Ghaah! Astar suddenly gasped sharply, as if he had been yanked out of the water after a long submersion. His chest rose in spasms, his lungs burned as if he had just run a marathon. He flung his eyes open in shock, frantically looking around, but saw nothing. Around him was absolute, impenetrable darkness.

  "I’m alive! I’m still alive!"

  That thought flared up first, like a spark of hope. His heart pounded wildly, his mind, stunned, struggled to grasp what had just happened. A wave of relief washed over him—the sheer joy of realizing he was still breathing, that his body responded, that this was not the end.

  But the relief did not last long. The weight of reality, or whatever this was, crashed down on him again.

  "Where am I?!"

  The darkness was thick, like a black veil covering everything around him. Beneath his feet, he felt a cold, damp, uneven stone floor, and behind him—a wall. Quickly patting himself down, he realized he was still wearing his pajamas.

  The next moment, a stench so foul hit his nostrils that it nearly doubled him over. It was so overpowering it felt like it seeped into his lungs, leaving behind a putrid residue. A revolting mixture of human sweat, pus, urine, and something else—something far worse.

  "Shit… Bugh!" he groaned, grimacing and pinching his nose in an attempt to keep from gagging.

  But even with his nostrils clamped shut, the stench was so intense it made his stomach churn. For a moment, he clenched his teeth to suppress the urge to retch, but his body trembled from the effort.

  And then, suddenly, he heard something.

  In the absolute silence that had enveloped him before, faint sounds emerged. A cough. A rustle. A whisper that echoed, as if from somewhere distant.

  Astar strained his ears, trying to catch anything comprehensible, but the murmurs were chaotic, unintelligible.

  "What’s going on? What is this place?!"

  A sudden realization pierced his mind, and a cold sweat ran down his spine.

  "I’ve been kidnapped?!"

  His brain instantly began piecing together theories.

  "Someone must’ve found out about the deal. Thought I was an easy target. Damn it, they must have been watching me… It was too easy for them. Wanted to shake me down for money, but looks like they overdid it with the drugs!"

  He clenched his fists, trying to maintain composure.

  "Alright. Stay calm, Astar. First, figure out where you are. Then wait for a chance to get out. Step one: find out what’s happening here."

  "Hey!" he called out, forcing his voice through the scratchiness in his throat caused by the rancid air. His voice echoed dully off the walls. "Who’s there? What do you want?!"

  No answer. Only the coughing grew louder, and from somewhere to the side came a sharp noise—metal scraping against stone.

  A minute passed. Then another…

  Astar listened intently, waiting for any response, but instead, he was surrounded by that eerie cacophony—coughing, whispers, sounds of movement, as if someone was dragging something heavy.

  His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. Gradually, he began to make out shapes around him: rough stone walls riddled with cracks, a wet, slimy floor. He realized he was sitting with his back against a cold wall. Around him, vague silhouettes flickered—many silhouettes.

  The only light that managed to pierce this wretched place came from above, through a small opening in the ceiling. The beam was dim, as if moonlight barely reached into the depths of this dungeon. Astar strained his vision, trying to make out the figures whispering and coughing nearby.

  "Hey!" he called out again, struggling to keep the tremor out of his voice. "Who are you? Where am I, and what do you want from me?!"

  This time, he got a response. But the words he heard were completely foreign, as if someone was speaking in an unknown language. It was a hoarse, low voice, and it sounded frighteningly close.

  "Karshak… draha… mkhar…"

  Astar froze, trying to make sense of the words, but he couldn’t even guess their meaning.

  "What? What did you say?!" he shouted, but no further reply came.

  Only then did he realize that the figures around him looked just as much like prisoners as he did. But something about it was deeply strange. They didn’t seem like wealthy captives… If anything, they looked like vagrants—people who hadn’t seen soap or hot water in years.

  "What the hell is going on here?!" Astar cursed inwardly, forcing himself to stay calm.

  Time dragged on painfully, until something strange began to happen. Faint orange flickers appeared on the ceiling—the first rays of dawn filtering through the opening. The room slowly filled with warm light, revealing everything that had been shrouded in darkness.

  And what Astar saw made his stomach turn.

  More than two dozen figures sat on the stone floor. Their bodies were emaciated, their faces caked in grime, their clothes hanging in tattered shreds. Some clutched their knees, others lay motionless, barely breathing. Their eyes stared into emptiness, void of hope, void of emotion. The place itself resembled a medieval dungeon, with iron bars in place of one of the walls.

