(2022.11.14)
Outline
Human’s can fly, but it causes all of their muscles to burn in very uncomfortable ways. So the temple-bearers are basically being tortured for hours on end. Human’s fly either in really short bursts, or when in a serious situation. Human’s can fly for hours on end, if they can manage the pain.
The temple is chained to the ground. This prevents it from floating away or tipping.
The man is good. He stops them from talking so they can rest. Because holding the temple is extremely physically taxing. He also ensures that the food is split equally and no one tries to attack any one else.
Slaves are also made to fighting in a coliseum once a month for entertainment.
Slavers wouldn’t ever attack a full town.
A poor town is captured by slavers. Main is turned into a slave and made to hold up temples. The slaves are chained to the bottom of the temples so they fall if they try to drop it. He does this for a bit. He tries to make friends with the other slaves, bu they’re all too miserable to reciprocate. They are kept in the dungeons at all other times when they’re not holding it up. One time, the door is left unlocked, only 3 others try to leave with him. He is caught and flogged for it, by he found a security door. He plans to break into it. The slaves are escorted by 2 guards to and from the bottom. He is impatient to escape but cannot think of any way to escape right then. In the meantime he attempts to befriend the other slaves. He finally begins to find friends (~3). An enemy temples soldiers fly by, Main’s temple arms their soldiers and groups them (this has happened 2 times before in the story. They are left with only 1 guard with them.
Main takes the clothes of the guards and his knife, other slaves try to protest because they think hes taking them for himself. He unlocks them all and they fly sneak to the edge, but he realizes that there’s no way they could all escape because there are too many people watching from the sky. All of them would be captured. It is too late to turn back because they already attacked the guard. He realizes that if he created a distraction the rest of the slaves could escape. He debates with himself. But he then decides, he sneaks to the temple-owner, he stabs him repeatedly before being pulled away. The temple-owner dies. Everyone shouts and scsreams and zooms towards him. In the chaos, he sees the other slaves flying away unharmed. He is captured and put in the dungeons alone again. He is going to be executed soon. But before that, the guard stationed outside comes in and helps him escape. This is ebcuase he hated the temple-owner too.
PROLOGUE FROM "FLYING HUMANS"
[skipped]
SHARP CLANGS OF metal blasted throughout the air. The hard metal mallet crashed against the burning steel, shooting fiery sparks with each impact.
Kurtis’ muscles strained with effort as he pounded the mallet against the metal, he only had a few minutes before the metal would solidify. Hot sweat streamed down his face in liters, dripping down to the dusty, stone floor.
He pushed his muscles harder and harder, slamming his mallet into the glowing metal until, finally, the shape was ready. Ignoring the searing in his arms, he lifted the sword and plunged it in the water. Steam immediately permeated the room.
He made to lift the sword back out, but a cry of terror sounded from outside. Then more and more, until all he could hear were the bone-chilling screams. His hand unconsciously dropped the blade into the water, but he didn’t hesitate, he scrambled away from the anvil and to the wall of endless swords.
Heart pounding, he fumbled for the handle of his masterpiece--a beautifully forged short-sword with the precise ability to slice through almost anything as if it were butter. His hand strengthened around he familiar handle and he pushed away from the wall and towards the sturdy wooden door on the other end of the forge.
He pushed past the tools that littered his blacksmith shop, knocking over random bits of metal and failed sword sin his haste.
The horrible shouts came from all around him, causing his skin to shiver and pale. He gulped down his fear and turned the handle.
The screams intensified; immediately, the icy bite of the wind stabbed into his skin, like a witches kiss--rinsing away his fear and replacing it with the subtle confidence that he always wielded when holding a sword.
Hundreds of gleaming bodies of armor danced throughout the sky, and with a jolt of utter shock, he realized what was happening.
A sudden and uncontrollable rage bushed its way up his chest, bubbling over the top and coalescing into a cry of war.
All throughout the town, people rushed out of houses to watch the spectacle in the sky. Children cried for fear, mothers and fathers trembled at the knees, but a rare few raised their weapons against the oncoming wave of tyrants.
A slaver faction.
Kurtis rose in the air, his feet hovering inches off the ground. There were far too many attackers, far too many. He swiveled his head around, taking in the streams of attackers as they cut down his friends from the sky.
