The cave tunnels lead us deeper and deeper still. The torches stretching on forever. A chill rises up from the earth, sending goosebumps racing along my arms. My breath comes in and out faster and faster. It’s like the worm’s tunnels, but maybe even deeper.
I trail them for what feels like forever. Until the tunnel starts to open up wider, the torches not even attempting to chase away the shadows. We turn a corner, and the tunnel ends, opening into a massive tavern with more torches scattered throughout it, but one clear path leading straight through the middle of the space.
At the center of the room sits a massive cyclops on a throne carved from rock, his single eye gleaming like a burning coal, merciless and full of malicious intent. Around him are not only the cyclops who took my men, but dozens more, staring at the man who must be their king. Thrown in a pile near him, something flashes, and I realize it’s the light reflecting off one of the king’s swords.
All our stuff has been thrown into a pile there like trash.
The floor before the cyclops king is carved from dark stone, etched with strange, jagged symbols that pulse faintly with a dullred glow. The markings form a massive circle, the light shifting beneath the surface like something alive… something waiting.
Iron chains are bolted into the stone along the outer edge of the circle, and another group of chains further in the circle, coiled and ready. At the center of it all is a shallow depression, carved directly into the rock. A basin of some kind, smooth and worn, like it’s been used before.
My pulse spikes.
The cyclopes drag my men forward and shove them toward the circle, forcing them apart, spacing them evenly along its edge. One by one, they’re driven down to their knees, rough hands pressing them into position.
The ropes come off, but it’s not freedom. It’s preparation. The heavy iron shackles are brought forward immediately, thick and dark, glinting in the torchlight as the cyclopes reach for their wrists, their ankles… and that’s when everything shifts.
They resist.
Of course they do.
Oberon jerks violently against the first cyclops that reaches for him, fire flaring at his fingertips despite whatever force dampens it. Ashton twists sharply, knocking one creature off balance with a sudden burst of wind. It’s not the level of power I’ve seen from him before, but it’s something. Sylvian drives his shoulder forward, forcing space between himself and the one trying to pin him down. Cassius moves with precision, calculating, striking where it matters to delay them even for a second.
They don’t go quietly.
They never would.
Oberon snarls like a caged beast, his voice deep and vicious, the sound echoing through the cavern like a threat. “Touch me again,” he growls, low and deadly, “and I’ll rip your arm off and beat you with it.”
One of the cyclopes laughs. Actually laughs. Then punches him hard enough to snap his head to the side.
Oberon spits blood… and grins. “I’m going to make sure you live to regret that,” then he jumps on the cyclops and starts pummeling the beast with his fists.
Two more cyclopes pile onto Oberon, forcing him down while he continues to struggle, chains slamming into place as he fights them the entire way, muscles straining, teeth bared. Even pinned, he doesn’t stop trying to rise.
Sylvian doesn’t go quietly either. Two cyclopes try to force him to his knees, and for a second, just a second, he holds them off. His arms strain, veins standing out as he shoves one back hard enough to make it stumble.
A third cyclops slams into him from the side. Then a fourth. They drive him down together, overwhelming him by sheer force, forcing his arms wide as the chains snap into place. He pulls against them immediately, jaw clenched, trying to tear free, but the chains don’t even creak.
Ashton is laughing as cyclops close in around him. “Really?” he says, breathless, even as a cyclops wrenches his arm behind his back. “Four of you for one of me? I’m flattered.”
He twists suddenly, fast, catching one of them off guard and driving his elbow into its throat. The cyclops stumbles back a step… and then another one slams a fist into Ashton’s ribs. Hard. The sound of it makes my stomach twist.
Ashton grunts, breath leaving him, but he still manages a crooked grin. “That all you’ve got?”
They chain him anyway. Even while he continues to struggle. Even while he shouts every insult under the sun.
Cassius is the last. He doesn’t waste energy thrashing. Doesn’t snarl or shout. He watches. Calculates. Then, at the exact moment one of them leans too close, he strikes. Fast and precise, aiming for the eye.
The cyclops jerks back with a wail, dropping to his knees. Another cyclops grabs Cassius from behind, locking his arms in place, while a third forces his legs out. The chains snap tight around him, dragging him down into position.
Cassius goes still. Not defeated, I think. Thinking. Always thinking. But even he doesn’t try to fight the chains once they’re set. Because he knows. They all know. There are too many of them. They’re too strong. Even together, even at full strength, this wouldn’t have been much of a fight.
If only they had their weapons.At least, that would give them a chance.
The cyclopes have worked quickly, chaining each man in place, their limbs stretched outward like spokes on a wheel, their feet meeting at the center. A chill runs down my spine as I realize what’s happening. They’ve left a spot empty… my spot.
It doesn’t take long for the cyclopes to notice. The king’s single eye narrows, his lips curling into a snarl, and he slams a fist into the arm of his throne, the sound reverberating through the chamber like thunder, rattling my bones.