  But the most terrifying thing was that among them were creatures that simply could not exist. These were definitely not humans!

  "What the hell?!" he cursed, instinctively scrambling backward in fear, only to accidentally bump into a filthy man whose face was covered in scars. The man shot him a cold, harsh look and shoved him away.

  In one of the corners sat a creature that resembled an anthropomorphic lizard, draped in the same tattered gray garments. Beside it was a hunched figure that looked like… a twisted skeleton. But it wasn’t a "bare" human skeleton—alongside its bones, it had something resembling flesh. Or rather, it was a being whose "muscles" were made of interwoven bone plates and ridges, tightly fused together. Its skull had sharp angles and protrusions, and in its eye sockets, two red embers burned. And the worst part—it was breathing.

  Astar swallowed hard, his breathing turning fast and shallow.

  "What the hell… Have I lost my mind?!" he muttered, trying to make sense of it all.

  But the brutal realism of the situation—and the fact that he was still in his pajamas—told him otherwise. It really looked like he had been kidnapped. But if that was the case, then what were these terrifying creatures doing here with him?!

  Before Astar could even begin to process it, footsteps echoed in the distance. Slow, deliberate, heavy, with a metallic clank—someone was walking across the stone floor in heavy boots. The sound grew closer, growing clearer, and was soon joined by another—a rhythmic jingling of iron keys clashing together.

  "Who is that?" Astar whispered, trying to remain still, but his heart pounded violently in his chest.

  Moments later, someone stepped up to the cage, immediately drawing all attention. It was a tall guard, dressed like a medieval warrior. His black metal armor looked crude, and a sheathed sword hung at his waist. But what shocked Astar most wasn’t the armor.

  The guard wasn’t human either.

  His skin was a dark crimson shade, nearly blending into the surrounding gloom. Two straight horns jutted from his forehead, looking as if they had been ripped from a goat. His irises were blood-red, and though his gaze wasn’t directed at Astar, it sent a shiver of raw terror through him.

  "Karshak t’vara," the guard spoke in the same unfamiliar language, scanning the cell’s occupants with a look of distaste. His voice was deep, resonant, as if it rumbled up from the very earth itself.

  He unlocked the iron-barred door with a long key that hung from his belt. The door groaned open with a harsh screech, and the being stepped inside, scrutinizing the prisoners. Then, with a sharp motion of his hand, he uttered a few more words.

  All who could still move began to rise. Some slowly, with groans and ragged breaths, others faster, their eyes filled with fear. It was clear they knew what would happen if they didn’t comply. Even the monstrous creatures among them stood, not showing the slightest hint of resistance.

  Astar sat motionless, his thoughts racing like a caged animal.

  "Now is not the time to panic. Stay calm. Panic will only make things worse."

  He clenched his teeth and forced himself to stand. His body was slightly numb after hours of sitting on the cold stone floor, but he gathered what strength he had left and moved along with the others, trying not to draw attention to himself.

  The guard swept an indifferent gaze over them, muttered something under his breath, and the prisoners obediently began shuffling toward the exit of the cell. Astar stayed at the back of the group, trying to make sense of what was happening. His eyes kept flicking toward the strange creatures among them. They moved like humans, but their appearance, their very nature—everything about them felt foreign, unnatural.

  "What is this place? Where the hell am I?!" The panic in his mind grew stronger, but he forced himself to suppress it again.

  As the group neared the exit, Astar noticed the guard’s gaze suddenly lock onto him. The creature frowned, its red eyes narrowing, as if it had just realized something—or as if it was displeased.

  "Kur-karsak!" the guard suddenly barked, pointing directly at Astar and spitting out a few more words in its strange language.

  Astar froze, a chill running down his spine.

  "Did he figure something out? Or did he just notice that I don’t look like the others?!"

  "I… I don’t understand…" he stammered, taking a step back and raising his hands in an attempt to show he wasn’t a threat.

  The guard ignored his gestures, stepping closer and speaking again—louder this time, his voice filled with irritation.

  Not knowing what else to do, Astar hurriedly nodded, hoping it would calm the creature.

  "Alright, alright… I’ll follow the others, okay?"

  But in the next instant, the guard’s hand flared with a faint, mist-like glow. Before Astar could even comprehend what was happening, the creature struck him with a devastating blow straight to the stomach.

  BAM!