It was raining blood. Moaning bodies crumpled and dropped to the ground in a crash of bones, shattering carts and wood from buildings. The thick, hot rain sprinkled to the dirt, seeping into it.
Sheer panic overtook the people, they soared through the air, trying to fly as far away from the slavers as possible. Almost none escaped. Slavers tackled and stabbed at the fleeing citizens, causing the frenzy of shouts to intensify until it was all anyone could hear.
He couldn’t wait any longer, not when the people of his town were dropping like flies in the sky.
He blasted off like a rocket, aimed straight for the onslaught of enemies. The zoomed past in hordes of death. One attacker in long robes covered in thin metal armor chased a screaming person in the sky.
The cruelty bent his soul, it was unimaginable, horrible, he would end his life to murder these demons.
He readjusted his course for the slaver, swerving past groups of attackers.
The slaver was flying fast, but Kurtis was faster. He chased the slaver through the sky as fast as he could. His entire body ached as he pushed past his limits--unlike walking, flying drained the entire body of its energy. The sun shimmered as countless people, enemy and friend, flew past it. His heart frantically punched against his ribcage, trying to escape. Fear crept up him, there was no possible way he could survive this. With all his might, he pushed the fear down and refocused on the slaver right in front of him.
He tightened his grip on the sword until it felt like the was strangling the life from it. Kurtis flew above him, and dived rapidly. When he was within a foot, he thrust his sword as hard as he possibly could. It punctured straight through the slavers lungs.
An unearthly scream met his ears as the slaver jolted and thrashed in the air. Kurtis twisted the sword in the slaver’s body, spewing blood everywhere. The slaver’s body jolted a final time and then dropped to the ground below in a shower of blood.
His eyes followed the body as it fell to the distant ground, crashing against buildings and chipping the wood pallets of the roof.
Kurtis stared at the mangled body far down below, completely numb. His hands shook, his eyes were wide, his vision tunneled. He ignored the onslaught of enemies around him. He couldn’t think, not even a single measly thought entered his mind.
A shiny, metal mass exploded against him, punching the breath from his lungs. Hands beat against his skull, knocking him out of his stupor. He tensed his muscles and moved to swing his sword at the slavers, but they latched on to his arms and pulled, holding him in place. Terror shivered through his limbs, and he twisted rapidly, trying to break free from their mighty grips.
An impeding horror overtook him, stopping his heart cold. He strained against their grips, trying as hard as he possibly could, but to no avail. He released a scream of raw fury as a final fist rocketed into his skull, rattling his brain in its cage.
All went black.
KURTIS SLOWLY AWOKE to a world of sweat, dirt, and feces. He murmured incoherently as he sat up and took in his surroundings.
A dark cavern of dust. A dozen gaunt, messy men huddled throughout the cavern. All of their eyes were dead; they stared off into the darkness of the cavern corners, brainless and empty. Some were trying to sleep, but not successfully, they twisted and turned on the hard rocks.
Thick, heavy chains weighed ddwon his wrists; the chains connected to the man to his left and right, who both wore chains connecting to others.
Both of the men to his right were bloody and slumped over to the side, asleep. Despite the blood, they were the only men who seemed alive. Their muscles were full and healthy, compared to the thinly stringed wires of men that stared off into the darkness.
Kurtis looked around, taking in the horrible surroundings. The only source of light came from a thin slice in the stone wall, where a single beam of sunlight shined through — a crack of life in an otherwise pit of death. The heat was overwhelming, it made the furnaces in his blacksmith shop look like an ice-bath. The air practically melted with heat; sweat beaded at his forehead and streamed down into his eyes.
A sturdy, wooden door stood in the corner — the only way in or out of this pit of death.
His body was battered and bruised. Blood trickled from gashes in his skin, where is ran like rivers over the layers of crusted blood that already covered him.
Kurtis tugged at the heavy chains that shackled his wrists, desperately trying to break free. He had known from the start that it wouldn’t work, but he had to try. He wouldn’t allow himself to stay trapped in this dungeon of hell.
After finally giving up on the chains, he turned to the spindly skeleton to his left. The man stared into space, completed disregarding Kurtis, as if he was another speck of dust that layered the floor.
With surprising difficulty, Kurtis croaked out, “W-where are we?”
The man ignored him, his jaw remained slack. It was as if his brain had been removed — he was dead already. The man didn’t even move as flies sprang around his head, landing on his skin and fluttering their tiny wings.
