Chapter 2:
The water hit like a thousand needles.
I jerked awake with a strangled gasp, my body arching against the stone beneath me as icy liquid flooded my nostrils, my mouth, the raw scrapes on my arms. For one terrifying second, I was back in the hospital—the nurses adjusting my IV, the cold sweat on my forehead—but the stench of mildew and unwashed flesh yanked me into the present.
Not Earth. Not anymore.
I coughed violently, rolling onto my side as water dripped from my matted hair. My skull pulsed where the bandit had struck me, the pain a dull, persistent throb. The memories came in fragments: the burning village, the screaming, the child calling for his father—
And then nothing.
Now, darkness pressed against me, thick and suffocating. The only light came from flickering torches far above, their glow barely reaching the depths of this... pit.
A whimper echoed to my left.
I squinted, my eyes adjusting. Small, huddled shapes surrounded me—children, some as young as six or seven, their faces gaunt with hunger and terror. A boy with a broken front tooth clutched his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth. A girl with a gash across her cheek pressed her forehead to the wall, her shoulders shaking silently.
Slaves. The realization slithered into my mind. They took us.
My fingers dug into the sludge beneath me—a mix of mud, blood, and things I didn't want to identify. The air reeked of piss and iron.
How long have I been here?
Before I could speak, iron screeched against stone.
Light flooded the pit as the grate above us heaved open.
Two figures stared down, their silhouettes haloed by torchlight.
The first was a heavy-set guy, his shoulders straining against a leather jerkin studded with rusted spikes. A jagged scar split his face from eyebrow to jaw, pulling his lip into a permanent sneer. His right eye was clouded white, but the left—a sickly yellow—glinted with amusement.
The second man was leaner. His face was unnervingly smooth, save for a brand seared into his cheek: a twisted rune that made my stomach churn. A dagger danced between his fingers, its edge dark with old blood.
"Rise and shine, maggots," the heavy-set guy rumbled. His voice was like boulders grinding together.
The lean man smirked. "Welcome to your new home."
A beat of silence. Then—
"No!" a boy lurched to his feet—tall for his age, with wild curls and a farmer's tan. "I won't stay here! My father's a—"
The dagger flashed.
One second, it was in the lean man's hand. The next, it jutted from the boy's throat.
Blood sprayed in an arc, splattering my face.
The boy gagged, his hands fluttering to the hilt as if he could somehow undo it. His knees hit the stone with a crack. Then his face.
Everyone froze in their positions, not daring to make even the slightest move.
The lean man hopped down into the pit, his boots squelching in the muck. He wrenched the dagger free and wiped it on the boy's tunic. "Lesson one," he murmured, crouching to meet our widened eyes. "Speak only when spoken to."
A girl retched behind me.
The heavy-set man chuckled. "You belong to the Demonic Sect now. Since all of you were bought as slaves from the bandits.You'll train. You'll obey." He spread his arms mockingly. "You might even become warriors."
But his tone dripped with lies.
' We are nothing but cannon fodder, seen nothing more than your sect's expendable pawns.' I thought, my nails biting into my palms.
The lean man grabbed the dead boy's ankle and dragged him toward the wall. With a grunt, he hoisted the body up and tossed it out of the pit like a sack of grain.
"Clean this up," he ordered, pointing to the blood pooling between the stones.
No one moved.
His smile vanished. "Now!"
We scrambled, using our sleeves, our hands, even our hair to scrub away the evidence. The girl beside me—tiny, with a missing front tooth—was shaking so badly she smeared the blood instead of wiping it.
The lean man watched, his hollow eyes cataloging our fear.
When we finished, he crouched again, his breath reeking of spoiled meat. "Tomorrow, training begins." He tapped the dagger against my cheek. "Pray you survive it."
A cold shiver ran down my spine at that remark.
He then turned and left slamming the grate shut behind him, plunging us back into darkness.
Hours passed. The pit's chill seeped into our bones.
The boy with a scar on his left eye named Joren, he whispered—edged closer to me and said. "They'll make us fight each other. My cousin was taken last year. They—they made him kill his own friend to earn a crust of bread."
A girl, Lina, hugged her knees. "I heard they feed disobedient children to the sect lord's hounds."
I said nothing. My mind raced.
'Hey! Why am I so unlucky? Did fate use all my luck just to be reincarnated in this shity place?'
I felt like my mind was about to overheat, but then I remembered.
'System!! Where the hell are you?'
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