Chapter 8: Insanity 1
Darkness.
Not the gentle kind that cradles sleep—but the choking kind. Heavy. Smothering. Alive.
Nafees's eyes snapped open.
Rattle.
The first thing he felt was cold metal against his skin. Iron bars. A cage. The second was the smell—sweat, piss, blood, and despair. Stale and suffocating. It clung to his lungs like mold.
He sat up too fast. His head swam.
Groaning, he pressed a palm to his temple, fingers trembling. The air was humid, thick with fear. His throat was dry, raw, like he'd swallowed sand.
Cough cough
'...Where am i??! I was in the Inn lobby with....cough...cough.....those psycho cultist'
Then came the sounds.
Whimpering. Soft sobs. Murmurs of prayer, of hopeless bargaining. The occasional scream cut short as if swallowed whole by the walls.
He blinked, trying to adjust to the dim glow.
It wasn't pitch black, faint orange light flickered in from high torches outside the cages, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts on the rough stone.
Clink... clink... clink...
Chains swayed gently from the ceilings. Hooks hung from beams above, stained dark with old blood. The floor was slick in places. Something was dripping somewhere. Slowly. Repeatedly.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Nafees looked around.
Dozens of cages, stretching in every direction. Some small, some barely large enough for a person to sit. Others bigger, holding entire families.
In one, a mother clung to her child, rocking gently, whispering a lullaby that sounded more like a prayer. Her voice cracked from dehydration. The child, barely older than three, clutched a torn stuffed animal. Its button eyes were missing.
In another, a man banged his head against the bars over and over. Whispering "forgive me" like a mantra. His forehead was bleeding.
Nafees's cage creaked when he shifted.
Someone noticed.
A girl in the cage opposite lifted her head. One eye was swollen shut. Her lips moved, but no sound came. Just cracked breaths. She looked too tired to speak. Too broken.
Then he remembered
Ciel..!!!!
Panic hit Nafees like a wave.
"Ciel..?"
he called out, voice dry and weak.
He grabbed the bars of his cage and looked around.
But he didn't see him.
"Ciel!" he called again, louder this time.
No answer. Only the sound of water dripping and people crying in the dark.
Then!!
Clank
A heavy door opened at the far end of the dark room.
Footsteps echoed. Slow. Heavy.
A tall man walked in with two masked cultists. They stopped in front of a cage a few rows ahead.
Inside crouched a man in his forties. Pale. Unshaven. Barefoot and shaking.
Nafees didn't recognize him.
He wasn't from the inn.
Does that mean the inn wasn't their first target.
The man clutched his chest, eyes wide, body pressed against the corner of the cage as if it could swallow him whole.
"No… no, please...i'm not supposed to be here....I'm just a teacher, please..."
The two masked cultists stepped in without a word.
The cage door screeched open.
"No! Stop! I haven't done anything! Don't...!"
They seized him by the arms.
That teacher kicked. Struggled. Screamed
But no one helped. No one moved.
The third man, the one in charge, stepped forward. His face was exposed, but it was contorted with irritation. His black robes shimmered faintly in the flickering torchlight.
He gazed down at the struggling teacher, annoyance creeping into his voice.
"Tsk… I'm forced to deal with you because some useless noble decided to barge in uninvited, just to see how we make our potion…hypocrite nobels."
He spat the words with contempt.
With a sharp exhale of frustration, the man turned and stormed out of the room. The two cultists followed him, dragging the middle-aged teacher along,
Nafees gripped the bars, frozen in place.
He watched the man vanish into the hallway beyond. his screams growing thinner, shriller, more desperate.
And then—silence.
No more struggling.
Just absence.
As if he'd never existed.
Nafees's stomach twisted.
'A guest...what potion...
They're going to kill him.
No....worse.
They're going to use him. Ruin him.
Tear him apart, not for punishment. Not for ritual but for fun.
For someone else's amusement.
Nafees felt it then.....real malice.!!!
Thick. Sharp. It filled the room like a scent. Like the copper bite of blood.
This wasn't cruelty by accident. This was a performance.
And the man had just been chosen.
****
Days passed...or at least, Nafees assumed they had.
Time lost all meaning in this place. There was no sunlight, no moon, no stars...only the dim, artificial glow of torchlight
He couldn't tell how long he'd been here.
More prisoners were brought in over time. tired, broken people herded in by silent, masked cultists.
Some were families. Others were travelers, merchants, or commoners. All of them wore the same expressions of confusion and dread as his group had once worn. Their clothes were tattered, their bodies malnourished. And just like him, they were never fed. Only water, barely enough to survive.
Nafees watched the others grow weaker by the day. Some cried. Others simply stared at the floor, lips too dry to speak.
He tried to ask around, tried to find any trace of Ciel—but there was nothing. No one had seen him. No whispers, no rumors. Just absence.
Who knew how many groups had been brought in after them?
This place was more than a prison. It was a machine. Devouring people, grinding down their minds and bodies until they were ready for whatever came next.
And whatever that was... it wasn't freedom.
To be continued....