“Garth!” an angry voice broke the silence, and as it did, a very bloody fist froze midair with bits of blonde hair, bone fragments, and a nasty gray-colored substance splattered all over it, “I told you not to kill him!” and Brow came running over while his eagle eyes stared menacingly at the giant of a man who seemed to still be in a murderous daze.

“Sorry,” mumbled Garth, but he didn’t sound sorry at all. He slowly got up and began wiping his hands on his shirt, and the smeared gore made him look even more terrifying than he had been before.

“Fuck!” Brow yelled as he kicked Jonas’ body over with his foot and looked at the mangled face in disgust. If anyone from Earth had seen Jonas at that moment, they probably would have fainted. His perfect teeth were half gone, his lips were split in two, his nose was like a crushed egg, while his face looked like a hunk of bloody meat that had been left out in the sun. There was not a semblance of Jonas Ariel left on that face, and perhaps even his brother would be unable to recognize him, “You stupid fuck!” screamed Brow, “He’s as good as dead!”

“He wasn’t any good as a dummy anyway,” Garth growled as he grew increasingly impatient with his captor.

“I could have fucking sold him then!” Brow yelled, “A face like that could net me thousands of stones.”

“You should have done that in the first place,” Garth reasoned, “However, now the crocs will have a very good meal,” and although he was fuming on the inside and although he wanted to continue berating the big man, there was no point, and Brow knew what was done had been done, so instead he gestured to a few of his thugs.

“Bring him out and throw him to the crocs,” to which they approached the corpse and began heaving it up.

“Boss,” one of them said, “This one’s still alive, I can feel his heartbeat,” and Brow ran over at top speed, his long finger trying to search for a pulse.

“I don’t fucking believe it,” he was wide-eyed and incredibly shocked, “Half his fucking brain is hanging out and he’s still breathing?” and his mind began to consider the options. Brow understood the laws of the Overworld better than anyone, he knew how fast the average slave healed, and he knew how far gone a person in Hell looked before they were deemed hopeless. Twenty years he had spent in the Inferno, and he had never seen someone as badly damaged as Jonas still living.

Originally he had no big plans for Jonas, simply throw him into the lake and see if he would sink or swim. Sure, Brow could have sold him as a sex slave, but the eagle-eye gangster was an expert on finding fighters, not lovers. It seemed that Brow had a choice to make, one that would decide Jonas’ fate.

“Boss?” One of the thugs asked.

“Don’t throw him to the crocs,” Brow ordered, “Put him back in his cage and let’s see if he can overcome it,” and those men carrying the body shivered slightly as they realized how much kinder it would have been to just throw Jonas over the ledge of Little Wrath City and let the monsters end his misery in one bloody gulp.

Those small-time goons, however, didn’t have the authority to argue back, and they began carrying Jonas by his shoulders and legs out of the training room and back into the prison quarters where all the slaves were held.

“What’s the point?” Garth asked, “He’s not coming back from that.”

“Shut the fuck up, Garth,” said Brow, “You’ll be lucky if you get to eat for the rest of the week,” and Garth nearly exploded on the spot, but he managed to keep his cool.

“Why do you care so much about one little dummy?” Garth asked, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get this worked up before, did you know him or something?” and Brow gave him a menacing glare.

“You don’t know shit about value, and you definitely couldn’t spot a diamond in the dirt if you fucking stubbed your toe on it,” to which Garth made an extremely ugly expression, “I’ve always had an eye for talent,” said Brow, “And when that old bastard offered to pay off his gambling debt by selling me that kid, I could just tell that he had value.”

“I don’t get it,” said Garth, “Is it just because he’s handsome?”

“Young, handsome, fearless, and guts made of fucking steel,” said Brow, “It’s hard to find someone like that, even in Hell,” and he asked, “Why do you think slavery even exists?” Garth contemplated for a moment, but his Neanderthal-like thought process could only come up with one solution.

“For work?”

“Value,” said Brow, “We enslave other human beings simply because they are valuable in some way, and we want to maximize that value. Take you for example,” he added, “You’re big, strong, ugly, and have bones made of fucking titanium. As a sex slave I’d have to fucking pay someone to take you, but as a gladiator?” he smiled wickedly, “People all over Hell are offering half their life savings for you. Don’t you see, this is what I mean by value.”

“I think I get it,” and even someone as dimwitted as Garth could eventually catch on, “People want their slaves to have certain characteristics, and they’ll pay good money to buy them.”

“You’re not as dumb as you look,” said Brow with a slightly approving nod, “Whether it’s a sex slave or an athletic talent, that boy is almost just as valuable as you, and perhaps if he were to be trained up a bit, he would be worth even more,” and he sighed to himself as he could only imagine how large the crowds would be when people all over Hell came to his fights just to get a glimpse of a cage fighter who fought like Achilles but had the face of an angel.

“If he was so valuable,” began Garth stupidly, “Why the hell did you assign him to me?” and his question caused Brow to nearly explode on the spot.

