You should not learn to fight if you want to kill.

You should learn to fight so your death can serve a purpose for those who will stay alive.

Wanderer

*

-Brother. Brother…

Barsen mumbles those words every time the ogre guard walks through the door. The effort seems futile, but it is his last straw of hope. In that dark room, which only lights up when more soldiers come in, he is forced to accept the truth that screams in his ears:

“There is no way to get out of this place alive.”

-Brother… - It is the word he repeats every time the ogre delivers him small amounts of water. A plea from the depths of his being.

-We are not brothers. I told you that I am not helping you.

-Not me, brother, but my tribe. You have to help our brothers.

The sentence has an impact on the soldier, who finally, after days of captivity, hesitates instead of immediately leaving the room. He stops for a moment, waiting of an explanation.

-I have something that belongs to my tribe. – Barsen continues. – I… I need you to deliver it for me.

-I don’t know you or your tribe. There is no chance I can deliver anything for you.

Despite his words, it is possible to notice the difference in the guard’s tone, who remains attentive to the prisoner’s face.

-Just leave the message with a messenger. Please… Then, I can die in peace.

-Deliver it yourself. If you have an obligation to your tribe, then it is your own obligation. It is your duty to your people and that is the greatest thing an ogre life can serve for. Turn your back to Fiandel and stay alive. Do what you have to do.

The guard turns away, ready to leave, when Barsen’s voice whispers:

-I made a promise. I... I can’t betray Fiandel.

The guard stops at the door for a few moments. This time, he does not turn to the prisoner, leaving the cell after a moment and taking his place by the door. The other guard, an elf of short stature, is sitting on the other side, staring at the stones of the old wall ahead.

-Everything okay with the prisoner?

-Same as always. – The ogre answers, keeping his voice as monotonic as he can, so his companion does not notice the battle that occurs in his mind.

*

Arthur feels his body hitting the ground after a spider manages to throw itself on his chest.

He had dodged them for too long. Galaaz, Rinlia and Yvanna had defeated more than thirty arachnids, throwing their bodies on the dirt. Had it not been for the excessive number of opponents, they would have easily gotten rid of them.

Even Arthur managed to take down three spiders that had jump on his body, losing the dagger when one of them fell before he could pull back the blade.

At this point, Gaenar and Nafaester stood up awkwardly – because of the vines that ties their bodies. They want to fight, but can only make a few moves to try and dodge the spiders’ attacks.

Rinlia do not care about preserving energy, raising her hands and releasing flames in several directions, careful not to burn the forest – avoiding the possibility to add another problem to her already extensive list. With sweat pouring down her forehead, she feels weak on her knees and wants to lay her sword on the floor.

The only one who goes through the whole situation without major afflictions is Thiago. His body, inert, does not submit his mind to the problems generated by the fear of death or the absolute inability to change the current situation.

On the opposite side of the spectrum is Arthur, his mind in an uproar and his nerves on the edge. With both hands holding the front legs of the spider, he tries to avoid the attacks of the other legs that aim at his head.

Galaaz who, until then, had helped the boy, was also in trouble, with so many spiders on his back that they made him fall on the ground. The lupine lets out a grunt, throwing himself on his back and rolling over. The movement kills one opponent, but the others jump before the impact, launching themselves against the wolf as soon as he is back on his paws.

Arthur watches this scene happen in less than a second. When he looks up again, the spider’s fangs strike against each other, its multiple eyes shining on its head in an image that looks like it came right out of a nightmare.

Arthur, in the midst of despair, wanted to call Akemi, but he could not. After all she did for him, the least he could do was to make sure she remained hidden until the end. Otherwise, Rinlia would see her and the girl would never have her peace back.

So, instead of risking her life, he closes his eyes, trying to use his own power to take energy from the spiders, but something is not right.

“What is happening?” He asks himself, desperate, opening his eyes once more and rolling on the ground. The spider comes off his chest. However, another one instantly jumps on his back. “What am I doing wrong?” He feels the moment Yvanna pulls the spider off his back and splits it in half, throwing arachnid legs in several directions.

Another Arachne throws itself at him. Desperate, the boy runs on his back, pushing its round, eyes-filled head, away from him. The noise of insects screaming and attacking from all sides is bewildering.

“C’mon! C’MON!” He thinks, doing as much effort as he can.

Rinlia notices his desperate movement. At this point, she is just a few steps away, therefore, sees Arthur’s eyes wide open, facing the point where his own hand touches the spider’s body. She immediately understands what he is trying to do.

-Do it! – It is the only thing she can think to say. – Use your magic!

-It’s not working! – He says, between grunts, still waking backwards. Arachnes cover the entire body of Galaaz and the werewolf. Nafaester does not strike any enemy, using her legs to jump at the right moment and dodging with tight maneuvers. This strategy, however, is tiring, and she feels that she will soon be the next one to fall.

-You need to calm down! Like you did at the lake!

“How the hell did I stay calm in that lake? That situation was just as bad as this one.” He thinks, remembering the size of the monster he repelled not long ago. “I am not doing anything different. Nothing-”

Then, he remembers the feeling. The river. The way all energy flows as one, passing through the ground, coming from all directions, including the spider’s body on his chest, and the shadow glued to his feet. Everything is part of the same stream, except for him.

He gives order to the waters. He has power over them.

And he is the one who gives the order for the river to run into his body.

*

Hunger plagues Barsen’s troubled mind. Thirst dries out his conscience. Pain dominate his fragile body. His breathing is slow and audible. Even a layman could notice that he has a problem with his lungs, and, at his abdomen, the purple mark on the left side is visible, in the place where the most serious injury affected an entire internal region.

