Defiance

A sudden clank wakes Sasaki. Cheerful voices clamor in the room as the candles flicker to life. The light hits Sasaki’s eyes, illuminating the hell they're trapped in once again.

“Wakey wakey,” a familiar slimy voice calls out.

Sasaki’s friends stir in their sleep. As they woke, he saw the moment they remembered where they were and what was happening when their faces suddenly went pale.

“I’m dying to try this alteration, so we’re gonna get started.”

Before everyone could stand, the caravan thugs surrounded the cells. The cultist leader eyes the remaining four townsfolk, as if picking a fine pig from the butchers.

“Let’s use the big one.” He motions towards Robbi. “It’ll be much more peaceful without his insufferable chattering.” The thugs move towards his cell and swing the door open. They reach down and drag him by his shoulders.

Robbi is a large man, so just not complying causes great difficulty in getting him out.

“Lemme go!” he bellows as he kicks at the men.

The thugs exchanged annoyed murmurs as their fingers were struck in the fury. With a yank, Robbi is thrown from his cell onto the ground. He pants, gripping his empty stomach.

The cultist slinks behind him, already drawing his sword from his waist.

“Don’t worry, this will only take a second.”

Robbi raises his head and glares at the cultist, rage barely contained within his pupils. But Sasaki sees something flash within him: defiance.

Suddenly, Robbi leaps from the floor, charging at the cultist. He stumbles backward in shock, not considering the weapon he holds. Robbi only gets a step in before he is tackled to the ground by one of the thugs.
They struggle to keep his large frame in check, tussling on the floor like a couple of wild animals. One of the thugs pulls back, panting.

“Ah, dammit,” he mutters while looking at his hand, which had suddenly become bloodied.

Sasaki looks back at Robbi, who huffs great balls of air before turning onto his back with a thud. There, a small knife handle is seen sticking out of his chest. Robbi’s white shirt grows increasingly dyed crimson with each shallow breath he takes.
The cultist snaps out of his daze.

“Quickly!” he yells. “Get him into the circle before he’s dead.”

The thugs attempt another shot at Robbi, but his spark is not gone yet. When a hand reaches for him, he grabs their wrist and yanks them to the ground alongside him. He uses the sprawled body to hoist himself to his feet, reading his fists for another fight.

“GET. HIM,” the cultist leader spits through his teeth, becoming increasingly exasperated.

The wound in Robbi’s chest spills generously. His veins pump with adrenaline, emptying more with each beat. Robbi’s vision sways alongside his body. An extremely large thug, who had been watching against the wall, steps up. He towers over Robbi. The thug flexes his muscular hands and lunges for Robbi. He grabs him by the throat and drags his heels across the floor until he slams his back against the nearest wall.

​The impact causes Robbi to cough up the blood that had been pooling in his lungs. He raises his hands to grab the large trees for arms, but Robbi has bled too much. His eyes roll back into his head and his body slumps; the only force holding him up now rests solely on the thug.

“Hurry!” the cultist commands.

The large thug carries Robbi by his neck towards the circle; his blood slops onto the ground in large quantities, splashing on everything nearby, including the leader.

“Careful, dimwit!”

The thug unceremoniously throws Robbi’s body into the center of the circle. The accompanying cultists scuttle around, ready to activate the ritual on their leader’s command. The leader attempts to calm himself down by straightening his robes.

“Finally,” he sighs. “Ok, 30 minutes.” He looks at the unturned hourglasses. “...roughly.”

Robbi has passed. His chest no longer rises, and his eyes have dilated to no return. Sasaki watches, stunned at the second death he has witnessed. Sobs are heard beside him as his last two friends, a woman and a man, console each other through the bars. The half hour felt like forever, but time must have passed since the cultist leader eventually yells out again:

​“Start!”​

The cultists slam their hands on the circle.

But… nothing happens. They push their hands further into the ground, straining, but still nothing.

“Come on, hurry it up, guys.” The leader snaps his fingers impatiently.

“Um.. sir, it’s not working.” He turns towards them, shocked.

“What do you mean it’s not working?”

He then turns towards the thugs.

“What did you do to him?! He’s huge! Do you know how much mana there should be in him?”

