Rick slurped his soup uneasily, his bottomless stomach sitting quietly. An unnerving sign considering the wound in it. The warm soup sliding down like hot tea on a winter's day, delicious and warming. Yet the bottomless pit protested at the foreign substance entering its domain, lashing out with a fury, pushing against the back of Rick’s throat, threatening to shoot it back out.

Rick ignored its protest, forcing the delicious soup down, tasting of bile by the end, not so delicious anymore. He repeated the process slowly, slowly until the soup had dwindle to less than half, not daring to eat more. Needing the strength.

The two of them had received, as promised from Noah, new fresh soup. Wafting a particularly pleasant aroma into their tiny room, making Rick’s bottomless stomach feel quite angry, pushing defiantly against his throat. And Noah had also given several sets of bandages, clothes, blankets, water and what Rick could only assume to be alcohol. Why a priest had alcohol was not something Rick cared for at the moment.

Rick sat with his back against Abigail, afraid that he might disgust or worry her if she saw his sorry state. Turning towards her, he saw a spoon reaching for a thinking face that stared down into an almost full bowl of soup. A worrying sign. Rick took his own soup and pushed it gently towards her, showing its lessened content. Abigail shaken from thoughts looked down at the presented soup, then up.

Rick took notice and started patting his stomach, imitating a lord with a ballooned stomach, content with the feast they’d just eaten. Rick hoped that the girl would understand his gesture. But from the way she tilted her head, he assumed she hadn’t. He tried again, this time taking his spoon and shoving it in his mouth, once again patting his bloated stomach that wasn’t actually bloated. This time, the girl seemed to understand. Focusing back on her own soup, energy restored in her eyes, feasting slowly on her delicious soup. Slow, but at least better than how she’d eaten mere moments earlier.

With a self-satisfactory nod and a pat on the girl’s head, Rick turned towards the stairs. In between the stairs and Rick, sat the metal lantern shining brightly on all sides. Noah having quickly explained that it shone because of a rune, powered by a different rune on a crystal within the metal lantern. And if Rick wanted it darkened, he’d just have to take out the power source. But Rick wasn’t searching for the lantern, his eyes merely passing over it. They glanced over the darkened stairs and landed on the room's corner, the corner with all of his statues.

He judged the distance, and estimated that he might, just might, be able to reach some with his feet. And if he’s really lucky, even the planks that were stacked together and pushed against the far wall. It would be tricky, it would hurt, it would itch and might burn. But he had no other chance, no other way, no other choice. For in the statues, in the wood, within them all, Rick saw potential. A potential for escape.

Rick had used his time well. At least he thought so, little else he could do in this cramped room. Rick had been thinking, thinking up a plan. First, the plan involved him overpowering Noah, using the knife and coercing him into releasing them. A plan destined to fail from the start, both considering his wound and that Noah was being more cautious than a doctor around sick. Using every means possible to stay far away from Rick and Abigail.

The next plan Rick had pondered was throwing the knife. A plan thrown away like how he imagined throwing the knife. For when he tried raising his arm, tried pretend to throw, the chains rattled in protest like a snake threatening to strike. And to add onto that, throwing the knife would accomplish nothing. For if he actually hit Noah, he would either die or run away, both things Rick did not want to happen. Rick even pondered on using his clothes to create a makeshift trap that would ensnare and drag Noah back to him. An idea too stupid to take seriously, even as he planned on how to best do it.

And for a moment, for a singular, empty moment. A thought so miniscule that one might think it a leaf in the wind. Rick pondered on having Abigail use the knife to threaten Noah. A thought thrown away quicker than the statues ruined by the slip of his fingers. For the thought held no value, no merit as it would force Abigail, the girl, to risk her own life.

No, Rick knew that their best chance, their only chance, was hoping for the strength of a newly born statue. After he’d created the warrior, Rick knew that he was capable of creating strength. Capable of creating statues of great power. Albeit he worried that the materials would not be sufficient to create something powerful enough to break their chains.

Rick rose on unsteady legs, legs tingling with the sensation of a million spiders, worse than the ants. Hand resting heavily on the wall, managing to push himself up, up on unsteady feet. He took a stumbling step forwards, strength not quite there. Using the wall for balance, Rick took yet another step, then another. Stopped by the chains. Rick turned to the statues, just out of reach, maybe an arms-length away. Surely close enough for his legs.

He squatted down, arms above his head, almost falling as his body wasn’t quite ready for this tricky movement. Managing to stay upright, he sat down on his bum, arms a little farther above his head. Shuffling a bit, Rick pushed his legs forward and felt immediate relief as his feet easily touched the foremost statues. But now come the tricky part, the most important part. For even if Rick could use these already created statues and fill them with “life”. They lacked the strength, they lacked the spark that Rick desired. Rick knew them to all be dead, devoid of any value. He remembered each one, and each one lacked the spark that Rick aspired with every statue.

What Rick hoped for, what he reached for, were the planks resting against the walls. Knowing, hoping that he could create something worthier than the statues before him. They were further in, behind a few of the statues. Rick reached further, lightly kicking away the statues. His arms reached further and further behind him, toes sticking out to their utmost stretching point. Rick looking like a dancer on their most important night.

