Song awoke to a suffocating haze of dust and sand clogging his nose and mouth. Each breath was a battle, his lungs burning as he coughed violently, spitting gritty clumps onto the cold, uneven stone floor. The cave's air was thick with the scent of damp earth and despair, pressing against his chest like an invisible weight. His body ached, bruises pulsing beneath his tattered clothes, a testament to the rough treatment he'd endured. The slave collar around his neck, usually a tight leash on his power, lay dormant, its silence both a relief and a mystery.
"Kha-kha-kha!" The sound tore from his throat, raw and involuntary, echoing off the jagged walls.
"Ha! Look at that, brother! He's awake!" a mocking voice sliced through the dimness, sharp with glee. "Told you, a face full of sand works every time!"
"Enough, Kael," another voice cut in, calm but heavy with authority, like a blade sheathed in silk.
"You don't get it, brother. Look at his tattoo!" Kael's laughter was cruel, a blade twisting in Song's pride. "One stripe? He's practically a newborn! Can this loser even wipe his own ass?"
The taunting laughter ignited a spark of rage in Song's chest. His vision blurred, still clouded by dust, but he squinted toward the voice, desperate to see his tormentor. The cave's flickering torchlight revealed only vague shadows, their forms distorted against the rough-hewn walls. The air pulsed with malice, as if the cave itself shared Kael's scorn. Song's heart pounded, his hands clenching into fists, nails biting into his palms. Who does this bastard think he is?
"Hey, weakling!" Kael's voice dripped with contempt. "One stripe at your age? The gods must've cradled you in their arms!"
Song lurched toward the voice, driven by defiance, but a brutal strike to his ear sent him sprawling. Pain exploded in his skull, a deafening hum drowning out the world. Warm blood trickled down his neck, pooling at his collarbone, its coppery scent mingling with the cave's damp musk. The cave spun, its jagged walls blurring into a gray haze. Song's knees buckled, his body screaming in protest as he fought to stay conscious. I won't let him win, he thought, gripping the stone floor to ground himself.
"Leave him alone," the second voice snapped, steady and commanding. "We've got bigger problems than this kid."
The speaker's tone carried the weight of a seasoned martial artist, someone whose presence alone could silence a room. Song clung to that voice, a faint anchor in the chaos of his pounding head. Who is he? he wondered, his thoughts sluggish. The man's strength felt like a distant storm—calm now, but capable of unleashing devastation. Song's tattoo, a single stripe on his forearm, pulsed faintly, urging him to endure.
Time slipped like sand through his fingers. Minutes, maybe hours, passed in a haze. Wiping dust from his eyes, Song took in his surroundings. The cave was low-ceilinged, its walls slick with moisture that glistened in the dim torchlight. Shadows danced across the stone, revealing a crowd of slaves scattered across the floor. Most sat alone, their faces etched with fear or resignation, while small clusters of two or three whispered in hushed tones. The air was heavy with the stench of sweat and hopelessness. Song scanned their faces, searching for anyone familiar, but found none. Have I been moved? The thought sent a chill through his bones, colder than the stone beneath him.
His ear throbbed, a dull reminder of Kael's blow. His gaze swept the cave, landing on his attacker: a young man, perhaps a few years older, lounging with crossed legs and arms. Kael's smirk was unmistakable, his eyes glinting with malice, like a predator toying with prey. The tattoo on his arm—four bold, black stripes—marked him as a Fourth Overlord, a rare talent for a slave so young. Song's single stripe felt like a brand of shame in comparison. One stripe, he thought bitterly. A mark of weakness in their eyes.
"What're you staring at, loser?" Kael taunted, his grin widening, sharp as a blade.
Song's blood boiled. This was the bastard who'd kicked sand in his face and struck him. He wanted to lunge again, to wipe that smug look off Kael's face, but the memory of that crushing blow held him back. His eyes flicked to the man beside Kael, leaning against the wall, his gaze fixed on a distant iron gate. The man's features were hard to discern in the dim light, but his aura radiated power—likely a Fifth Overlord, or higher. He's dangerous, Song thought, his stomach twisting. They both are.
"Keep staring at my brother, and I'll make you regret it," Kael sneered. "Eyes on the floor, worm."
"Go to hell," Song muttered, his voice low but laced with defiance.
Kael's eyes flashed with fury. A wave of oppressive energy surged from him, thick and suffocating, like a storm breaking over Song. It was the power of a Fourth Overlord, far beyond Song's meager First Overlord strength. The pressure was overwhelming, as if Kael could crush him with a single thought. Song's knees buckled, and he pressed himself against the ground, summoning every ounce of his tattoo's faint power to resist. The single stripe on his arm pulsed weakly, its energy barely enough to shield him from the onslaught.
The impact hit like a tidal wave. Song's vision warped, colors bleeding into a gray haze. Pain seared through his body, each wave threatening to drag him under. His muscles screamed, and his mind teetered on the edge of oblivion. I won't break, he thought, gritting his teeth, his nails digging into the stone. Not to him. Only sheer willpower kept him conscious, his body trembling under the assault.
