A long and menacing creak echoed into the hall and further into his lonely prison. It had been two days since he first arrived. Two short days really. Michael would be so exhausted, he would sleep for much of the day and night. Only waking for a few hours to simply stare at the chaotic mess that they called, or what he recalled from Ruthar’s memory, the Merchant’s Eden. He could not fathom how anyone would find their sense of direction huddled up in the masses moving too and fro. Then again, this was a merchant’s paradise and not a customer’s.

It took more effort than he liked, but he eventually opened his heavy eyelids. Staring in front of him and towards the barred gate that enclosed around him, there was more light than usual; probably coming from the door, he heard creaking from, being open wide. His emotionless mind did not find joy nor panic in what he assumed was the arrival of a guard. But, some food would be nice to keep him alive, he needed it badly. He might not feel any desperation in the situation he found himself in, but that dead rat looked more enticing every time he saw it lying there.

His stomach began rumbling in an accustomed toon as a couple of voices grew louder with the clicks of metal boots and armor. Slowly blinking one eye then the other after it like a lizard, the sounds became more distinct and one even striking him as familiar. It was a high pitched male voice that made him ball his hands into a fist. Breathing slowly, he shut his eyes, and he listened as closely as possible before they reached him.

“... hurry! We have at most two days!”

The familiar voice seemed desperate and even afraid of something. Hearing the voice filled with those inflections made his heart flutter with joy. Any pain for the cruel voice and its carrier was pure bliss to Michael, or was it Ruthar now? He would have to find a way to coincide the two very different personalities. One was a rich and entitled man that got everything he wanted, whether it was realistic or not. The second, of a typical college student, broke and struggling to find his identity in the hotpot that was the American culture.

“Yes, Sir!” replied an overly formal voice, and with it came a thump of someone’s chest. A salutation if he had ever heard of one before. Closer they came until they sounded to be just out of reach of his sight. Hidden by the corner of his cell.

“Has he spoken yet?” said the high pitched voice, the voice somehow rising a few octaves.

“No, Sir! He didn't say a word, Sir!”

“We are running out of time, he needs to break. Come, let us see how he does to another session of pain and memory erasing.”

“Yes, Sir!”

Hearing these words, a feeling of indignation welled up within his soul. A deeply ingrained belief of superiority and desire for retribution had him burning to get to the owner of the voice. Left eye twitching, Michael felt his body heat up, but he struggled to hold in the fire that threatened to consume his thoughts. At that moment, he wanted the absolute evisceration of the man. A desire that scared him more than anything.

Against his will, a small smile grew on his face as a name came to him from the memories of Ruthar. A short name of a commoner with no true family name. Staring at the corner they hid behind, he watched as a pudgy man that wore too many clothes on him came into sight. With a round face that matched his rotund body, something he could not hide even with the layers of clothes on him, he had sweat crawling down his eyebrow ridge and a red neck. Completely bald, the only hair he had on his face was his eyelashes.

Beside him walked a very tall man with no facial expression. Dark skinned and wild hair that matched his color sat on his head like a mop. Wearing armor, the sound of the clinking and metal footsteps were clearly his. Standing straight like a board, Michael saw a glimmer of metal around the man’s throat.

Watching them, the pudgy man stood in front of the gate trying to intimidate their prisoner. But with a glare that could not scare a mouse to run, it could not affect Michael at all. Still smiling, Michael could not stop his mouth from running, he had to say something.

“Ah, if it isn't Gendril, or should I call you The Black Merchant,”

Visibly rustling, the rotund man’s eyes widened a bit, but as quickly as it had come, it disappeared behind the mask he had worn every time he came to ‘visit’ Ruthar. Turning his head, Gendril stared at the slave next to him with an expressionless face, seconds passed until he finally turned back to Michael.

The slave did not show any emotion, the only sign of his distress was a twitch of his ungloved right hand. Catching the mistakes, Michael laughed hoarsely. A parched throat did not make it clean or painless.

“Welcome to my humble abode. It pains me to have such an esteemed guest, but with nothing to show my hospitality,” joked Michael, enjoying how uncomfortable he was making them.

By all considerations, he should have been a broken man. Endless hours of torture, and a month of solitude could kill any sane man. And it did kill Ruthar unbeknownst to them. Something they dearly could not afford for two main reasons. The first was that the ring filled with oceans of treasure would forever be sealed. And the second, they were still within the boundaries of royal law, as long as he didn’t die.

“Ruthar, worry not about your lack of etiquette and noble manners, it is but a sign of how well you were raised. That is all,” jabbed the fat man.

“Still, we could fix that issue by giving us your express permission to the ring your father left. It would get you out of this hell hole and more importantly away from all the suffering you will feel in a few minutes,”

Frowning at how easily the man mentioned his father in the insult, Michael felt his fists clench. Was his father alive, this commoner wouldn't dare even speak his name without titles. Unable to help his need for the last word, he made sure to get the last laugh.

“Oh, please Gendril. Enough with the facade. We both know how long you have left. And if you somehow survive the consequences of your failure, then know that I Will. Find. You. Then I will keep you alive, no you won't die for a long time to come. Instead, you will live a life of endless pain with no way out,” smiling cruelly, he couldn’t help but enjoy the distress that showed on the man’s face.

“Time left?” laughing awkwardly, Gendril began to rub his bald head in anxiousness.

“Y-you will be stuck here forever,”

LIE!

A voice echoed into Michael’s mind like a stereo on full blast. For a while, he stared at Gendril uncomprehending of what happened, but it slowly dawned on him. Something or someone had made it clear that the words spoken by the pudgy man were lies. This fact made his smile more vicious, demonic even to the two that stood in front of him.

A bubbling laugh started to escape his mouth, the broken mind of Ruthar and the sanity that had been Michael began to finally merge. Making the lines that were once clear becoming blurred in a vessel that at one time or another had carried both souls.

From small chuckle, it grew and grew until it became maniacal laughter that made even the stoic slave step back in fear. While the pudgy man quickly stepped behind his guard, they both were scared out of their mind. What demon had to possess a man to laugh in the face of his torturers?

“Gendril, just wait for me! I will get my hands on you. Oh, how I will enjoy your cries of terror echoing in the deepest dungeon as I share my madness with you,”

The chains wrapped around his limbs clicked and shook as he struggled to stand. Staring with unblinking eyes at the frightened men in front of him. Getting to his feet, he shambled his way towards the bars that impeded his path. Every step more difficult than the other, his joints creaking with every strenuous step he took. Reaching out, he grabbed the cold and dusty bars of the gate, pressing his face into a gap he watched as the two made their escape in haste. The echoing laughter of a madman chasing after them even after they closed the large doors to the prisons.