The streets of old Pliranto lay silent this late in the night and this far below. Barely anyone dares to venture this deep beneath the city of Plirova, into the ruins of the old city of Pliranto. But there were two parties with lights, running through the many tunnels that were once bathed in light and fresh air. Paolo was one of these parties. He ran for his life, his pursuers not far behind. All he had to light his way was a tiny flimsy bulbous vial, shining a weak white light on the ancient city streets and house walls. His panicked breath echoed throughout the tunnels dug into the soil. He could hear his pursuers not far behind. Their goal was simple: to capture and sacrifice him to their Lord.

Paolo had been chosen by the oracle to be nourishment for the Lord's next feast, but he did not intent on accepting this “honour”, no matter how much they threatened his family, he would not be turned into god-food.

A four-way junction came up, this offered Paolo the opportunity he was looking for. He took a left and looked for an ancient house that still held up. He found one, threw his vial down the main road, hoping it wouldn’t shatter, ran into the house and hid in the darkness.

The sound of his heavy breathing pierced his ears is if it was a siren, he tried to calm himself. His pursuers came closer and passed by him. They quickly saw that the light of the vial was no longer moving.

“He tried to fool us. Spread out and bring him to me!” the leader of the group of five said. “Bring him alive.”

Paolo heard them searching the houses that lined the buried street. He still had a chance to escape. Through the door frame he could see the lights of his pursuers go from the main road into the houses. When the road was darkest, he took his chance.

He rushed out the door and down the main road, the way he had come. His pursuers needed a second to set out after him. He had brought some distance between himself and them, but now he had no light vial.

Still, he ran. He ran for his life. His feet started to falter and he felt his lungs burning, still, he ran. Too late he noticed the echo of his own footsteps coming closer and ran directly into the wall ahead. His had rang from the hard impact and the world around him was in shambles. He saw the lights of his pursuers come closer. He got up and tried to find his was, but it was no use, his body failed his mind and he could no longer walk straight. With wooden clubs they beat him back down, then he felt ropes wrapped around his hands and feet and they dragged him back down is escape route. A long and desperate cry escaped his throat.

They had gotten him to the chamber of offering, a large room lit by precious vials on the walls and with a cage just large enough for a man to stand in the centre, for all onlookers to see. They undid his bindings and threw him into the cage. The hooded figures that were attending the ritual chanted their blessed words of power.

Before Paolo could hold on to the cage, the floor beneath him opened and fell down, into the maze.

Complete darkness enveloped him. He was in an endless loop of tunnels, junctions, and chambers, from which there was no escape. He heard the Lord grunt in some distant tunnel, but the sound came closer. Paolo start to run again, but quickly stumbled over the uneven ground and landed in the dirt. He could hear the Lord rushing down the tunnel towards him. He could not see anything, only hear the monstrosity, then his whiskers and then his razor-sharp teeth digging into tearing off his limbs. The cracking of bones, the tearing of flesh, and his own screams of pain and desperation were the last things Paolo heard.