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Blood hit the wooden floor, slipping between the cracks.
It trickled and trickled, but it wasn't from a dead animal, nor a butcher shop. It came from the nose of a man—dripping upward across his face rather than down. Sliding over the stubble of his jaw, past his tired hazel eyes, the blood stained his olive skin before following the strands of his long, matted black hair to fall to the floor again.
He was upside down, chained and hung from the wall like slaughtered meat. A large man draped in a red tunic and wearing a flat, featureless Blackwood mask slapped his face, jolting him awake. Instantly, the smell of something like manure, hit his bleeding nostrils.
"Ah… dammit…it smells like shit."
The bleeding man blinked slowly. His vision swam. He could make out only the lone torch burning to his right and the wooden floor beneath him. The room was small and cramped—tight as a birdhouse. Beyond the torchlight lay only darkness. Then a smaller man stepped forward into the glow, dressed in a similar red tunic with leather armor plates. His mask was birch wood, carved with the expression of a snarling beast.
"Atlas the Unseen," the smaller man said. "These last eight months… you've made the boss very angry. You and your little Deathforged crew. But he only wanted one thing…"
The upside-down man—Atlas—lifted his gaze to where the man's eyes would have been behind the mask.
"I ain't telling you nothin'. Not you, Eryk."
Behind the mask, Eryk frowned. He gestured to the large man. The brute walked over to Atlas, opened a small box, and tilted it so Atlas could see inside. A golden, glowing whip and a baton carved from elderwood—both having magical properties. Atlas studied them for a moment, then nodded toward one.
"The baton."
The large man chuckled beneath his mask and pulled out the whip instead, tossing the box aside. Atlas widened his eyes, then let out a dry chuckle.
"Really? Then why give me the choice—"
The brute cut him off by striking him across the torso. Slash after slash tore open Atlas' black tunic. He winced, holding back any sound. The whipping went on for minutes before Eryk stepped forward again.
"I'm done playing around, Atlas. Where is the Shard?! My boss needs it."
Atlas smirked weakly and spat on him.
"Say hi to Drakos for me."
Eryk wiped his mask slowly. His brows tightened. He nodded to the brute, and the whipping resumed. Hours passed. Atlas could tell dawn approached when a thin orange glow slipped in from beneath the door. Eryk eventually sat down in a chair across from him, clapping softly in amusement.
"I'm impressed. Drakos wasn't kidding when he said torture wouldn't work on you. He trained you, after all. Should've known better than to doubt him. Four hours and you haven't cracked. I mean—"
Atlas swung slightly. His face was blood-soaked, his body carved open and bruised. Two fingers were missing.
"—look at you. And not a single scream. Really something. But this'll be the last time I ask."
Click.
Atlas looked up. Eryk now held a glowing purple bow, an arrow of pure aether resonance aimed directly between Atlas' eyes.
"Where. Is. The. Shard."
Atlas drew a shaky breath.
"I ain't telling you anything, bastard."
Eryk sighed. "I figured you'd say that. Drakos has no use for you then…"
He pulled the bowstring tight, right at Atlas' forehead. In the brief stillness, Atlas found himself thinking:
'This how I die? Really? Years as an assassin for the Order of the Fallen Eye… and this prick kills me? I should have killed Drakos when I had the chance. How the hell did I end up here? Where are the other four…? Dammit. I shouldn't have accepted that offer…'
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9 MONTHS EARLIER