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  "Khaa!" Astar doubled over, letting out a strangled cry. Pain seared through his body like molten iron, and he collapsed to his knees. Nausea overtook him, and he couldn’t hold back—he vomited right onto the stone floor.

  He gasped for air, clutching his abdomen, while the guard looked down at him with what seemed like disgust. Beyond the confusion, sheer terror gripped Astar.

  "Kumshak va-ar!" the guard barked again, and a sword appeared in his hand, its blade glinting with a faint light.

  A fresh wave of fear coursed through Astar, but before he could react, the guard slashed his weapon in one swift motion. The razor-sharp edge sliced through Astar’s shirt with terrifying ease.

  "What do I do?!" he screamed inwardly, now drenched in cold sweat.

  But the guard paid no mind to his distress. He pointed the tip of his sword at Astar’s pants, staring directly into his eyes.

  "He… he wants me to take them off too?! What kind of insanity is this?!"

  Astar knew that resisting now would be suicide. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay composed, and with trembling hands, he began to remove his pajama pants. The whole time, the guard never took his eyes off him—watching like a predator sizing up its prey.

  He hastily pulled the pants off, feeling his face burn with fear and humiliation. But the guard wasn’t finished. The gleaming blade pointed once more—this time at his underwear.

  "You’ve got to be kidding me…" Astar thought, but he dared not say it aloud.

  Grinding his teeth, he grabbed the waistband and yanked them down in one swift motion, left completely bare. He stood there, trying to cover himself as best as he could, but quickly realized that none of the other prisoners even glanced in his direction. They moved like sleepwalkers, oblivious to him or the humiliating ordeal he was going through.

  "No one’s even looking… At least that’s something."

  That thought provided some faint relief, but his fear of the guard far outweighed any comfort. Astar assumed he would now be allowed to move on, but at that moment, the guard growled something and abruptly pointed his sword toward the corner of the cell.

  "Skurta da amir!"

  Astar followed his gaze—and felt his blood turn to ice.

  In the corner, slumped against the damp stone, lay a corpse. Its skin was a sickly blue-gray, its body skeletal, its ragged clothing soaked in filth. The stench of decay hung in the air. The person had been dead for some time.

  "No…" Astar whispered as he realized what was being demanded of him.

  The guard didn’t wait for a response. He shouted again, this time with such fury that his voice echoed through the entire chamber.

  "Alright! Alright!" Astar yelled, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Damn it, just don’t kill me!"

  He took a few shaky steps toward the corpse, his body trembling with revulsion. The stench of decay was unbearable, mixing with the already suffocating foulness that filled the air of the cell. Leaning down, he extended his trembling hands and began pulling the filthy, stench-soaked rags off the dead body.

  "Oh God… why is this happening to me?" he muttered, trying not to look into the vacant, lifeless eyes frozen in emptiness.

  Fighting back the urge to vomit, Astar forced himself into the tattered clothing. The rough fabric scratched against his skin, clinging to him like a second layer of filth, and the stench seemed to seep into his pores. He felt disgusting, but he understood—this was the only way to stay alive.

  When he turned back to the guard, the creature wordlessly gestured for him to follow the other prisoners. Swallowing his humiliation and fear, Astar moved forward, doing his best not to think about what awaited him next.

  Breathing heavily, he followed his cellmates. His mind was in a vice—endless questions, panic, and terror blended into a chaotic storm of thoughts.

  "What is happening here? Where even am I?!"

  He stole glances at the strange walls, the crude stone corridors barely illuminated by dim torches. With each step, his sense of horror deepened. He felt that if he thought too hard about all of this, his sanity would crack.

  Because of his endless work and negotiations, he never had time for movies or TV shows. Every book he had ever read was about business or self-improvement. But even so, he couldn’t help but draw certain conclusions…

  "This… this is another world, isn’t it? Damn it, what kind of nonsense am I thinking… But this can’t be Earth! Horned people, breathing skeletons that don’t even look alive… How is any of this possible?!"

  Astar tried to pull himself together, but his thoughts darted in all directions. He remembered how, just last night, he had heard strange voices in his head. At the time, he had dismissed it as exhaustion, a hallucination born from overwork. But now… now everything was starting to take on a new meaning.

  "Wait… their language… it sounded exactly the same! The voices in my head were speaking in this very language. How is that possible?!"

  His heartbeat pounded faster. He recalled how his day had started—pain, dizziness, the overwhelming sensation of something foreign invading his consciousness.

