through them all.
"The demons are coming… They took the village. I'm the only one left."
The men froze, their armor suddenly heavier, their breath louder. The silence of the night pressed in around them, broken only by the restless snorting of horses.
Finally, another knight forced out, "What's your name?"
She lifted her head slowly. Her eyes were red, as if she had cried until no more tears would come.
"…I'm Alisha."