Caracara's Hunt

A sense of weightlessness and rushing air pushed through the confusion in Corwal's mind. As he forced his eyes open, he crashed against a hard surface. Pain coursed through his arm, and a muffled scream escaped his lips.

With gritted teeth, he pushed himself up with his free hand. Whatever had happened to him, it couldn't be good. Normal people didn't get drugged and thrown in… wherever the hell he was.

Where was he anyway?

The stench of blood and stale food assaulted his nostrils, and bile rose in his throat. A quick look around revealed a dome-like room, but that was where the grandeur started and ended. The walls were damp, mouldy, and so was the ground beneath him. A chill invaded him from just sitting on it.

There was the crack of chains, and he raised his head to see a couple meter wide opening in the ceiling being shut closed. The guard atop grinned down at him and left.

'Love you too,' Corwal answered in his mind. He rubbed his forehead, feeling exhausted. If he'd woken up earlier, he might have been able to use his status to walk out free, but that was probably why he'd been drugged so heavily. His enemies didn't want him getting out before they could set their plans in motion.

"So what do we have here?" a sleazy voice asked, arresting Corwal's attention. "A little birdie lost his way?"

Corwal looked in the voice's direction and saw a mountain of a man. A scar started above his right eyebrow and ended by the corner of his lip. It twisted his features, and the mocking smile on his lips didn't help either.

Muscles lined his arms and legs. Maybe because of that, he wore only a loincloth, exposing the strength of his flesh. Or the scars to intimidate anyone who saw him. There wasn't a part of him that hadn't been ruined by blade or magic.

Standing in the shadow, he looked like a demon descended to mortal realm.

Corwal gulped. He suddenly knew where he'd been sent.

'So this is the Gutter, huh.'

He was more than familiar with the name. Everyone was. It was as close to hell as the mortal realm got.

Formless shadows emerged from the darkness, surrounding him. He could see delight and expectation in their eyes. A few wore savage grins while others stared at him with barely contained excitement. One thing they all shared though was callousness. Not one man took him for anything more than a plaything, a toy to be broken.

The thought was chilling, but Corwal forced himself to remain calm and trained his eyes on the first man. He stood in the front, so there was a good chance he was the leader. If Corwal wanted to have any chance at survival, he had to fight him one on one. The moment others interfered, he would be a goner.

Yet he wouldn't have been able to stand a chance against such a fighter even on his best day, and today was clearly no such day. His head was muddled from the drug, his ribs bruised, and his shoulder was most likely dislocated. He wanted to check it, but didn't dare to reveal his vulnerability.

'It's fine, I've got my magic,' he consoled himself and straightened. It wasn't a good idea to remain sitting, so he pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the jolt of pain that went through his right arm.

"I want this one," a man to his right said and licked his lips. His words sent a shiver down Corwal's back.

"Shut your trap," another hollered, smashing his fist into the previous guy's side. "You killed the last one straight away!"

The first guy massaged his side with a glower. "It was a mistake, I told you. It won't repeat."

"Like h—"

"Quiet," the scarred man ordered. His voice wasn't loud, but it held the authority of a battle general.

He shifted to face the two men, and Corwal took his chance. He wasn't going to get a better opportunity than this.

Fingers splayed, he raised his good hand and called upon the ether. It came readily, pouring its energy into him, and he sent it forward. What did physical might mean when one had ether at their beck and call?

He readied himself for the horror on the prisoners' faces. They might be the worst of the worst—mass murderers, rapists, and anyone the king deemed an eyesore—but they weren't immune to magic. No one was.

Yet he was up for a chilling wake up call. The moment ether left his hand, it fizzled out like embers under a stream of water. White dust peppered his fingers for a moment, then it vanished too.

Loud, mocking laughter echoed in his ears. "Lordling tried to use magic, didn't he?" one man guffawed. His companion almost doubled over in laughter.

The scarred man's twisted grin grew wider. "You thought to ambush me with your spells?" he asked, chuckling darkly. "It's the Gutter, kid. Don't you know the legends?"

"Well shit."

That was the whole of Corwal's eloquence at that moment. If things had looked grim before, he was now neck deep in trouble. How could he have forgotten that the Gutter was the most expensive thing in the country? It was built of onyx, the only material in the world that absorbed ether.

With an internal sigh, he took up a fighting stance. His right arm screamed in protest, but he couldn't not fight. If he stepped back, the whole circle would rush him.

He raised his head and smiled at the men. "It was worth a try," he said with a shrug.

The scarred man rushed him then, giving Corwal no time to dodge. He blocked it with his good arm and tried to fall back, give himself some space to maneuver, but the prisoner didn't let him. His wounded shoulder received a hit that made his mind blank out from pain, and the next moment he found himself on the ground.

