System Rebirth: Return of the Forgotten

The sound of the whip cutting through the air was sharp, brutal, and deafening. Each strike was accompanied by a sickening crack as it tore into Evan's flesh.

He was shackled to the stone wall, his arms stretched above him, the iron biting into his wrists. His bare back, exposed and vulnerable, had turned into a canvas of agony.

Blood oozed from the crisscrossing wounds, dripping to the cold stone floor below. The dark red stains grew larger with each passing moment, marking the floor with a horrifying pattern of suffering.

"Please! Stop!" Evan's voice cracked, hoarse from screaming. His words were desperate, raw with anguish.

"I... I don't even know what you want from me!"

The man wielding the whip didn't falter. His expression was one of cold, detached enthusiasm. His arm moved with practiced precision, each strike deliberate, each impact intended to break something more than just flesh. The man's armor, a grim assembly of blackened steel plates, gleamed faintly in the dim torchlight of the dungeon.

"Mercy..." Evan's voice dwindled into a whimper. His body trembled violently, his legs barely holding him upright. Yet, no matter how he pleaded, the man showed no sign of stopping.

The pain was unbearable. It wasn't just the sensation of his skin tearing open or the sharp sting of the whip's edge biting deep. It was the humiliation, the helplessness. Evan couldn't comprehend how he had ended up here—this dark, suffocating place that reeked of blood, sweat, and despair.

Minutes felt like hours, and time blurred into a haze of suffering. Eventually, the whipping stopped.

Evan's head drooped forward, his body sagging against the restraints. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he struggled to stay conscious.

Footsteps approached. Heavy, deliberate.

The man's gloved hand reached out, gripping Evan's jaw roughly and forcing him to look up. Evan's bloodshot eyes met the man's cold, gray gaze. The man's face was sharp and angular, his features harsh under the flickering torchlight. His lips curved into a faint smirk, as though savoring the sight of Evan's terror.

Evan shuddered, his mind racing.

'What does he want? Why is he looking at me like that?'

After a tense moment, the man let go of Evan's jaw, his expression unreadable. He turned and walked to the heavy wooden door at the edge of the room. Knocking twice, he waited.

The door creaked open, revealing two knights clad in identical armor. Their helmets obscured their faces, but their sheer size and the weight of their presence were intimidating. Each carried a sword strapped to their side, and their movements were precise, almost mechanical.

"My lord," one of the knights said, his voice echoing slightly within his helmet.

"Have you completed the purification?"

The man nodded. "Yes. The prisoned is ready. Prepare him for the journey with the others."

Evan's mind reeled.

'Prisoner? Purification? Journey? The words felt foreign and wrong, their implications chilling.'

Before he could process further, the knights stepped forward. They unshackled his wrists, letting his arms fall limply to his sides. The sudden release sent a jolt of pain through his shoulders.

Chains clinked as they locked heavy manacles around his wrists again, connecting him to a long chain. The knights yanked him forward without care, dragging his weakened body toward the hallway outside the room.

The hallway was long and suffocating, a tunnel of damp stone and oppressive shadows. Cracks lined the walls like veins, and the air was cold and heavy with the scent of mildew. Torches flickered weakly in their iron sconces, their light barely enough to pierce the gloom.

Evan's legs gave out more than once, his body too weak to carry him. The knights hauling him forward barely seemed to notice. Their gauntleted hands gripped his arms like iron clamps, dragging him unceremoniously along the rough, uneven floor.

His knees scraped against the jagged stone, leaving smears of blood in his wake. He bit down on his lip to stifle a groan, his head hanging low as he was pulled like a broken doll.

That's when his gaze caught it—a small knife, sheathed and strapped to the belt of the knight on his left. The hilt glinted faintly in the dim torchlight, a promise of sharp steel just within reach.

His breath hitched. 'Could I take it?'

The thought burned through his mind like wildfire. His heart pounded as he imagined his fingers curling around the hilt, the weight of the blade in his hand.

'It could be my chance—my one shot at escape. Or at least… my one line of defense.'

But doubt struck just as quickly.

'I've never fought before. What would I even do with it?' He was no warrior, no fighter. He'd never harmed anyone. But this wasn't about choice anymore—it was about survival.

Still, the risks loomed large. If he tried and failed, he'd pay dearly. A beating so savage it would make the last one feel like mercy, or worse...

He swallowed hard, his fingers twitching as the urge to act warred with the fear of consequence.

"Move it!" one of the knights barked, punctuating his words with a sharp tug that nearly dislocated Evan's shoulder.

His thoughts scattered, and before he could decide, they reached the end of the hallway. The knight on the right raised a boot and kicked the heavy door open with a dull thud, letting harsh daylight spill into the corridor, blinding in its intensity. Evan squinted, turning his head away instinctively.

***

The contrast was overwhelming. The air was fresher here, but the warmth of the sun did little to soothe his battered body.

The knights dragged him forward and threw him to the ground. He landed hard, his body screaming in protest.

Groaning, Evan raised his head slightly. His heart sank.

There were others—six of them, all chained together in a single line. They wore the same tattered, blood-stained attire as Evan, their expressions hollow and defeated.

One was a lean, fragile-looking man with long, unkempt hair that fell over his gaunt face. Another was a towering figure, dark-skinned, bald, and muscular, his sharp eyes scanning their surroundings with quiet intensity.

Evan's breath hitched as he processed the sight.

'Are they prisoners?... Am I a prisoner?'

One of the knights approached, grabbing the chain connected to Evan's wrists and locking it to the line of chains binding the others. The metallic clink sent a shiver down Evan's spine.

The man who had whipped him emerged from the hallway, his imposing frame casting a long shadow. He mounted a horse, his movements fluid and commanding.

"You all don't have to worry," the man said, his voice dripping with condescension.

"We'll be there soon."

He turned his horse, gesturing for the knights to proceed.

Wasting no time, a hand full of the knights stepped forward, forcefully putting a sack bag over the heads of all the prisoners, Evan included.

After this, grabbing the slaves by their hands, they dragged the slaves forward as they all began their voyage.

Evan stumbled forward, his body on autopilot. He felt the weight of the chain, the oppressive heat of the sun, and the raw pain of his injuries.

'This can't be happening. This isn't real. It's some kind of nightmare...'

Yet, deep down, he knew it was all too real. His fingers brushed against something hidden beneath his ragged clothing—a small, sharp dagger he had managed to swipe in a fleeting moment of desperation.

'If it comes to it... I'll fight and atleast take one of them down with me.'