The world reassembled slowly from static. Blinking through a vortex of swirling colors, my vision bled at the edges.
A cacophony of noises enveloped me, a feverish hum of countless voices colliding in a frenzied dance. Laughter cut through the murk, raw and jagged. In the distance, discordant shrieks of instruments clawed for dominance, each note a jagged edge against my teeth, an erratic symphony of agony.
The air was thick with the dank stench of sweat, and sickly-sweet incense.
When my brain caught up with my eyes, I found myself in a vast chamber, a cavern, grotesquely transformed into a gaudy hall. Roots snaking down the walls, garish banners drooping from the ceiling like wilted tongues.
Alcoves carved into the walls overflowed with a bizarre assortment of trinkets, ornate urns burning incense, glowing vials, and rusted metal sculptures twisted into grotesque forms. Trays of steaming, unidentifiable food, some charred, others still writhing, spilled from the alcoves.
The center platform shimmered under flickering light of torches and old-world chandeliers. It hosted half-dozen musicians bowing and plucking instruments that looked part-organic. Music scratched through the space like rusted blades: discordant, off-key, deliberate.
The chamber pulsed with life, an eclectic mass of figures, their attire a riot of color and absurdity. Madness in silk. Cybernetic limbs twitched beneath layered fabrics. Gold teeth flashed through neon veils.
Someone wore a helm made of a beast skull, another had critters tattooed into her scalp, real ones, maybe. The slums’ elite, dressed in scavenged opulence, hunting amusement like it owed them credits.
I was seated on a threadbare couch, its cushions sunken and stained, wearing a garish yellow tunic of clashing patterns and matching trousers, a jester’s attire in a madman’s court.
A voice cut through the noise, dripping with mockery. “Ahh, the fallen prince wakes.”
It was the plump slaver. His patchwork coat flared as he minced toward me with exaggerated flair, flanked by a brute in grimy red armor.
His gaze swept over the crowd, lenses glinting from thick goggles. “Friends, you wanted to know who he is? Ask him yourself!” he drawled, sneering.
A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd. Someone chuckled, another hissed.
“Ask him,” the slaver said, spreading his arms wide. “Anything.”
Somewhere deep, Arvie’s amused voice whispered, “Play along, master. Enjoy a bit of theater.”
A woman with orange dreadlocks and predator eyes, leaned forward. “Well, look at you, da’hling,” she said, her voice husky with titillation. “You’re a long way from home, ain’t you? So, where’s a pretty boy like you come crawling in, hmm?”
Silence fell, expectant eyes trained on me as I met her gaze.
I paused. My throat burned from the air, heavy with spice, sweat, and old metal. “I don’t remember,” I said the truth. “I woke up in the ruins. That’s all.”
Laughter bubbled up, and the murmur of interest raised. Someone tossed a coin at my feet.
“So, he’s brain-scrubbed,” the woman purred, a sly grin creeping across her lips. “Or could be a lying prince from the ruined city above, fallen from grace, hmm?” She prowled around me, gaze bright with intense delight.
A voice growled from a shadowed alcove. “What’s Valcor’s angle?”
Ah, so the slaver had a name.
I looked at him. His eyes narrowed behind the goggles, a thin smile playing at his lips. I felt Arvie urging caution and forced a wry smile. “If he has plans, he wouldn’t tell me. I think I’m just a game piece, like the rest of you.”
A ripple of laughter spread through the chamber. The slaver’s smile widened. “Clever,” he purred, leaning closer. “But you’ll need more than cleverness here, my dear prince.”
The conversation swirled, the guests’ questions growing bolder, more insistent. They spoke of the fall of the upper city, the invasion of the Nether beasts. Anxiety pulsed beneath their jests, a shadow that drove them to drink deeper and laugh louder.
I navigated their game, answering with half-truths, deflecting their traps with vague replies, while the slaver’s gaze remained a constant, calculating presence.
As the guests grew more raucous, a fight exploded near the musicians. Bottles broke. A scream cut through the chamber as two men rolled across a table, scattering knives and meat that twitched like it wasn’t quite dead. The slaver barked orders, his guards moved in, but the skirmish spread like wildfire.23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkMUL7RhsoH
A hand clamped down on my shoulder. I spun to find a woman staring into my eyes. She was draped in dark silks, her face partially hidden by a jeweled veil. Stark black hair, steel-gray eyes calculating.
“Come with me,” she hissed. “If you want out.”
“Do it, master, now!” Arvie urged.
I nodded, allowing her to pull me through the chaos, weaving past flailing limbs and toppled chairs. The slaver’s angry voice cut through the din, but we had slipped through a narrow archway, the air turning cooler, the noise receding.
The woman didn’t slow. She led me down a spiraling staircase, through tunnels lit by flickering gaslight, past metal doors humming with hidden energy. The sounds of pursuit had faded behind us, replaced by the soft drip of water and distant echoes of machinery.
Finally, we reached a gloomy chamber, walls slick with damp.
She turned. “They say you breathe the miasma. Is it true?”
“I do,” I replied. “Why do you ask?”
Her smirk was all sharp corners. “To see if you’re worth the risk.”
She fished an amulet from her pocket, attempting to place it around my neck. I stopped her with a hand.
A new voice emerged from the shadows, smooth and velvety. “Let her do it. It prevents Valcor from detecting you.”
I turned, seeing the shadows shift to reveal a cloaked figure. The face remained obscured, but eyes glowed with an unsettling, cold light.
“Who are you?”
“A friend, maybe. Time will tell. But let’s hurry.” The figure gestured to the woman, who placed the amulet around my neck.
He placed a hand on the wall, which slid open to reveal a hidden passage. We followed the winding path through the alleys of the slums, until we stopped at a rusted stall tucked in a wall’s shadow. Its owner, a wiry woman with luminous tattoos, opened a back door without a word.
“I think you have something I want,” the figure said, their smile hidden but palpable. “But first, we must remove the device Valcor has implanted in you.”
“Valcor, the slaver?” I asked.
He mocked. “Yes, Lurian Valcor, your master, until we extract the device. Follow me.”
"Your move, prince," Arvie purred, a grin woven through her words.
I stepped into the dark, knowing that my fate wasn't just my own anymore, threads pulling tighter, unseen hands guiding me deeper into the coils of this twisted moon, it was a game played in darkness, where every move was a step in this dance of shadows.
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