  "This isn’t a coincidence. The voices I heard… they’re connected to this place. Maybe they’re the reason I’m here? Wait… at the very end, a man’s voice called me ‘son’… Were my damn parents some kind of cultists who cursed me?! Am I in hell?!"

  The shock and confusion dragged his mind into dark places, and for a brief moment, Astar let out a bitter chuckle—whether from terror or disbelief, he couldn’t tell.

  "What irony. I spent all my time on business, deals, planning. I thought I was squeezing the most out of my life. And the moment I realized how empty my goals were… I ended up in this nightmare!"

  He glanced at the other prisoners. Their faces were hollow, their bodies skeletal with exhaustion, yet none of them showed fear or even surprise. It was as if they were used to this horror.

  "Why are they so calm? Why aren’t they screaming? Why isn’t anyone trying to run?"

  He turned his gaze to the guard following behind them, watching their every move. The creature’s dark red skin, glowing eyes, and horns looked as if they had been carved from another, alien world.

  "What are they going to do to me? Why am I here?!"

  The questions overwhelmed him, but Astar knew this wasn’t the time to look for answers. Right now, only one thing mattered—survival.

  "Panicking is pointless. The only thing I can do now is follow along, stay unnoticed, and wait for an opportunity… if one ever comes. I used to be proud of surviving that hellish orphanage and building my own success… but this place is a hundred times worse!"

  "Damn it! I finally achieved freedom, I was supposed to find my true purpose… so why the hell is this happening to me now?!" He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to suppress the waves of fear, and kept moving, staying in step with the others.

  The path wasn’t long, but its monotony made it feel endless. As they walked, other groups of prisoners began joining their procession. From the dark tunnels, like ghosts, emerged more of the same—wretched, filthy people and strange creatures. Some shuffled forward with their heads bowed, while others staggered as if they might collapse at any moment. The guards—identical to the one escorting them—remained indifferent, only occasionally barking commands.

  Astar struggled to keep up. The tattered, grimy rags clung repulsively to his body, and the stench around him grew worse. He pushed away thoughts of vomiting, knowing it would only draw unwanted attention.

  "Where are they taking us?" he wondered, sneaking glances around him.

  Finally, the corridor began to widen, and the group emerged into a vast hall. Astar stopped in his tracks, stunned by the sight before him.

  They stood at the edge of a colossal circular pit, as if carved into the heart of a mountain. It plunged downward for hundreds of meters, its walls lined with eerie lamps that held flames—flames that burned without any visible fuel. The torchlight illuminated massive metal structures and crude bridges that stretched across the abyss.

  Faint daylight still trickled down from above, creating a haunting contrast between the bright upper levels and the abyss below.

  On different levels of the pit, hundreds—if not thousands—of prisoners labored. Their bent figures flickered here and there, moving aimlessly between wooden supports and stone ledges.

  Astar stood frozen, his feet feeling as if they had grown roots into the ground.

  "Is this… hell? The real hell?"

  But there was no time to think. Dozens more guards emerged from the side tunnels, their massive forms moving with confidence, their heavy footsteps echoing through the entire pit.

  Each prisoner was handed a pickaxe. When Astar's turn came, he didn't immediately understand what was expected of him. A guard shoved the tool into his hands so roughly that he nearly lost his balance.

  "Kur la-adar!" the creature barked.

  "What… What am I supposed to do with this?" Astar asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

  No answer came. Instead, another guard shouted something, and the rest of the prisoners hurried to their positions along the stone walls of the pit. Some immediately began working, others hesitated, but soon enough, the rhythmic sound of pickaxes striking rock filled the air.

  Astar remained standing, unsure of what to do—until he felt the guard approach him again. That same eerie mist began to swirl around its hand.

  Without waiting to find out what would happen next, Astar gripped his pickaxe and swung it at the rock.

  Clang!

  The metal struck hard stone with a dull ring. The echo of the impact rippled through the pit, as if the mine itself was mocking him, repeating the sound again and again.

  "Fuck! Is this my punishment for being lucky?! My freedom has turned into slavery?! Am I just going to dig until I drop dead?!" Astar cursed inwardly.

  In that moment, he suddenly remembered what he had said just yesterday: "I’m grateful, fate. I don’t know how many more chances you’ll throw my way, but I’ll take them all. Just one thing—let my next chance be tied to my true calling."

  "Was my calling to be a miner?! What the hell?!"

  Fear twisted into anger inside him.