“I know we’re in a slave dungeon,” Kurtis said. “But where are we?”
The man slowly, painfully turned his head away from Kurtis, until he was facing the opposite direction.
Kurtis sighed. It felt impossible that this slave had once been human. And it was utterly terrifying that Kurtis might wither away into a copy of this slave.
Somewhat disgruntled, Kurtis said, “Can any of you tel me where we are?”
No one answered, but a few slaves turned to look his way, some even had a slight spark of life in them.
Kurtis knew that slaves were sent to many different places, but he couldn’t tell where he was from the dungeon he sat in. He suspected that it wasn’t field working, or he would have been outside. Not was he a house servant, for a noble wouldn’t let dirty, chained slaves in their house.
But besides, it didn’t matter. He would escape soon enough, and not before slicing the throat of whoever had put him in here.
He clenched his fists and watched as his knuckled paled white. Revenge: it wouldn’t satisfy him, he had heard enough stories to know that by now. But some part of him wanted it so badly, he couldn’t stop himself from fantasizing about slicing off the head to the slavers. They had attacked his twon, killed his friends, and captued him as a slave. Any reasonable person would want revenge.
That din’t stop him from knowing what was right; but sometimes, bade people deserved to die before they could hurt others. It was an inherintly flawed rationalization, he knew that. But he didn’t care, he would kill everyone who did this to him.
He gritted his teeth as an overwhelming anger built inside his chest, it was only now coming to him. His mind started to wrap around the realization that he was trapped here, and that some master would force him to toil in these dungeons until his brain rotted and he lost all humanity.
He struggled to control his breathing, tears stung his eyes and trhreatened to overflow. He couldn’t take it--the building sense of claustraphobia, the implausibility of his escape, the fire that burnt his heart to a charcoaled husk of ash.
A sudden voice broke through his wall of anger. “What happened?”
Kurtis’ head snapped to the right, the slave directly besides him was awake now, and he was staring at Kurtis with frightened eyes.
“Slave dungeon,” Kurtis said simply.
The man ddin’t reply. His eyes darted around the dusty stone dungeon, his entire body trembling with fear. Blood trickled down his scalp, and nasty bruises were littered around his body. Only then didi Kurtis recognize the man.
“I know you,” Kurtis said. “You’re from Vincentia, right?”
The man turned to Kurtis. “Yeah, are you?”
“Yeah,” Kurtis said, another fist of rage slammed into him as images of the battle flashed in his mind.
“You were there, then... I was too. I think I know you too, actually,” the man’s eyes drilled into him. “You’re the other blacksmith — Kurtis Kumar.”
“I am,” Kurtis said softly. “I’ve seen you before, but I don’t know your name.”
“Ernest.”
Kurtis nodded his head and glanced to the still-asleep body to Ernest’s right. “Do you recognize him?”
Ernest shuffled over and studied the sleeping man’s face. “Maybe, I think he might be from Vincentia too.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Theeir conversation fell into a strained silence, and the buzzes of flies and the soft breathing of the slaves were all anyone heard. Kurtis’ eyes naturally glided over to the door, if he was going to escape, he couldn’t do it while in this dungoen. He thought of dragging everyone else to the door to see if he could somehow open it, but then realized that he was grapsing at straws. Each of the slaves would have tried that already, if it were that easy to escape, they would have done it by now. Not to mention, it seemed nearly impossible taht the mindless slaves would move from their places.
He almost thought of inviting Ernest in on his escape — they could plan together and then break out. And the two of them could have a better chance of surviving than if it was just him. But something stopped him. He coudn’t go blabbing about his plans of escapr in the first minutes of waking.
Kurtis couldn’t think of anything to say, nothing came to his mind. Both of them already knew that their chances for a life were looking slim, the slavers had stole that from them.
Anger surged back up him, but this time at himself, not the slaveres. His heart burned at his own stupidity. The slavers had captured him with almost no effort. He had trained with a sword for hours on end, and yet had fell by simple stupidity.
He seethed as he sat on the hard stone floor, yanking at the chains binding his wrists. Ernest was staring at the chains also, but not even attempting to free himself.
“Should I wake him?” Ernest asked.
“No,” Kurtis said. “Let him sleep, it’s the most mercy we can give him.”
Ernest pointed to the slaves. “What’s wrong with them?”