"Damn it, Kael! What the hell are you doing?" the older man's voice roared, sharp with anger, cutting through the haze.
It was the last thing Song heard before the energy overwhelmed him, pulling him into darkness.
When awareness crept back, the pain had dulled to a manageable ache, though his body felt like it had been dragged through a battlefield. His tattoo's weak energy had worked its slow magic, knitting his battered flesh back together. Blinking against the dim light, Song realized the cave felt different—emptier. Kael sat nearby, hugging his knees, staring blankly ahead, his eyes wide with a terror that hadn't been there before. The confident bully was gone, replaced by a trembling shell.
What happened while I was out? Song wondered, unease coiling in his chest like a serpent. The crowd of slaves had thinned significantly. Kael's brother was gone, along with many others. The remaining slaves looked shaken, their faces pale and drawn, as if they'd seen something horrific. Are they moving us? Selling us? The possibilities churned in his mind, each worse than the last. The air felt heavier now, thick with unspoken fear, like a storm about to break.
Leaning against the cave wall, Song closed his eyes and focused on his tattoo. Its single stripe pulsed faintly, sending tendrils of soothing energy through his bruised body. The cave's chill seeped into his bones, and the distant drip of water echoed like a heartbeat in the silence. He pictured the tattoo glowing on his arm, a faint ember of hope in this wretched place. I have to survive this, he told himself. Whatever this is. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get him back on his feet.
Time dragged on, each moment stretching into eternity. The cave's oppressive silence was broken only by the occasional whimper or shuffle from the other slaves. Song's mind raced, piecing together fragments of his situation. The slave collar's dormancy puzzled him—why was it allowing his power to flow? Is it broken? Or… intentional? The thought gnawed at him, a puzzle with no clear answer.
Then, the iron gate creaked open, its groan echoing like a death knell. Two warriors in sleek black armor, their faces hidden behind visors, stepped inside. Their presence was a blade in the air, sharp and unyielding. Without a word, they pointed at several slaves, their gloved fingers landing on Song and Kael among others. Song's heart sank, a cold dread pooling in his gut.
"No! Please! I have spirit stones—take them! Take anything! Just pick someone else!" Kael wailed, collapsing into hysteria. His face was a mess of dirt, snot, and tears, his voice cracking with desperation. He thrashed on the ground, refusing to stand, his cries echoing like a wounded animal's in the cavern's hollow expanse.
Song watched with cold disdain, his lips curling. Pathetic. The same guy who'd mocked him mercilessly was now a trembling wreck, his arrogance shattered. You deserve this fear, Song thought, a flicker of satisfaction cutting through his own dread.
The warriors exchanged a glance, their patience clearly worn thin. One raised a hand, and a pulse of energy rippled through the air, sharp and commanding. Kael's body jerked violently, his jaw snapping shut with an audible crack. His eyes glazed over, and he rose like a marionette, moving toward the gate with stiff, unnatural steps. Song felt the slave collar around his own neck tighten, a sharp reminder of his powerlessness. Swallowing hard, he followed, his legs heavy but obedient.
The group emerged into a vast cavern, its arched ceiling carved with meticulous precision, as if by hands not entirely human. The air grew warmer, heavier, suggesting they were descending deeper into the earth. Song's legs ached, but he kept pace, his eyes darting to the tunnel walls. They were smooth, almost polished, their surfaces reflecting the faint torchlight in eerie glimmers. Who built this place? he wondered, his mind racing with possibilities. And for what purpose? The craftsmanship was too perfect, too deliberate, for a mere prison.
The tunnel stretched on, twisting through a labyrinth of dark passages. Song tried to track their path, but the turns and branches quickly disoriented him. The air grew stifling, each breath a labor, as if the earth itself was pressing down on them. The other slaves marched in silence, their faces pale, their eyes hollow. Even Kael, still caught in the warriors' control, moved with a jerky gait, his trembling barely contained.
Song's thoughts churned. Where are they taking us? The uncertainty gnawed at him, but he forced himself to stay calm, to observe. The warriors' armor gleamed faintly, its black surface etched with subtle runes that pulsed with a faint energy. Their silence was unnerving, their movements precise, like predators herding prey. Song's tattoo tingled, a faint warning of danger, but he had no choice but to follow.
As they marched deeper, Song's unease grew. The tunnel's walls seemed to close in, the air growing thicker, warmer, almost suffocating. The faint hum of energy pulsed through the stone, a rhythm that matched his racing heartbeat. This place is alive, he thought, a shiver running down his spine. And it's watching us.
The tunnel opened into a colossal grotto, its ceiling adorned with glowing blue runes that cast a soft, ethereal light across the vast space. Song squinted at the glyphs, their intricate patterns unfamiliar and unsettling. They seemed to pulse in rhythm, as if alive, their light reflecting off the smooth stone walls. The grotto stretched for kilometers, its scale defying comprehension—no pillars, no supports, just an impossible expanse of stone and shadow. This isn't natural, Song thought, his heart pounding. This place… it's wrong.