  Though he had always kept himself in shape with regular exercise, his arms began to tremble after only a few swings. The pickaxe was incredibly heavy, but he didn’t dare stop.

  He kept working, each movement taking more effort than the last. His breathing grew heavier, his muscles ached from exertion, and his mind teetered on the edge of chaos.

  "What am I doing here? How did I get here? What are the rules of this place? How do I survive?!"

  He stole glances at the other prisoners, trying to glean something from their behavior. They looked like they had been doing this for a long time—perhaps days, perhaps weeks. Their movements were practiced and efficient. With each strike, their pickaxes broke off large chunks of rock.

  Some prisoners occasionally unearthed strange, luminous white-blue crystals. These finds were handled with an almost reverent care, placed carefully into wooden carts stationed nearby. Guards stood over the carts, silently watching the process.

  "We’re here to mine crystals," Astar realized, watching as one prisoner excitedly rushed to place a large shard into the cart.

  The surrounding workers paid him no attention, remaining completely focused on their tasks. The mine filled with the relentless clang of pickaxes, vibrating through the walls and air.

  "I haven’t found a single one yet. What happens if this continues?"

  Fear crept deeper into his bones, but Astar forced himself to keep going. He struck the rock as hard as he could, but all that broke off were worthless chunks of stone.

  Hour after hour, he observed the others, searching for any clues. Some workers, exhausted to their limits, began to slow down—only to be met with a lash of the guards’ whips. Those who found crystals seemed almost relieved and continued working with renewed energy, as if their lives depended on their speed.

  "There’s no time to think things through rationally…" Astar thought, his body barely keeping pace with the relentless rhythm of the mine.

  The filthy rags he had put on clung to his sweat-drenched skin. The stench was unbearable, but the suffocating, dusty air of the mine nearly drowned it out. His hands began to go numb, and his mouth, nose, and ears were already clogged with dust.

  "Shit, shit, shit…" he muttered under his breath, struggling to keep going.

  He glanced at the carts filled with crystals and realized—he needed to find one too. Otherwise, this place would become his grave.

  Astar’s thoughts were interrupted by the sudden, sharp shouts of the overseers, cutting through the steady rhythm of pickaxes. He looked up and saw a group of guards gathering around one of the prisoners not far from him.

  The man was skeletal, so emaciated that it seemed his body was on the verge of breaking apart. One of the guards grabbed him roughly by his clothes—and something tumbled out from beneath the filthy rags. A blue crystal.

  "Luramind ulgu-dur!" the guard roared, his voice echoing through the mine.

  The man tried to say something, to explain himself, but his words were brutally cut off by a blow to the face. His body was sent flying against the wall, and the guards pounced on him immediately. The strikes rained down—fists, boots, and then the crack of a whip.

  Astar couldn’t look away. He stood frozen, every muscle in his body tightening with fear.

  "He tried to hide the crystal..."

  That realization made his heart pound even harder. Now he knew—there would be no leniency here. Any mistake, any deviation from the rules, would be punished with merciless brutality.

  "Bastards," he whispered under his breath, but he forced himself to shut up immediately, remembering where he was.

  He turned away and resumed hacking at the rock, trying to ignore what was happening.

  "Better to keep my head down. Don’t show sympathy, don’t play the hero. Stay invisible and just keep working. This is like a super shitty job with a boss who doesn’t even see you as human… but a hundred times worse," Astar muttered internally, glancing around cautiously.

  "I’ve been used to a comfortable life for a long time, but I guess I’ll have to remember what it was like back in the orphanage… First, I need time—to learn the rules and avoid trouble. Then, I need to figure out how to survive in a place like this..."

  He clenched his teeth, trying to block out the sounds of the beating. His mind raced, desperate to form some kind of plan.

  "I don’t even understand their language. If I try to explain anything, it’ll just lead to misunderstandings. They might even think I’m trying to trick them."

  The solution came to him suddenly.

  "I’ll pretend to be mute. A clueless idiot who just does as he’s told. That way, they’ll have less reason to question me."

  He took a deep breath, swung the pickaxe again, and nodded to himself.

  "Work. Dig. Survive. With time, I’ll figure out what to do. I just need to hold on until I get a chance to escape. There’s no way in hell I’m going to accept being a slave! And for now… going home is out of the question."

  The screams finally faded, but the horror of what had just happened lingered in the air. Astar shoved thoughts of the unfortunate prisoner out of his mind, forcing himself to focus on one thing—survival.