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Screaming was all that could be heard through the bone chilling halls of the dungeon. This was what the supposedly great nation of Hace really was. An ugly abomination lay underneath the stunning Admor Keep, and Caelin made the long journey through it, his head being battered off the stone walls by his captors. He felt pathetic, being bound in iron shackles, bruised and bloody and the Admor guard loved every last taste of his wounds; they had waited a long time for this.

Caelin knew from the moment the arrow struck his calf that it was over, the Hacian guard had finally completed the hunt, they had their man; a wanted serial killer, guilty of multiple murders of innocent people. Caelin disagreed. Political figures are anything but innocent.

Stripped of his various killing tools and placed in these pathetic cottons mandatory to the Admor prisons, he walked through the icy corridors, past each dungeon cell where hands reached out in a feeble attempt to grab the infamous killer. He felt like a fat pig being paraded in front of the homeless. As he and his two captors continued to make their way through the dungeon, to turn into the next corridor on the right, he felt a hand grip one of his shackled and bloody arms. Too groggy to react, Caelin was pulled toward a black cell, with a dirty, long haired man behind the bars, who now had an arm around his neck. “Ohh they’re going to love having you” he faintly whispered into Caelin’s ear, as the guards ran to the cell and freed the killer from the prisoners grasp. ‘You won’t lay a hand on him again you fucking dog’ the taller guard screamed at the prisoner, as he opened the cell door, the prisoner expressed a shocked and sorry look on his dirty face. Backing into the corner like a pathetic frightened animal, the guard grabbed the prisoner’s neck, before plunging his blade through it. The man’s corpse slumped to the floor, with a distant expression taking grip of his face, as blood spat from his open neck like a volcano. The guard stood over the corpse, staring into the lifeless eyes of the prisoner, before exiting the cell to join the other guard and their prized murderer. Caelin did not even shudder nor blink as he watched this slaughter. Death was a sight that would never cease to please him.

“One more fucking hand is laid on this creature here, and I’ll have you ripped limb from limb” shouted the taller guard, as he faced back down the hall they had walked from. The arms disappeared from through the bars, and the prisoners returned back into the darkness of their cells. “Until we’re done with him” a sinister smile appeared back on the guards face. He was like a hound hungry for the kill. “Yeah, then you lot can do what the fuck you want with him.”

Caelin’s heart sank deeper than all the oceans combined. He prepared death for everyone but himself and suddenly he felt a sense of fear he has not felt in a long time. It made him feel human for the first time since before the beginning. It brought him back down to the world. And now, there was no escape from it.

Caelin and his captors continued down the halls, which suddenly felt much wider now that the hands of the prisoners had vanished. A horrid and eerie silence took over the dungeon corridors…he could even hear his own footsteps; a sound something that a knife in the dark - like himself is not used to hearing. As they turned yet another corner, a strange, gripping sight came in to Caelin’s vision. At the end of this corridor, there was no left or right turn. There was no cell. There was no wall. There was only a room with a singular chair in the centre. And with each harrowing footstep, which seemed to eternally echo through the halls, he felt death approaching. It was the end of the line.

The heart of the murderer was pumping and felt like it wanted to escape from his very body and the iron shackles seemed to tighten themselves even more around his wrists. The smaller guard turned to face him, and moved his face right in to Caelin, almost scraping foreheads. “I can’t believe I’m finally looking into your filthy eyes. Now, you’ve got a little surprise inside.” The guard whispered, before clashing heads with Caelin and spitting over his face.

Caelin could do nothing though, but it took a minimal amount of fear away from him, and replaced it with anger. Like a bear caught in a trap. Caelin stumbled inside, and heard the door slam behind him, before being grounded by a strong blow to the side of his head by something. This was his surprise he figured, as he lay on the cold stone floor, dazed and defenceless. “Oh that feels good.” Was all Caelin could make out before repeatedly being booted by whoever this person was. Caelin was finally grabbed and picked up by them. Bruised, bloody and broken, his legs trembled trying to stay standing, but the man had him held with a grip around his neck. He was now immune to the pain, and as he opened his battered eyes to look at the persons face, he was met with an elderly man, with grey long hair. But he recognised his face straight away, despite his blurred vision. It was the captain of the guard.

Caelin was sat down on the chair, shackles still bound his wrists, and stopped him from resisting, however his wounds already crippled him from any retaliation. The man walked over to pour what smelled like wine. “So, by that expression I guess you know who I am.” Caelin didn’t dare say a word. “Well your knowledge isn’t going to save you now.” The captain said straight into Caelin’s eyes as he turned swiftly to face the murderer. The captain walked to the other table, where various tools and equipment lay. Some Caelin could identify and others that looked completely alien even to him.

“My daughter, son, nephew and grandson are all gone, thanks to your lust… And now, I will avenge them.” The old man said, as he faced the wall while plucking out the various torture tools. The grogginess overcame Caelin, as he sat on the chair with his head spinning, barely staying conscious. But whispers started to became audible, he could not make out what they were telling him, but they sounded familiar.

“So, do you have a real name or was it just –“the man was interrupted by the horrific screamed which came from outside of the torture room. The captain turned with shock to face Caelin, who now seemed to be sitting somewhat comfortably in the chair. The man scrambled a blade, and jolted to the door, which had been bound shut. How was this possible? The captain used all his might and strength trying to open the door, as the screaming of endless pain grew by numbers and noise.

“Magic?! Oh yes, that’s it. Scum from across the borders.” The captain shouted with such vigor, making his voice hoarse, as he repeatedly struck the helpless murderer, fist by fist. He power walked back to his tools table, and picked up what looked like a sword, but with a razor sharp loop made of iron on it. He slowly walked back to Caelin with a dark grin, as a cloud of shadows entered the room from under the door.

“This is your end.” He cockily muttered to Caelin, as the black mist engulfed the entirety of the room behind the captain. Caelin gazed upon it with awe, as his shackles mysteriously loosened, and levitated from his wrists, before crashing to the floor. The old man looked at him with shock and disgust, as he raised the weapon to strike down. But was met with a sharp, dark, cloudy blade which pierced through his back, and exited his chest, the old man’s jaw lay open, his eyes distant and he gasped for a breath as he was lifted from the ground by whatever this essence was. The black cloud continued to engulf the room, before it swarmed over Caelin who was standing with open arms, greeting the mist like it was his brother. The old man, still struggling for air, was brought back down to his knees slowly, under Caelin who was now consumed by the darkness. He was also armed with an ethereal dagger, made out of the black mist, which he slowly ran deep though the captain’s neck. “No.” Caelin’s tainted and broken voice snarled at the old man. “We are the end.”


Bio: Dylan is an 18 year old from Glasgow, Scoltand who has a passion for the Fantasy genre, whether it is in books, games or films. Currently working as a media assistant for a charity, Dylan dreams to one day finish his fantasy series, to share his concepts with the world.


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