“I fear what God shall do if I never try.”

Quintus catches the jagged knife midair before it finds its way into his neck. Pulling the assailant close, he deftly headbutts him, disorienting the fellow prisoner.

“I said stop! We must talk!” he says, bellowing.

“There is nothing to talk about!” cries Marcus, recovering from the blow. “Only one of us can emerge from this mine!”

“And then what?” Quintus screams. “I have killed seven already and am no closer to freedom than you! We can put a stop to this, but I need your help!”

“I can’t!" cries Marcus, ignoring the appeal. "They’ll kill my family!”

Marcus lunges, resolution in his eyes. Quintus, seeing no other recourse but the opening provided, plunges his own rusty knife deep into the attacker. The two fall on each other in the struggle and Marcus’ blade clanks on the rock as he gasps in pain.

“Cecilia," Marcus chokes, spitting up blood. "I'm sorry…”

“I didn't want this,” groans Quintus, his eyes welling up.

The dying man’s breaths quickly turn into wheezes. “I feel… cold.”

Quintus props Marcus up before pulling him close and grasping his hand tightly. “It'll be okay, brother,” his voice cracks. “You'll be before the Throne soon.”

“Why… are you showing me kindness? I tried to kill you…”

“It’s not your fault…” says Quintus gently. “We've all been put into this impossible situation.”

“What… would you have done… if I had stopped?”

“The diminishers wager on us, on who will emerge alive from each Harrowing. I’ve won more than any other and the captain has taken a liking to me, so much so that the guards are now relaxed in their revelries when I emerge. If I can find help, we can overpower the fools, seize their weapons, and free the others.”

“You don't fear what they will do to you… if you fail?”

“I fear what God shall do if I never try.”

“I'm… sorry... I should have listened.”

“There’s nothing to be done about it now,” Quintus whispers, tears quietly running down his face.

“Please… tell Cecilia…” But the man never finishes the thought, having breathed his last.

“I swear to you…” Quintus growls, his eyes now afire. “I will find a way to save our people.” Gently kissing Marcus’ head before pushing the corpse off, he dislodges his blade and sets to the grisly task of removing the man’s head.

Emerging from the mine’s entrance, he is greeted by his techno-barbarian captors, the lords of this wasteland. Carefully masking his emotions, he throws the head before them as he kneels.

“I live to please, Diminisher.”

One of the guards drunkenly swears before throwing the captain a bag of coins.

“You claim another head!” the captain laughs through his skull-helmet, savoring his newly won coin. “Well done, my demon of death! Are there any who can stand before your wrath?” His voice is inhuman, sounding tinny and raspy through the helmet’s vocalizer.

Quintus looks at him with dead eyes, his inward burning rage appearing nowhere on his face.

We will see. Soon.