Kurtis looked over to them, and almost immediately the few who had been watching snapped their gazes down to stare at their shackles. At least some of the slaves had some life lef tin them.
Kurtis opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a rough, harsh voice that snapped, “Nothing. Now shut up or go back to sleep.”
Kurtis stared at the man from which the voice had come, the body didn’t fit the vioce at all. He was deathly thin and balding, but a hint of youth still stained his face. Dirt matted his hair, dust lined the crevices of his face, and his eyes were balls of cold steel. Despite the starvation, everything about him reeked an aura of toughness. His face was grizzled and serious, as if the very walls of the dungeon had sucked the happiness from him.
“Where am I?” Kurtis asked.
The man’s eyes drilled into Kurtis. “Did you not hear me?” he said with a low growl.
An annoyed anger settled in his chest. This man may have looked tough, but Kurtis knew he was a fool. He shouldn’t punish the slaves for speaking, if anything it would be their greatest weapon against the horrors of slavery. This man was a fool; the other slaves would be better off without him.
Kurtis didn’t wish to start off with an enemy. And besides, his job wasn’t to help these other slaves, his first priority was to break himself out of here.
But then, of course, to break out he at least needed to know where he was. Kurtis weighed the consequences of further provoking the man. Obviously, Kurtis couldn’t ask the man again, otherwise he might just snap and attack Kurtis. Although the chains would render that difficult.
Kurtis quickly ran his eyes over the man. Kurtis could easily best the man in any fight, no doubt about it. The man was thin and brittle; Kurtis could snap him like a twig if needed.
Kurtis would have to approach one of the other slaves, likely the one to his immediate left. Although, naturally, the slave wouldn’t want to talk to him.
The slavers probably added new slaves to the chain at the ends. Which meant that the slave to his left was most likely one of the newest slaves here — and therefore more liekly to talk.
There was no poinnt in ruminating forever. So, after a brief hesitation, Kurtis turned to the slave to his left and reached his hand over to him. He didn’t seem to notice; his eyes were half-lidded and he huddled his bone-thin body close to the ground. Kurtis gently tapped his shoulder. His skin was rough and coarse, like sandpaper.
The man didn’t jump like Kurtis expected him to, instead he slowly shuffled as far away from Kurtis as he could. This was goign to be harder than Kurtis originally had thought.
“Hey,” Kurtis gently whispered. “Can you tell me where I am?”
The man moved further away, the chains rattling and straining at Kurtis’ wrists. Kurtis couldn’t possibly the man as a human. Nor could he wrap his head around the horrors of what could turn someone into this whimpering, dead animal struggling to scoot away from him now.
The man wasn’t going to answer him. Kurtis had been rather sure of that working; but apparently his intrinsic view of this dungeon wasn’t horrible enough.
Kurtis glanced over to Ernest, who was laying down on his back staring at the ceiling with an imending dread.
“What are we going to do?” Ernest muttered.
Kurtis felt a slight twinge of regret at not wanting to save Ernest. It felt selfish; but it was foolish to think that way. From what Kurtis had seen so far of Ernest, he seemed kind. But there was a time and place for saving others, and this wasn’t it. If Kurtis attempted to help free everyone from this dungeon, the slavers would catch all of them. The chance for error was just too high if he tried to save them all. Even just one more person would decrease his chance of survival by an incredible amount.
It wasn’t selfish that Kurtis couldn’t save Ernest, and it was just a fact. If Kurtis could have saved Ernest, he would have. But it was impossible, and therefore a waste of mental effort. So no, Kurtis undoubtedly didn’t want to save Ernest.
But then again, it wouldn’t benefit Ernest to make enemies. So he turned to Ernest and gently whispered, “I’m not sure.”
And it was true, he didn’t know; he needed more information. But no one here seemed at all inclined to give him any. A mounting sense of claustraphobia gradually built itself in Kurtis’ chest; with each passing moment the situation seemed more and more impossible to solve. He was smart, but there were limits to how much he could problem-solve.
He laid on his back, staring up at the black depths of the ceiling. He had two options; one, he could wait to gain answers. In doing this, he would remain in good standing with the other slaves, but would have to wait longer to formulate an escape plan. But then, the other slaves wouldn’t respect him if he went along with what their leader said.
It was all too much. His didn’t want to think, his brain ached with each thought. All he wanted to do was drift back to blissful sleep, but that would bring him nowhere.
