Greenhorn

It was a few days later, when Murik Woods and Zeph nervously watched the prison cell door, as they heard a guard grumbling and cursing in the distance. He was known to the inmates in the Abyss as the Grumblin' Murlin, a sicko that loved to torture, but hated everything else.

You would always hear him coming and know it was him since he was always complaining about how shitty his job was. People's spirits usually dropped as soon as they heard his voice and tried to make themselves as small as possible so they would leave them alone and take his bad mood out on someone else.

It was that time of the week again when it was time to refill the lamps on the prison corridor, and Grumblin' Murlin was the one that drew the short stick today.

The job was difficult and boring as he had to carry a heavy barrel of Earthen Blood through the entire prison, across the slippery stairs, and along dark corridors full of nauseating stench. It had been a century since they were last aired out. Only some airflow went through the Abyss, just enough to keep the air breathable.

The black goo itself also stank, even making you lightheaded if you inhaled too much of it. Overall it was a pain in the ass, and Murlin hated things that were a pain in his ass. He preferred to be a pain in the ass of other people though.

That's probably why many people disliked him. And probably also why the rest of the guards tricked him into playing a game of chance for this work. He had no proof, but he was certain they cheated somehow. He tried to complain, but they were having none of it.

And as he was going from one cell to the next, grumbling and cursing his work, he suddenly noticed a peculiarity in one of the cells.

He stared through the iron bars and looked at the two people chained inside. Everything seemed normal, most cells were only half full so the people inside would be quicker consumed by isolation, but something just didn't seem right…

He looked and observed, but couldn't come up with a reason even though he furiously scratched his filthy balding head. He looked at the cell number beside the cell. It read: LXIX

He scratched his unshaven stubble, rubbed his eyes, looked again, and then slowly exhaled, clueless. He felt like this number was important somehow, as if it had a deeper meaning. Didn't the warden say something about the cell no. LXIX? Something like, "I don't care what happens to the other two, but that guy CAN NOT be allowed to die! Make sure nothing happens to him!"

'Right, right…' It indeed went something like that. Maybe in a few more, better-expressed words, but the meaning was there. Grumblin' Murlin nodded to himself, satisfied. His memory was still sharp. Nothing could escape his notice!

'Wait… Doesn't that mean there should be… three?'

That was the last thought that went through his muddled brain as a pale hand appeared from the darkness, coiled around his throat, and snapped his neck.

***

Woods looked on with trepidation as the steps were coming closer. He was nervous as fuck! Gerald went off somewhere hours ago and still wasn't back. It was the third time he did this already, and he still didn't tell them why.

And now the vilest creature was approaching, and it was clearly in a bad mood! He didn't even dare to look, but Zeph beside him, who was usually the first to lower his head, watched the door intensely. He couldn't lose to his skittish cellmate, so he watched as well.

Soon the Grumblin' Murlin came, did his job and refilled the lamp, and then just… stared.

'Oh gods, he noticed!' was Murik's first terrifying thought. But the man just stared at them for minutes. He then began scratching himself all over while dumbly staring into the cell. It was no wonder he felt so uncomfortable in his skin, the amount of food and filth that was stuck to his body made a pig rolling in the mud look clean in comparison.

'Is he even… Didn't he notice? Thank the gods this guy is dense as a brick!' Woods allowed himself a bit of hope.

But then the murkiness of the guard's eyes slowly went away, and you could literally see the old greasy gears, slowly, painfully so, turning in the man's head. And just as it seemed he had figured it out... That happened!

Murik averted his gaze as a familiar hand soundlessly appeared from the darkness, and with a sickening crunch, broke the guard's neck.

Shortly thereafter, Gerald became visible again in all of his almost naked glory as he entered the cell.

"Well, that was unexpected…" he said in a flat tone. He seemed entirely unperturbed by the action of crushing a man's spine.

"Dude!" Murik loudly whispered. "You just killed a guard! There's no way others won't notice! We are so screwed!"

Gerald, in the meantime, sniffed his hand and then scrunched his nose, before cleaning his limb with Telekinesis. After he was done, he looked back at the corpse outside, and at the half-empty barrel of Earthen Blood beside it.

He had to admit, "Yeah, that might be a bit of a problem…" However, he already had a plan!

***

A hall of black, monolithic stones, was bathed in yellow light from the oil lamps fixed to the wall every meter or so. A massive banner of the Empire hung on an otherwise empty wall. Opposite to it, near the other wall some five meters away, was a wooden bench with a table of similar rough construction, around which many men sat eating and playing dice.

They were all older, burly-looking men with rough appearances and mean expressions. As the coins exchanged hands between the winners and losers, many curses and similarly flowery words flew about.

However, one of them was not like the others. He was a young lad, no older than twenty, who went by the name of Falos Nerum. He was a son of a minor noble that was loyal to the Emperor and was as such 'privileged' enough to get such a 'cushy' job.

That was sarcasm. The job was filthy and uncomfortable, straining on the mind and soul, and broke down the guards almost nearly as much as it did the prisoners themselves.

Staying in a dark, cold place with grumpy, sweaty men for days, sometimes weeks at a time, was bound to leave many people less than happy.

It was the same for Falos Nerum. According to his father, he was supposed to harden up and 'become a man,' whatever that meant. It was a good way to build character according to the old man, but he vehemently disagreed.

He liked flirting with girls and drinking with his friends deep into the night. Instead of the rough leather armor he currently wore that scratched his skin, he preferred his fancy, colorful, silken clothes and shiny, elegant, black, knee-height boots with a raised heel and soft insides.

He longed for his sparkling jewelry of gold and silver, as well as the sound of music and the smell of good food.

He had none of that here. Everything was just dark, gloomy, and wet! The bloody ceiling was constantly dripping with icy water no matter how many times it was repaired. The floor was slippery and cold, and it seemed he was the only one that noticed, or cared.

He internally sighed and took out his silver pocket watch, the only piece of luxury he was allowed to take with him. He looked at the time and then at the brutes playing the game. He repeated the same action many times in the last hour but couldn't get himself to speak up.

There was something that bothered him, but he didn't dare voice his concerns for fear of retaliation. Because every time he said something along the lines, "We should do this," or "Isn't it better if we do that?" he always got the same response.

"Go do it yourself, greenhorn!" That was what they would say almost without fail every single freaking time! Talk about animals that only liked to eat, drink, fuck, and play games.

Falos Nerum despised this place from the bottom of his heart. It went against everything he knew or wanted in life. But eventually, he couldn't hold it in anymore and had to speak up.

"Where is Murlin? He's been gone for a while, hasn't he?" He said it loud and clear, but the drunk apes didn't seem to react at all. They argued, drank, and played dice without sparing him as much as a single glance.

Falos waited for a bit, but after receiving no response, he stood up and pushed out his chest, like some scrawny vegan at a grill party, ready to argue, "I said, Murlin's been gone for-!"

"We heard you the first time, greenhorn!" one of the men thundered in an annoyed tone while shaking the dice in one hand. "Nobody cares where he's… 16! Haha! Pay up, you old coot!"

"If ya're so w'rried for the ol' prick, why don't ya get 'm back 'er? Ye'd be a fine g'url of 'is" added another in a laughing, mocking tone, while showing his rotten teeth.