The chains rattled, protesting against the increasing strain. Rick pushed further and felt his toes just out of reach. It was hard to see, his head pushed up by his flexing arms, stretching painfully up. Chains and arms creaking ominously, like boards on an old ship. Rick already knowing which would break first. His leg stretching further, feet further, toes further. Using every little muscle to stretch as far as he conceivably could.

The strain eliciting a successful pressure against the sole of his foot. He pressed a little harder and saw in the corner of his eye, the planks moving. Not much, but enough for Rick to feel happy. He pushed a little further, and the planks wiggled in response, faster and faster.

Then another problem suddenly arose, a fault in Ricks plan that he hadn’t planned for. A complexity not calculated. A risk not weighed. For as Rick pushed against the bottom of the planks, he hadn’t considered where they might fall. His sudden and clear mind realized the problem too late. The planks starting to lean against his foot, lean far too heavily for him to push back into place. He scrambled backwards, down on his back and up with his legs, protecting his body. Planks falling slowly like a cut tree in the woods. Falling like the slow crawl of a snail. Like an arrow heading directly for you.

The impact hard and deadly, slamming against his bracing legs, pushing them down onto his already battered stomach. Opening his mouth in pain, spittle flying out like the drizzle of rain. His arms managing to arrest the fall on his head, pushing the planks to his right with loud echoing sounds. Loud yet unheard to Rick, for he had worse things on his mind. The pain in his stomach tenfold, like a punch to the gut, both literally and figuratively.

He gasped for breath, mouth like a fish out of water. Eyes closed like taut muscles pushing against a boulder. But even in that daze, Rick managed to glance up, one eye slightly opening to look for Abigail. Seeing her pushing herself back into the corner, arms raised protectively, legs doing the same. Rick figuratively breathing out as he saw no harm had come to her, no planks being near her.

Going back to his very present pain, Rick took every measure to calm himself, regain control of his body. Body locked tight, fighting against the worming pain. As he steadied, as time washed past, Abigail seemed to regain her own composure. Rushing up to Rick with the rattling of chains scraping behind her. She dove forward to see if he was alright. But dove a little too quickly, as she accidentally dove into his already wounded stomach. Screaming out a “sorry” as she did.

Rick feeling another gust of air leave him, emptying him of all that is life-giving. He panted soundlessly while groaning painfully onto the side, away from Abigail. Tears forming, pushing out through clenched eyelids. Pain sharp and quick, like eagle snatching prey. The pain easing just as quickly. Though it still throbbed achingly, mildly painful. Rick wanting only stillness at this very moment,

“Pffff hahaha”

A little voice echoed out, growing louder with each syllable, louder until it reached a chorus of noise. A sound most would deem pleasant and wonderful, innocent and beautiful. A sound that Rick felt grating to his ears, a sound of enjoying someone else’s misery, a sound of a spoilt little child having fun on the behest of someone else.

His own painful body suddenly forgetting the pain, replaced by an outburst of anger. Anger directed at Abigail. He turned around quickly, managing to breathe in heavily, sound like a sudden tornado, then breathing out just as heavily, sound like the calmest water. Abigail saw Rick’s expression, her laughter increasing in volume at the sight, falling down on her rump as she started pointing. Rick feeling his brows fall down like the heaviest hammer, pointing out judgement on whoever caused him grievance.

He shuffled backwards, back enough so that the chains would not be in his way. Abigail not noticing, to enveloped in her own laughter. Rick using the opportunity, pouncing, grappling the unaware girl as he quickly proceeded to tickle her. An even louder outburst of laughter came forth from the girl's mouth, louder than one would think possible. Her eyes bulging as they threatened to kill Rick, tears forming as she started struggling against him. Rick not having any of it, tickling as if his life dependent on it. The girl fighting as if her deepest fears had been awakened. Rick fighting as if punishing the godless. Abigail fighting as if being the godless.

The fight going on for longer than an eternity, at least for Abigail. For Rick, it was far too short, mere seconds as he thought his revenge deserved more. But as her laughter started dying down, replaced by the need for breathing, Rick stopped. The two panting, the two glaring, the two tense in their postures. Both quickly softening in their expressions as they realised the fight to be over. One showing a bright smile of white teeth, the other neutral but smiling on the inside.

Abigail shuffled up on two knees, her face beaming, her body ready for action. Rick also going up on his knees, but his features, his face, revealing those of an especially naughty kid. Abigail shrugged back from the sudden expression, protecting her body from the man who’d so cruelly tortured her. But as she did, Rick seemed further pushed on, rising his body up, going large and looming. Body like that of a giant monster, cutting off her chance for escape.

A shrill scream bounced around the room as she saw his giant form, feeling terrified to her very core. The scream stopping just as quickly as it had come when Rick merely patted her head, his face that of a mischievous child having successfully pranked their intended target. An expression that made Abigail flare up in anger as she shouted. “Not fair!” A shout that merely made Rick pat harder, and Abigail frown further.

When Rick stopped patting, to the relief of Abigail, he turned towards the planks, grabbing the knife and started pondering. He pondered on what he should do, on what he should make, on what would be good to break their chains. Abigail watched in confusion as the man suddenly stopped, their play brought to a stop as he got weirdly focused. She didn’t bother him, but she watched him, eyes like glowing moons.

And as she watched, she saw the faint outline of a smile, barely even the slightest hint of a smile, miniscule in nature. A smile that could be nothing more than the trick of her eyes. But which was Rick’s expression of delight. For Rick knew, he knew what he would make.