Heroes to Hunted

Chapter 102 I Need A Knife

?With each step, the staircase echoed a resounding clack that reverberated throughout the rough-hewn limestone walls, which scraped against my palms as I felt my way down.

The occasional drip of dew from the ceiling above accompanied my hushed breaths as I traveled. However, I stopped when I noticed my right hand running slick with moisture.

Pulling my palm to view; a distinct dark crimson sheen covered it. The familiar smell of copper emanated from it, filling my nostrils with every breath.

'Blood...' I stopped to consider my options and check my surroundings.

With each flicker of lamp light, I noticed numerous more bloodstains lining the floors and walls. A path of crimson lined the stairs, traveling deeper and deeper into the dungeon.

'Shit, is Joseph dead?! Did that idiot get himself killed?!' I grit my teeth in frustration.

My thoughts were soon disturbed by repeated thuds and grunting.

"Just. Tell. Me. What. I. Want. To. KNOW!" after each word was the crash of a heavy fist striking flesh.

When the beating ceased, a familiar voice followed a series of violent coughing. "F-Fuck you, ho-how 'bout that?" a familiar voice laughed but soon cried out in pain.

"Fuck me?" the other voice bellowed, the vibrations permeating the stale air. "You killed MY men! FUCK YOU!"

I took cover behind a corner and peered inside.

It was a large room, one spanning far enough for several steel-barred cells, all carved into the stone walls and capable of occupying a couple captives each. From what I could tell, the room was one that hadn't seen much maintenance for many years. Massive dust pockets and particles lined the walls and ceiling, particularly the cells within.

'So much for humane prisoner treatment,' I sighed. 'And I won't even question why there's a damn dungeon here...'

Most were open, with the lone exception of a single cage.

Within it was a quietly sobbing blonde woman. She was curled up in a corner, her face obscured from view as she hid herself from reality. Like I once was, she was clothed with tattered rags and a collar, a clear giveaway she was from the manor.

'Looks like the infamous prisoner.'

Dozens of reinforced wood pillars rose up from the wooden-planked floor, their sturdy forms supporting the weight of the homestead above. Each held a metal-encased glass lantern, casting a warm glow over the scene and illuminating the damp, musty air of the underground chamber.

In the middle of the room, Joseph was strapped to an angled wooden torture rack. Around him were several armored bodies. Their blood streaked across the floor from various puncture wounds.

'The kid did this?!' I thought, genuinely impressed. 'With a little maturity and experience, he could be a hell of a fighter.'

Three injured guards were huddled in the corner, pressuring wounds through their cut leather armor and groaning. Meanwhile, the captain and Vincent hovered over Joseph like vultures picking at a carcass.

"TELL ME WHERE YOU CAME FROM!" the captain raised his hand for another strike but was halted by Vincent's cane.

"S-Sir?" the captain quizzically stared at Vincent.

"Cease this, will you?" Vincent sighed, pulling the captain's hand away. "I don't prefer my meals too tender."

The captain begrudgingly stepped back, but his scowl turned to a satisfied smirk as Vincent closed in.

"M-Meal?" Joseph exchanged eye contact with Vincent.

"Indeed, Dear Boy," Vincent smiled, revealing the four razor fangs protruding from his gums. "The journey here had me famished, so I'm afraid you'll have to do."

"No, NO! Stay away from me!" Joseph panicked while tugging against the leather bindings that had him latched tightly to the rack. His efforts were in vain.

"Ensure I'm not disturbed," Vincent ordered the captain, then sunk his teeth into Joseph's neck. A distinct glugging sound followed as he forcibly drained Joseph's crimson essence, causing his body to tremble.

I saw myself in Joseph's shoes. A dungeon, a torture rack, being slain as a mere meal to feast on. Yes, this was a scene I wished never to see again. The only difference; Joseph was bound for death, whereas I escaped.

Or he would've been bound for death if my legs hadn't acted of their own accord and leaped out from the shadows. "Get the fuck away from him!" is what I wanted to scream, but my soldier's instincts knew better.

I made a silent but hasty approach, the only noise created by the patter of my shoes against the stone floor. I readied a deep vertical attack for the guard captain, who was closest to me.

Sadly, the fight wouldn't be so easy. An injured guard shouted, "Cap! Behind you!" to which he responded with a surprise turn and slash for my belly.

The captain smirked and took a robust duelist's stance with his longsword, saying, "You must be one of his filthy friends. I'll enjoy killing you."

Vincent remained transfixed on his target, draining blood as if siphoning gas from a fuel tank, despite my presence. His glowing yellow eyes were glossed over and faded as if in a deep trance.

Joseph groaned in place and lost more color to his skin, its vibrancy growing increasingly sickly with pallor after every passing second.

I clenched my teeth in frustration, thinking, 'Goddammit, get out of my way!' while glaring fiercely at the captain.

He noticed my impatience and mocked me. "Oh, what? Worried for your friend? It's fine; you two will DIE TOGETHER!" Then he charged towards me, raised his sword, and threw slash after slash.

The guard's skill with the blade put me at a blatant disadvantage, and I struggled to find the correct posture or balance of form.

He struck, and struck, and struck again, sparks flying off the blades as loud clangs echoed off the walls. A step forward followed each of his heavy strikes, forcing me backward bit by bit as his fury clashed against my guard.

"What's the matter?!" he fiendishly cackled, "lost your nerve already?!"

Responding to his taunt was impossible, as I concentrated all my efforts on evading and redirecting his strikes. He launched a sudden thrust, and I angled my blade for another redirection. However, a discarded sword on the floor caught the heel of my foot, forcing me to stumble momentarily.

After that, a searing, throbbing sensation appeared on my flesh as crimson sprayed out. "FUCK!" I shouted, pressuring the new wound in my side.

"Heh, too easy," the guard smirked, ripping the sword from my side.

This was a losing battle, the waterfall of blood pouring forth from my side assured that. Though I struggled, death was certain unless I found a weapon I had trained with. Despite my injury, I knew one thing would change the tides in my favor. One thing would set me on the path to victory.

'I need a knife.'