The chains rattled heavily against the stone floor as Damon Fallenstar shifted his weight.
His vision began to blur as he strained, the cold metal biting into his wrists.
Across from him, Viktor Grim knelt, his bare chest heaving, sweat glistening on his skin, making his tattoos glow brighter.
"You're sweating," Damon observed, watching as a droplet traced a path down Viktor's temple. "Scared, are we?"
Viktor's red hair hung in damp strands around his face. He spat on the ground between them. "I don't get scared."
His voice wavered. It was barely a second before he masked it with a frown but Damon noticed it.
"Could've fooled me." Damon smiled.
Above them, the semi-circular ceiling of the ancient Persian temple loomed. It was adorned with carvings that shifted in the flickering light of the flame burning atop the central altar in the center of the room.
Sun symbols were etched into every surface, and elaborate murals depicted gods locked in eternal battle with demons.
A god, bathed in his glory, rode a sun chariot across the domed ceiling, his face frozen in a victorious snarl.
Around the perimeter of the room, the masked women in black robes continue to move in slow patterns. Their feet barely made a sound on the stone floor. The soft chanting filled the chamber with a hum that seemed to resonate weirdly in Damon's bones.
He yanked at the chains again. His muscles strained against the metal. The effort left him dizzy and weak, as if the chains were feeding on his strength. His energy level.
"These aren't ordinary bindings," Damon muttered, examining the strange symbols etched into the metal. "They're draining me somehow."
Viktor watched him with narrowed eyes. "We are demigods. What did you expect? A standard dungeon with standard chains?"
Damon's jaw tightened as he examined his situation. The chains were unbreakable by conventional means, and they seemed to weaken him the more he struggled.
Victor's gaze traveled down to his bound limbs, and a grim calculation formed in his mind.
"I could bite them off," he whispered with resignation.
Damon's head snapped up. "What?"
"My hands and feet. Bite them off and be free of these chains."
Damon stared at him in disbelief. "You're even more of an idiot than I thought."
"Just because you lack commitment."
"Because I lack insanity, you mean," Damon interrupted.
"And what would you do afterward, I wonder?" came a smooth voice from the shadows. "Drag yourself to freedom using your bloodied stumps?"
A figure emerged from between two of the dancing priestesses. Olive-skinned and elegant, the man wore a silk charcoal kaftan.
His hands were covered by fine leather gloves, and a gold signet ring bearing a sun disc crest gleamed on his finger.
"I'd rather drag myself through the seven hells than remain in bondage," Viktor replied, his voice a low growl.
The man smiled, revealing teeth too white, too perfect. "I am Nima," he said with a slight bow. "And you are in my temple."
His attention shifted to Viktor, and his smile faded. Without warning, he drove a fist into Viktor's face, sending blood spattering across the stone floor.
Viktor's head snapped back, but he made no sound beyond a grunt of pain.
"At least free him first," Damon said, watching as Nima struck Viktor again. "Give him a fighting chance rather than beating a chained man. Where's the sport in that?"
Nima paused, his gloved fist pulled back for another blow.
Blood dripped from Viktor's split lip and broken nose, but his eyes remained defiant.
"Sport?" Nima chuckled. "This isn't sport. This is punishment. He stole something quite valuable from me."
He struck Viktor again, this time in the ribs. The crack of bone echoed through the chamber.
"He should have fled beyond the seventh circle, but he was too proud, weren't you, Viktor?"
Viktor spat blood onto Nima's polished boots. "Go fuck yourself."
Nima's face darkened, and he raised his fist again when a soft voice interrupted.
"Master Nima," called a dark-haired servant from the entrance to the temple. "Your daughter is approaching."
Nima frowned deeply.
"Ah, Asher," he sighed, lowering his fist. "The timing is inconvenient. Alright then. Bring her here. "
The servant bowed and retreated, his footsteps silent against the stone.
Nima wiped the blood from his gloves with a handkerchief.
"The rebels' activities are becoming problematic for my business. Burned three of my caravans last week alone."
He regarded Damon with renewed interest.
"Tell me, Damon Fallenstar, do you know anything about Persian gods?"
"I don't fancy any type of gods," Damon replied, shifting his weight to relieve the pressure on his knees. "Persian or otherwise."
"On that," Viktor smiled through swollen lips, "we agree."
Nima's loud laughter echoed against the stone walls, startling the dancing priestesses who momentarily faltered in their steps before resuming their hypnotic movements.
"How amusing," Nima said, gesturing to the vast space around them. "You are currently bound in the temple of Mithra, the Persian god of contracts under the sun. He ensures that all agreements are honored, all debts paid."
He circled the central altar, running his fingers along the eternal flame without being burned.
He pointed at one of the sun symbols etched boldly on the altar. It was a Golden Lion.
"One of my father's favorite symbols. I am his sixth son and the only one who actually gave a shit about the old guy."
"Is there a point to this history lesson?" Damon asked, feeling the chains draw more of his energy with each passing moment.
"Indeed, there is," Nima replied, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "The only way for you to leave this temple is to make a deal with me."
"I'm poor," Damon stated flatly. "If it's money you want…"
Nima waved a dismissive hand. "I do not need whatever meager coins you might possess. I am wealthier than I want to be."
"Then what do you want?"
The eternal flame flickered, casting Nima's face in stark relief.
For a moment, his face turned very sour. It was like he regretted whatever he was about to do next.
"I want you to kill someone for me," he said simply.
Damon's laughter was bitter. "And here I thought you wanted something difficult."
Viktor snorted.
"Not just anyone," Nima continued, ignoring Viktor. "A mysterious and dangerous individual. Lady X"
Damon flinched. He remembered the blue eyed girl. The Arena. Anger burned through his veins.
"She is a pain in your ass too?" He asked.
"You could say that. She's... resistant to my business expansion plans."
"You mean your slave trading," Viktor spat.
Nima's eyes flashed with something dangerous. "I prefer to think of it as talent acquisition."
One of the masked priestesses approached, bearing a silver tray with a small knife and a golden bowl. She knelt beside Nima, head bowed in reverence.
"She fancies herself a protector of the weak," Nima continued, taking the knife from the tray. "She's gathered quite the following. They call themselves the Children of the Sun."
"The human rebels," Damon concluded.
"Indeed. They've become quite troublesome."
Nima examined the knife's edge. "Kill her and her cohorts, and I'll not only free you both but pay you a million gold coins."
"And if we refuse?" Viktor asked.
The priestess began to chant louder, her voice rising above the others. The eternal flame on the altar flared suddenly, casting long shadows across the temple floor.
"Then you remain here until you wither away," Nima replied with a shrug. "The chains will feed on your energy until nothing remains of you but husks. A slow death, I can assure you."
"I've had worse offers," Damon muttered.
Viktor shifted, wincing at the pain in his ribs. "Who exactly is this Lady X?"
"I have no idea myself." He shrugged." Not even her close circle knows what she looks like behind the mask."
"Sounds like an issue you should resolve yourself," Damon said.
Nima's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I would, but unfortunately, there are... limitations to what I can do regarding my status. Divine rules, you understand."
"I thought you'd be above such things, being a god's son and all," Viktor remarked.
"Even gods have rules, Viktor Grim. Especially demigods. I can't just waltz after them and slaughter the humans."
Nima approached Damon, knife in hand. "So, do we have a deal?"