Lucas took a deep breath, clearly reluctant to talk about what had happened to him the night before.
"I just took down two guys who tried to attack me. One of them used poison," he said flatly, his tone devoid of emotion. "I asked for the antidote, but he tricked me. And that's how I ended up here. That's all."
"That's all...?" Mark stared at Lucas in disbelief.
No one in the prison cell had expected Lucas to be able to fight—let alone take down multiple attackers. With his delicate, almost pretty features, Lucas looked more like a soft-spoken noble than a capable fighter.
But Lucas had no intention of explaining further. He simply closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm the fog in his mind still lingering from the poison. The chains around his body clinked softly as he shifted slightly.
"I... No. We... honestly don't know what happened," Mark finally said.
"We all fell asleep after dinner. Next thing we knew, we woke up here, in this room."
"You were drugged?" Lucas guessed.
"Seems like it," Mark replied.
Suddenly, the wooden door at the side of the room creaked open. A disheveled old man in a brown robe stepped inside, flanked by two armed guards. His eyes locked onto Lucas immediately.
Lucas recognized him—the same man he'd seen the night before while sneaking around. Judging by his demeanor, he was likely the village chief and leader of whatever this twisted group was.
"Well, they weren't lying. You are quite beautiful," the old man said, his gaze sweeping Lucas from head to toe.
He hadn't even fully entered the room before throwing out the one sentence Lucas hated most.
"What did you just say? You filthy bastard!" Lucas snarled, fury erupting in an instant.
The old man chuckled at Lucas's reaction. "Such a sharp tongue, young man. If you hadn't spoken, I honestly would've thought you were a girl. Hmm... perhaps I should cut that tongue out?"
Before Lucas could fire back, an older woman interrupted.
"Why are you doing this to us? What do you people want?" she asked. It was Grandma Martha, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger.
The old man turned to her, pausing for a moment before answering in a deliberately irritating tone.
"You'll all find out soon enough."
With that cryptic line, the old man and his two guards turned and began walking away, clearly satisfied with just checking on Lucas.
Grandma Martha rushed to the bars and grabbed hold of them, her voice rising with desperation and fear.
"I don't know what you're planning to do to us... but if there's still a shred of humanity in you, please! Don't hurt the children or the women! I beg you!"
The old man stopped. Glancing back over his shoulder, he offered her a twisted smile. Then, in a chilling tone, he replied:
"Oh, but they're exactly the ones we want to use... not the old and useless like you."
The door slammed shut behind him.
Grandma Martha collapsed to her knees, sobbing. Some of the other women and elders cried quietly, while most just lowered their heads in silent despair. Hopelessness began to settle like a dark fog over the room.
The air inside the prison grew heavier, darker.
Hours passed in suffocating silence. Even Mark, who was usually the most talkative, didn't say a word.
Then—footsteps echoed in the hallway.
The iron door creaked open slowly, its rusty hinges groaning like a dying scream. A group of men entered, their expressions blank, eyes tired. Without saying a word, they opened the cell and began binding the prisoners one by one with ropes and iron chains.
Cries and screams filled the room as some tried to resist, but it was futile. Their strength and will had long since been drained. All they could do now... was surrender.
Lucas was the last one.
He was already bound tightly to a metal pillar in the corner of the room. He struggled, fighting back as best he could, but the chains were too strong. His breath grew ragged, but his eyes burned with defiance.
Soon after, a man in simple clothes entered the room. Lucas recognized him immediately. In his hand, he held a small pouch. His steps were hesitant, and his face betrayed the guilt weighing on him.
He stopped in front of Lucas, looking at him for a moment before speaking, voice trembling.
"I... I'm sorry."
Lucas snorted. "What are you going to do? What the hell are you people planning?"
The man didn't answer. He slowly opened the pouch and pulled out a syringe. When he spoke again, his voice was a whisper.
"I don't have a choice. This is for my daughter. If I don't do this... she'll be next. I'm... truly sorry."
"You coward! Look me in the eye and answer!" Lucas snapped, rage boiling over.
But the man didn't reply. Instead, he injected the clear liquid into Lucas's arm.
Drowsiness swept over him almost immediately. His shoulder grew heavy, then his head. The room blurred, and the voices around him faded into a distant hum.
---
When Lucas came to, he was still tightly bound in iron chains. The smell of damp earth and leaves filled the air. The sounds of the forest surrounded him—soft rustling, the call of birds, the wet hush of morning dew.
Looking around, he saw the rest of the captives lying on the ground, still unconscious or barely moving. They were on the edge of the village now. Villagers stood in a ring around them, gripping tools that had been repurposed as weapons—machetes, knives, axes. Their faces were tense, unreadable, as if bracing themselves for what was to come.
Then... the monsters appeared.
From the trees, two hulking hobgoblins with dark green skin emerged, followed by five smaller goblins with twisted grins and wild, hateful eyes.
But it wasn't their appearance that chilled Lucas to the bone—it was how they moved. Coordinated and Controlled. Not like wild beasts... but like soldiers under orders. Something far more intelligent lurked behind them, pulling the strings.
The monsters began dragging the bound prisoners away. The villagers did nothing to stop them. They simply stepped aside, letting the creatures pass.
Screams and sobs broke out. Some people wailed in madness, others trembled in silence. Grandma Martha held her granddaughter tightly—an eerily quiet girl who never spoke—clutching her as if she would never let go.
"You sick monsters! Damn you all! Damn every last one of you!" Grandma Martha cried out, voice hoarse with grief.
And then the monsters took them, one by one, deeper into the forest.