He couldn’t just lay around and wait for his destiny to come to him. With an angry grunt, he pushed himself up to a sitting position, his bones hurt with each movement.
His eyes locked onto the form of the man who seemed to be the leader, and said, “Why does no one talk?”
The man’s eyes shot open, and he gradually shifted himself upwards to glare at Kurtis. For a few moments, he was silent. “Here’s the thing, little child,” he said with a tight mockery of a smile, his eyes fixated in a predatory glare. Kurtis kept his face devoid of fear. “Maybe, just maybe, you should listen to me when I speak.”
His words stopped, but the eyes did not. They drilled into Kurtis, fighting to work past his barriers, Kurtis didn’t let himself show weakness. “Its a simple question, why can’t you answer it?”
The other slaves were watching now, sitting up from their sleep to peer curiously at the rapidly deteriorating argument. Ernest whispered to Kurtis from his shoulder, barely audible, “Kurtis, what are you doing?”
Kurtis didn’t answer but kept his eyes on the man. The man’s eyes didn’t waver either. “You need to learn your place, little child.”
“And why is that?”
“Because while you may feel on the top of the world right now, you’ll come running back to me soon,” he said in a mocking tone.
“Doubtable. But tell me, why won’t you answer a simple question?”
He shook his head. “You’re better off not knowing.”
“Obviously not,” Kurtis said. “I’ll tell you something, and you’ll probably laugh...” Kurtis realized what he was about to say and stopped mid-track. If there was no chance Kurtis saving the others, he shouldn’t give them hope, nor should he plant the thought that he would save them; it would only put a target on his back.
Kurtis flickered through his thoughts, trying to find something that would logically follow the preceding statement and also justify a pause. “...But I’m a blacksmith. When I see an inherintly flawed blade, I’m supposed to throw it out...” Kurtis’ mind flashed through different options, paving a path for his words as he went. He didn’t know the end, but he would reach it somehow. “...But there’s a part of me that wants to fix it. And now, I mean, look where I am. This place is flawed, and I wish to reforge it. But I can’t if I possess no knowledge about it. Can’t you see I’m trying to help you?”
Sloppy, but it might just do. It weakened Kurtis in the eyes of the others. But maybe, they might end up liking him more for it.
The man curled his nose and shook his head. Voice shaking with anger, he said, “You’re in for a lesson.”
This man’s stubbornness was gnawing at Kurtis’ energy reserves. Kurtis narrowed his eyes; locking a snarl behind his teeth, he said, “What’s your problem? Do you want to stay locked up in this dungeon for the rest of your life? Because if you don’t, quit being an idiot and think with your head!”
The man slammed his fist into his chains. Startling the other slaves, who cowered back from the two of them. Ernest stared, open-mouthed at the two of them.
He seethed with raw anger from every inch of his stick-thin body. The growl of hate that escaped his lips seemed to age him another fifty years. His eyes drilled into Kurtis like pits of darkness. “You fool, you absolute floating fool.”
Kurtis didn’t reply, only stared without fear.
“You want to know where we are — where you are? Because you’ll be staying here for the rest of your damned life!” The corners of his lips twitched upwards, turning his look of rage into an almost evil smile. “And I hope you love holding big rocks, because you’re going to hold a big one.”
Kurtis’ eyes widened just a slight amount, but it was enough for the man to know that he had won. The man shook his head and laid back onto the cold dungeon floor, running his fingers through his thin hair.
Kurtis stared at him, his heart racing. Every part of him was screaming. His mind couldn’t think correctly, he tried to right himself, but didn’t even have the mental capacity for that. It took all of his effort to remain a look of semi-confidence on the outside.
The silence ran thick and long. After what felt like an eternity, Ernest tapped Kurtis on the shoulder. “Wh — what did he mean by that?”
Kurtis slowly turned to Ernest. Making sure his voice wouldn’t shake, he softly said, “Temple-bearers.” Ernest’s jaw dropped and he recoiled. “We’re Temple-bearers.”
“No,” Ernest mumbled, shutting his eyes tight. “No.”
Distantly, Kurtis saw the man shake his head slowly, a grim, dead smile on his face.
IT TOOK A while for the realization to settle in. It always did. While others could grasp the true magnitude of a situation almost immediately, there was a delay with Kurtis.
