Where am I?

Ansel moved his head left and right. He strained against the bindings tying him down but he couldn't move his legs or arms. He eyed what he was laying on and realized he was strapped to a cold metal table. The surface gleamed when light reflected from the nearest torches. Panic rose but he stifled it by focusing on his breathing like Kazmere taught him. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He closed his eyes. A few seconds went by.

He opened his eyes, peered left, and noticed a wooden dresser with a giant mirror hitched to the top. The mirror - crimson and gold mixed along the outside rim of the mirror - was too decorative for any Crimson Guard to own. Prince Dayne's tent.

A shiver ran down his spine.

From laying atop the cold metal table, his reflection stared back at him. This was the first time since back in Reven. Before he was framed and taken prisoner. His short white hair was matted with dirt and blood. His forehead had a slight cut, right below his hairline. His green eyes shone back in the reflection of the dimly lit room.

He tore his gaze away from his reflection as the tent flap swooshed to his right. A cold breeze and the soft sound of rain entered with the visitor.

Prince Dayne walked in alone. His gold-tinted armor dripped from the rain.

Ansel tried to close his eyes and feign asleep to dissuade the prince from harming him. Playing dead worked for him before.

"I'm not an idiot, Foundling." Amusement coated his voice.

Ansel's eyes shot open. He stayed silent while Prince Dayne studied him for a moment. His eyes glossed over as if he was somewhere distant. Only for a second, then the look disappeared. The prince walked over to the dresser with the mirror. "I will do what must be done," he whispered. The soft murmurs barely reached Ansel's ears. The prince fumbled with some tools sitting atop the table, the metal clinking together.

Ansel's mouth went dry. Is he mad?

Prince Dayne's back was turned to him, caressing his tools. "You must have luck on your side. The Crimson Guards found an herb recently that reduces the effects of the mist. With it, I saved your life. For now."

Prince Dayne turned from the table and locked eyes with him. "I have some questions to ask you today, Foundling. You are going to answer them truthfully. If you decide to be dishonest, we will drag this out. I won't kill you. I need you for something. But I will bring you as close to the edge as possible."

Ansel struggled against his bindings with all the strength he had. "Let me go." He looked left and saw the prince wearing a malicious sneer.

"The pink mist almost took your sanity. It almost stole my vengeance." The grin dropped off the prince's face.

Ansel swallowed. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead. "What do you want with me? You've made it clear it's not my death."

"You will know the answer to that soon enough." The prince's face was half covered by shadow. "Now. I want you to answer some questions."

He strode toward Ansel. "Let's start with the first question." The prince's voice raised from normal to screaming in a split second. "Who ordered you to kill my mother? Tell me." Spit shot off, hitting Ansel's face.

He shrunk against the table, terrified. "I told you a hundred times on the ship. I didn't kill your mother." Fury rose in him. He wouldn't listen to that same question one more time. He struggled again at the bindings, despair fighting anger. The air around him grew colder.

"Wrong answer." Prince Dayne turned, walked back to the table, and picked up a small metal tool. One used for pulling nails out of wood. He strode back over to Ansel. The prince's eyes shone in the dim light of the torches. Prince Dayne snatched his hand and put his face close to Ansel's. He tried to pull away. The bindings kept his body in place.

"I will enjoy this." The prince put the tool to his fingernail and yanked. The nail ripped from his finger.

The sudden eruption of pain made Ansel scream. Tears stung his eyes and streamed down his face. A sharp-cutting feeling coursed through his finger before turning to a throbbing ache. Hot liquid dripped from his finger while he sucked in labored breaths. Sweat soaked his hair; exhaustion made his body heavy.

Prince Dayne stood over him, watching with a joyful look in his eye. The rain matted his curly brown hair and his eyes were glazed over once again - distant. He paced the room with a maniacal giggle.

How will I ever get out of here?

"Since you never answer that question truthfully, I'll ask something more direct. Did my father hire you, Foundling?" He stopped and locked eyes with Ansel.