“I wanted to test him, you stupid ogre!” Brow screamed, “I wanted to see what he was made of, I wanted to see how he would act when pitted against the best fighter we have to offer!”

“Opse,” Garth chuckled dryly, “Don’t worry so much, you’ll find another one.”

“Fucking half-wit,” Brow gritted his teeth, “The kid did pretty well.”

“So what,” said Garth, “Even if he survives, at the end of the day he’s just a tiny little boy who happened to be pretty quick.”

“You oaf,” said Brow, “That tiny little boy kicked you so hard in the jaw you fell on your ass.”

“He caught me off guard, that’s all,” said Garth who would never admit that someone half his size had caused him damage. Brow simply scoffed as he left the training room and followed after his thugs, who were lowering Jonas onto the floor of his cage.

“Jonas!” Simon cried out in shock as he looked in disbelief at the mangled body of his neighbor. His stomach fell, and he felt rather nauseous when he realized that bits of brain matter were visible from the back of Jonas’ smashed skull.

“He’s not dead yet,” said Brow who came to the side of the cage, while his thugs locked it and saluted him.

“I thought you said the leader didn’t want you to waste any more slaves?” Due to his anger, Simon was pushing his luck by talking to Brow in that accusatory tone of voice.

“Fuck off slave, or I’ll put you in the arena with Garth next,” and Brow added, “The boy isn’t dead yet, I want to see if he can come back from that beating on his own.”

“You mean you’re just gonna leave him like that?” Simon looked at Brow in disbelief, “Can’t you get him some medicines?”

“Don’t get so uppity just because your Ahmed’s favorite bag,” Brow glared daggers at Simon, “I’m not going to waste precious resources on a half-dead corpse just because you like him,” but this was a lie because if Brow had the authority to use precious medicines, he would most definitely use them to ensure Jonas’ survival.

“Just watch him,” said Brow, “Talk to him or something, maybe you can be his cheerleader,” and although it sounded like he was just being an asshole, on the inside he did want Jonas to push through because although he had illusions of grandeur in his mind none of them would ever be possible if Jonas didn’t survive. Brow then turned on the spot and marched out of the prison room and disappeared behind the door which closed with a loud bang.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” said Simon as he shook his head gently, “I was praying for you to pull through, my first friend in Hell.”

Simon recalled how nearly an hour ago Jonas had been in that cage alive and well, and he couldn’t help but remember that once handsome face that made him jealous, and his thoughts about how he and Jonas had shared their experiences, talking about their lives before Hell.

Although he wouldn’t necessarily call them best friends, he and Jonas were at least the closest thing to friends that you could find in Little Wrath City, two people who’ve both had the shit kicked out of them by life and were locked into cages for the amusement of others. This was basically how the strongest bonds were formed when in the Inferno, “Didn’t you say you wanted to see your brother again?” Simon asked quietly, he could barely see the heaving of Jonas’ chest that was rising and falling with the slightest movement, “Didn’t you say you had a mission?”

“Oh give it a rest, Simon,” a slave who was caged next to Simon and Jonas had grown irritated, “The kid is going to die, and there is no grand speech that will bring him back.”

“Fuck off, Johnson,” Simon growled rather uncharacteristically, “There’s always some dickhead like you who thinks kicking other slaves down will make himself feel better.”

“Oh fucking Christ,” Johnson pushed his long-matted hair out of his face, “How many times do I have to tell you not to make friends, and how many times do they have to die before you realize that I’m right?”

“So fucking what?” Simon glared devilishly at him, his rat-like features became rather dangerous in his anger, “Maybe I’m a fool, but at least I’m trying to make the best of my situation. If you want to die as a lonely miserable slave, that’s on you Johnson, but I’m not cool with that.”

“Foolish guy,” Johnson snorted in disbelief, “Even if he survives, it’s not like you can trust anyone in Hell, no one has your back.”

“You’re still talking to me?” Simon was growing impatient, “You just said not to make friends, and yet here you are trying to converse with me,” he added, “Which is it, you hypocrite?”

“Fine,” Johnson freely admitted, “I did feel sorry for you, but it’s become apparent that you don’t know how to appreciate my kindness.”

“Oh I’ve known you for months now and kindness is not one of your specialties,” and Johnson shrugged his shoulders but didn’t reply. The two of them simply stared at Jonas’ dying body while they waited for dinner to be served.

Sometimes Simon would once again try whispering words of encouragement, but it seemed that nothing he said could stir the comatose Jonas, and he knew that it might be days, or weeks before he awoke, and he also knew there was a good chance that Jonas might never wake up at all, “It’s not fair,” Simon said aloud, “He should have been on the fifth floor, it’s not fair that he’s dying in a cage. He’s just a kid.”

“Hell isn’t fair,” Johnson mumbled, “Never has, never will be. If you make smart choices, you’ll survive. If not, you end up like poor Jonas over here.”