The leader begins to fume.

“Great. JUST great! Even after all of that, you’re still useless.”

He kicks Robbi’s body.

“What a waste. Get him out of here and clean up this mess you’ve made.”

He doesn’t even look at the thugs as he commands them with a wave of his hand. They do as they're told, rolling their eyes. The leader of the thugs pipes up,

“Hey, do it for the money.”

They grumble less audibly as they drag Robbi’s body away from the circle and out of the room.

“Wait, where are you taking him?”

Handa, one of the other prisoners, makes himself known. Handa had been a long-time supplier for Ronni’s tavern and many other people from Neveton. If it was out of town, Handa would handle it. It made sense that he would be unable to keep quiet as his long-time friend and employer’s body was dragged away.

The cultist leader’s eyes whip toward Handa, unquenched rage still burning within them. His toothy grin makes its appearance as he spews his next words.

“Oh, so we have a volunteer for his replacement, then?”

Before he could react, Handa’s cell is thrown open, and the thugs pull him out by his wrist. The woman next to him reaches out, trying to grasp him before it's too late, but only her nail catches his shirt as he’s flung away from her. Handa was barely half Ronni's size, making him much easier to toss around.

Fear inhabits Handa’s eyes, obviously regretting his previous outburst. He’s become paralyzed by the large men before him. Their strength could snap him like a twig, especially now that they’re filled with an insatiable fury. He didn’t even get a chance to notice the cultist behind him.

“Handa!” Sasaki called out, but it was too late.

The cultist thrust his sword through Handa’s chest. Handa doesn’t process what has happened. His fear must have been overpowering him, since he showed no signs of feeling pain as he stared at the cold metal impaling him. Handa wipes at the corner of his mouth.

 
He stares at his worn, tanned hand; blood drips from the spaces between his fingers. His fear reaches unprecedented levels, as his eyes dart around, looking for any chance of salvation. They whip towards Sasaki, wide with terror. With a sputter of blood, he pleads.

“...Father Sasaki… help me-” But before he could finish, his eyes gloss over, and his head falls back limply.

Something burned within Sasaki. An overpowering feeling of resentment, dread, sorrow, and fury swarmed inside him. Another friend has died right before his eyes, and he couldn’t do a thing about it; didn’t do a thing about it.

 
What were the gods doing? Sasaki had never questioned their ways before. What am I doing? Sasaki has spent his whole life serving others. He had always put the greater good before himself. But when the time comes for a true hero to step up, he falls silent. Sasaki’s emotions bubble over, enveloping him in a myriad of regrets. He bashes his head against the bars, enraged at himself more than anything.

If he just spoken up when he got a funny feeling. If he just struggled harder when Nozomu was attacked. If he just never assembled his friends to be chosen. Then maybe, none of this would have happened.​

“Whoa, let’s not waste that precious noggin.”

Sasaki raises his head. His eyes had become clouded from the blood dribbling from his forehead. But it didn’t stop him from staring daggers at the cultist. The cultist smiles at him, taking pleasure in his misery.

“Please, there’s no need for that. He will be used appropriately.”

He nods toward the cultists surrounding the circle, signaling that another half hour has passed. They slam their hands down and, unlike before, the ritual circle glows. The light spreads, engulfing Handa in seconds. The light bursts into the air, summoning flames like yesterday.

“Six. Very interesting.” The leader exclaimed.

The other cultists furiously scribble in their notepads. The leader’s previous rage seems to have subsided as he pours over his notes intensely, leaving the room without a word. The other cultists look at each other, confused, before decidingly blowing out the candles, leaving the last two residents of Neveton alone in the dark.

The woman next to Sasaki, Celes, was eerily quiet. The brutal murder of those close to her has ravaged her psyche, causing her to stare at the ceiling, mouth agape, motionless. Sasaki reaches his hand out to console her, but she makes no move to reciprocate. ​

“It’s ok, Celes. The gods are watching over us. They’ll strike them with divine punishment for their sins. They won’t get away with it.”

But Celes wasn’t listening. Sasaki slumped back in his cell, defeatedly. Even he felt his words were hollow.