He does not feel anything on his arms. At this point, it would be impossible for him to say whether the limbs were even there. Nor did he want to know, since, just before he fell asleep, there was intense pain in the region, something that only increased his torment.

In his mind, he works ways to overcome such situation, and, however ingenious and experienced he may be, there are no alternatives.

“They are not going to set me free. And nobody knows that I am here.” He thinks. In his memory, Barsen invokes situations in the past when he was on the other side of the door. He saw prisoners in very similar situations as the one he is and, because of that, he knows, better than many, that such prisoners were killed to avoid complications.

Even if they did not kill him, those responsible for his arrest would certainly guarantee that he would not be able to report them. A life of blindness, deafness, muteness and slavery was not just a tale told by the queen. That is the least they will do to him.

-Drink the water. – The ogre guard presses the small container against Barsen’s mouth. Even if he wanted to, he could not resist the touch of the liquid. His most basic instincts scream for him to absorb the water delivered to him.

-Bro… - He chokes. – Brother. Brother, help me.

-I told you already: We are not brothers.

-We are ogres. We are those who… - He wants to speak, but weakness forces him to stop for a second. – We are those who were dispersed. But I can change that. I am entitled to a promise.

The sentence impacts the guard, who stops for a moment.

-And what promise could do any difference to our people?

-It is a promise made to me by the Fiandel Prince. To my tribe. Please, deliver the message to the leader in Fiandel. Please… We can have a home again. Our brothers. They…

Barsen needs time to catch his breath. A wrong movement makes him feel the muscle in his arm and his face contorts in pain. The guard approaches, intrigued by his words.

-Territory? Promised by Fiandel?

Barsen cannot talk, but he shakes his read.

Such words, spoken by anyone else, would be met with infinite skepticism, given the absurdity of the statement. It was too big of a promise to be made to someone without titles or great military ranks.

But that is not an ordinary prisoner. The mere fact that he was brought to the catacombs means that he is an important prisoner in the eyes of the queen. And the fact that he is an ogre increases the impact of any words involving promises.

-Even if there is a promise, I couldn’t deliver it. I couldn’t go to Fiandel for you, young one.

Barsen cannot lift his head. He feels like he is about to pass out. The only thing that keeps him awake is the necessity to save that one last thing.

-Just pass the promise ahead. – He pleads. – Leave it with a messenger. I-

He wants to continue, but the words do not come out of his lips. The mere effort required to utter words in sequence is too much for his fragile situation.

Barsen closes his eyes, aware that he will soon be awakened by the blows of some soldier that will come to interrogate him.

The guard leaves the cell, placing himself next to the elf. His mind is troubled.

-How’s the prisoner? Did he say anything? Nehar?

The ogre is removed from his contemplative state upon hearing his name.

-What? What’s it?

-What happened? Did the prisoner do anything?

-Oh. No. – He replies, trying to convey a more casual tone. – I’m just tired, that’s all. Maybe I’ll ask someone to cover my shift sometime next week.

*

Immediately after Arthur’s awakening, Rinlia’s magic fell apart. Initially, there was no other sign of his power, except for the way he easily removed the Arachne from his own chest. Although light, the creatures still have the size of a wolf and their paws have just recently clung to their prey.

Arthur, however, did not even seem to recognize the existence of the spiders anymore. After opening his eyes, he did not even need to touch them for the creatures get weaker.

The Arachnes, like all irrational creatures, base their actions on instincts. When surrounding and attacking, their attitude is guided by the way they perceive that individual or group of individuals.

So, if they suddenly noticed a predator near their prey, their first reaction would be to disperse and seek shelter in a familiar environment.

What happened when Arthur awoke his powers, however, was an unprecedented situation for those spiders. After all, in the middle of an ambush, one of the preys suddenly became a predator. A strong one, capable of absorbing their vital energy.

The Arachnes, instead of running away, felt confused and some of them even decided to fight, in despair. In other words: Those who did not attacked him, were paralyzed for some time.

And what happened after that was a bloodbath. The influence of Arthur’s uncontrolled power greatly weakened those present – even his allies. The difference is that the prisoners and the Arachnes did not understand why their bodies became weaker, nor did they have time to understand the reason why their magical strengthening had stopped working.

Rinlia and Yvanna, taking advantage of the momentum generated by the boy’s attitude, killed two or three enemies per movement. Even Galaaz, after a moment of confusion, let himself be carried away by the excitement of the other two, throwing his body against the spiders and bathing in the bodies of the enemies. Despite being able to use magic, the combatants had the advantage of experience and battle techniques, so that their fights became unbalanced.

Arthur is in a state of pure ecstasy. He smiles triumphantly, with open arms, feeling the intoxicating energy that fuels his body. He feels how all the strength of the world passes through him and, when the powers disperse beyond his body, part of it stays with him – not all of it, because most of the power remain in the “river”.

The power that stays in his body gets bigger. And it does not stop. What was despair, suddenly becomes confidence. Success. Joy.

“Come on, you bastards. Come to me.” He thinks, walking slowly towards the bodies that, now, desperately launch themselves at him, trying to end the threat that suddenly appeared in the middle of that cornered group.

Arthur does not care about the fangs that inject poison into his arms and chest. He does not care about the movement of Rinlia’s sword, cutting the spiders over his body, in an attempt to protect him. He does not care about the danger and, actually, he does not care about success either. All he does care is about the power.

The power that invades his mind and mixes up with dreams. A mix of consciousness and unconsciousness, blurring the lines while the last of the enemies is defeated.

A power that gave him the victory; that intoxicates him and mixes with the poison in his body.

A power that throws Artur on the floor and wishes him goodnight.

*

*