Chapter 7: Dungeon 2

Slowly, Alex sat up and pressed his back against the cold rough wall. The cold, wet stone felt chilly on his skin, and he shivered from where he sat.

He looked around the room. Immediately, his heart sank in his chest as he caught a glimpse of what was holding him hostage-a small chamber with nothing but a pile of dirty straw tucked away in one corner for a bed.

He had no other prisoners in sight, but he could hear, farther down the corridor, muffled noises, screams, clanking of chains, and the rare harsh barking of a guard.

This was the demon king's dungeon: the place where hope came to die.

"How did it come to this?" Alex whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.

He closed his eyes to will the sounds of the dungeon to just go away, but that was impossible. Screams from other prisoners seemed louder, more desperate somehow; Alex couldn't help but wonder what atrocities they were being put through, and he wondered if he shared the same fate.

It ran a shiver down his spine colder than he'd ever pulled. He had always dreamed about what it would be like to be some kind of hero in some fantasy world-fighting monsters, saving the day. But this… this was nothing like he had ever imagined. This was a nightmare.

Alex buried his face in his hands, the prick of tears at the corners of his eyes. Never had he been so lost and hopeless in a situation.

Everything hurt, and his head just swam with futility. What was he to do now? How was he even to get away, let alone kill a demon king?

"I'm no hero," Alex whispered, shaking. "I'm just… I'm just a failure."

The words were bitter in his mouth, like ash on his tongue, and he could not gainsay them.

He flung his head back against the wall and looked up toward the tiny window. The moonlight was small and pale, and only minute, frail shadows were cast upon the room.

Was anyone even out there to know he was in here, to come searching for him? But of course, he knew the answer to this. No one was coming for him. He was utterly, totally alone.

Finally, with the night well along, his exhaustion finally caught up with him, and Alex's eyelids took on their more usual heavy weight. He did not wish to sleep yet felt his body was too worn out to offer any resistance.

As his eyelids fell, he fancied he heard footsteps approach his cell from somewhere down the corridor, but before he could sort it out, darkness took him and he slid into fitful sleep.

He woke once more, this time to feel first that dull ache in his body. All muscles were stiff, all movements jarring to him.

He groaned and sat up more slowly, wincing as he did. It took a moment for him to remember where he was, and when the memory finally hit, his heart sank all over again.

It was dark and cold as ever, yet something was changed now-some far-away sound, as of some one stirring about the corridor outside his cell.

Alex held his breath, listened hard. Nearer, nearer it drew-the jingling of keys.

His pulse quickened. A turnkey? Or another prisoner? Whoever, he was coming to his cell.

The door groaned open a moment later, letting in the dull light into the chamber. Alex squinted his eyes against the sudden light, peering to make out the figure that stood in the doorway. It was a guard-a tall, well-muscled figure in dark armor, holding a lantern that cast dancing shadows along the walls.

"Get up," growled the voice of the guard, husky and authoritative.

That was a shock to Alex right away, and he didn't know what to do. Yet, he knew better than to refuse. With painful effort, he struggled to his feet; his legs were trembling beneath his body.

The guard entered the cell and reached for Alex's arm, yanking him from the cell out into the hallway. The sudden jerk sent him tumbling, yet the guard acted like he didn't care a whit. He dragged Alex along-the clutches on his arm firm and tight.

"Where are you taking me?" Alex asked, his voice quivering.

"Shut up," the guard snarled. "You'll see soon enough."

With every step deeper into the dungeon Alex took, his heart was racing. And of course, there would be prisoner-packed cells in the walls with every manner of despair.

The figures sat up against the walls and crouched in corners, but every one of them had that same hopeless expression in their eyes.

As Alex walked down the corridor, a prisoner in one of the cells reached out and firmly grabbed his arm. His long, bony fingers bit deep into his skin. The crazy eyes of a man whose face were hollow-eyed, carved by hunger. "Help me," he whispered in desperation, tongue-lashing. "Please, help me."

The instant that he was able to do anything whatsoever, the guard reached out and yanked him away, roughly pushing the prisoner's hand off of him. "Keep moving," he growled.

Alex went forward stumbling, his head reeling from what happened. The prisoner's plea seemed to ring in his ears, imbuing him with an eerie feeling of foreboding. He would like to be able to help, yet he didn't even know how to help himself.

They finally reached the heavy door at the far end of the hall; the guard turned a heavy key in the lock and shoved Alex inside.

The room beyond was small and badly lighted; there was but one torch flickering on the wall. In the middle of that room was a table, and on the table lay instruments-pleasantness unseen upon any of them.

The sight of these instruments gave Alex cold sweats. No explanation was totally not needed as to what they were meant for. Big plans in store were what the demon king had for him, and not one of them was good either.

"Wait here," the guard said, pushing Alex toward the table. "Someone will be with you shortly."