A foot was on his chest, pressing against his ribcage. He was forced to gasp for air like a fish out of water, never able to take in enough.

When Corwal looked up, he saw a malicious smile on the scarred man's face. With a wink, he put more pressure on his chest. "How's life now, kid? Still want to ambush me with your magic?" He spit the last word like it was a curse.

Corwal couldn't have uttered a word even if he had wanted. His hands instinctively went to the man's foot, but he knew it was pointless. He wasn't even halfway strong enough to push it away.

The other prisoners groaned and called out to the scarred man who was apparently named Feist to not kill their new toy, but Corwal ignored it all. With desperation focusing his mind, he inspected his surroundings for something that could help him survive.

There was a dark corner empty of the prisoners, but he needed to be free to reach it. His eyes returned to the space closer to him, and he saw it then. Not an arm's length away from him lay a black shard.

It blended with the darkness in the Gutter, and Corwal didn't hesitate. He grabbed it with his left hand and jabbed it into the scarred man's leg. It was enough to unbalance him, and Corwal rolled away, straight for the shadow he'd noticed earlier.

His head swam as he landed by the wall, but he clutched the stone shard like it was his lover. With effort, he pushed himself into a crouch and turned around to face the prisoners, waiting. Blood dripped from his stone shard, counting the seconds, but no one moved.

Only the sound of Corwal's gasps for air could be heard in the cell.

Time seemed to be frozen in the Gutter. The prisoners stood like statues, petrified. They stared in Corwal's general direction with various shades of dread and anxiousness. It was so strong a chill went down his back.

It wasn't him they were so afraid of, so who?

With a bad feeling, he let his gaze stray to the side. He kept one eye on the criminals on the other side while scanning the darkness. There didn't seem to be anything in it, but when his vision accustomed to the dark, he saw a black shape a few steps away from him.

It hadn't moved since he'd been dropped inside the Gutter, but now it did. Yawning, the person sat up and stretched. Whoever it was, it was neither as tall nor as muscular as the other criminals. Corwal would've guessed it was a child if not for the fact that the person was in the Gutter.

"Who are you?" he asked the dark shape that had stopped moving.

Inside, Corwal was berating himself for ending up in such a position. He felt like he was naked without his magic or even a sword. If the criminals came for him again, he could only die fighting. There was no way he could defeat ten strong men bare-handed.

When the figure didn't reply, Corwal furthered himself from it, but still kept his back to the wall. "Why are they afraid of you?" he asked again. His hand with the shard was still in the air, held right before him. He didn't dare to lower it for a moment.

There was another silence, and Corwal began considering that the person might be mute when they replied. "Because I've been here the longest."

It was a man's voice, but soft and elegant, even if a bit hoarse from disuse. But more importantly, it sounded young. The person couldn't be past his twenties.

"That doesn't explain it," Corwal said.

He glanced at the criminals, but they were still huddling on the opposite side and watching him as if he was a madman. It disturbed Corwal, but he wasn't eager to return to their welcoming hands either.

"It doesn't?" the youth asked. He sounded genuinely puzzled. "But it's the truth."

Corwal wasn't up for such games. He whirled around and grabbed the figure by the neck. His action was followed by sharp intakes of breath and even a single wail, but he ignored them. If those bastards were afraid of the kid so much, then they'd be even more afraid of someone who put him into place.

There was a moment of silence in the room, then Corwal felt himself flying through the air. He crashed against the wall with a loud thump and tumbled to the ground. His head had hit the wall as well, which dizzied him for a moment.

His back was a burning field of lava, but he ignored it, trying to understand what had happened to him. The other men were too far to fling him away, yet the youngster was too small to be able to do it himself.

As his eyes cleared, he saw the white particles of ether scattering in the air. They were like dust floating in the sunlight, but the scene before him wasn't so idyllic. Corwal was in the Gutter, a prison for the worst criminals built from onyx, a material which absorbed ether.

Once his mind locked onto that fact, Corwal raised his head from the ground and stared up. The youth had walked to his side and was looking at his crumpled form with an unreadable expression.

Corwal had no illusions that it would mean anything good for him, but he couldn't resist examining the person who would most likely take his life.

He'd been mistaken before. The boy wasn't a child, but a young man in his early twenties. Yet because of malnutrition and no sunlight, he was sickly thin and papery white. His arms and legs were mere bones with a covering of skin.

When the youth didn't say anything for a long while, Corwal chose to voice the words burning at the back of his throat. "You cannot use magic in the Gutter."

"You can't?" The youth massaged his throat that had a red mark over it, then smiled. "Sorry, I forgot. Next time I promise to punch you away."