Ansel frowned while breathing ragged. "Your father?"

Celibrik burst into the tent, rain dripping from his short black hair. The scar over his right eye was emphasized in the lighting.

"The scouts report a sizable force is on the way here and you're torturing the Foundling boy? The Native Races are coming." Celibrik's face reddened with each word. "Your condition is getting worse. I will report this to your father immediately."

Prince Dayne rounded on Celibrik. "I do the commanding here Celibrik. Not you. How many times must I remind you? You won't report fuck all to my father. You report what I tell you to. Obey my command." His hand rested on the hilt of a sword leaning against the wall.

Celibrik replied, unfazed. "Do you really think you could kill a Vibrant when you don't have powers yourself? How arrogant."

A wicked grin spread across the prince's face."Some might even call me mad."

Celibrik ignored him. "Please, my Lord. Let me take the prisoner back to Building 49 so you can lead the Crimson Guards to battle. They will be here within the hour." Celibrik did his best to appear meek. Ansel didn't believe it for a second, and he doubted the prince did.

A large boom struck outside the tent, shaking the ground. Both men turned.

"So it begins," said the prince, much too calm for the situation. "Only a minor setback," he whispered to himself. Quiet enough that Ansel almost didn't hear him.

Celibrik had. He stared at the prince with a straight face but barely hid his distaste. He knew something was going on with Prince Dayne. Celibrik called it a "condition."

"Take the prisoner then." The prince turned back to face Ansel. "I'm not done with you. Who knows when I'll be coming for you next?" He chuckled before leaving the tent. The sound of pouring rain entered the room as the flap opened and closed.

What a sick bastard.

Celibrik turned to him and released his bindings. "You're lucky I came when I did. That man would be cutting off your fingers soon if you couldn't satisfy his excitement."

He winced while Celibrik pulled him to his feet. The ground rotated all around him for a short moment and bile in his stomach threatened to come up. Three booms sounded off in different directions all around the tent. Those sounds are spread out. The whole camp must be getting attacked.

Celibrik studied his face. "I must take you to Building 49 where you can wait until I take care of this. I'll be back to hear what the prince asked you once I'm done."

"Just get me out of this horrid place." He held himself up against the wall. Just play along.

They exited the tent to a scene of utter chaos. The downpour of rain made the muddy ground slippery. Loud booms sounded off in every direction. He covered his ears to block out the deafening noises. Men ran around frantically. Crimson Guards tried to gain a semblance of order. A sweet smell tickled his nostrils. He peered left and sucked in his breath.

Outside, on the western hill overlooking the camp, stood five catapults all lined up. Each one made from green and yellow vines. They flung forward green wax blobs on fire, trailing a smoky vapor.

From each impact spot, the pink mist spread out in every direction; coming for everyone's sanity. Men around him fought for any Shroomveil they got their hands on. Prisoners attacked Crimson Guards in hordes before fighting each other for the Shroomveil.

His eyes widened with shock at the scenes. Chaos ruled. Celibrik cursed loudly. Celibrik put on an upgraded Shroomveil and looked at the catapults, then back at Ansel. The rain matted his short black hair to his forehead.

"I must take care of catapults since I'm the only one with Viberium powers here. You will go to Building 49, sit in a corner, and stay still until I come for you. If you don't, I will tell the prince that you asked me to help you escape. That will bring even more of his sadistic wrath onto you. Do as I say. I can help you avoid some of the prince's attention."

"I don't believe you." No one could take the prince's attention from him. Not without killing him.

"What you believe doesn't matter. I will find you soon." Celibrik reached into a hidden pocket on the inside of his shirt. He pulled out a small item that looked like a ring. Celibrik grasped it in his left hand before Ansel could get a better look.

With knees bent, Celibrik put his arms at right angles aimed at the ground. The air around his fists swirled in a marvelous way. A white glow formed around his person. Celibrik shot into the air toward the catapults in the distance. He quickly turned into a small black dot in the sky. All of a sudden, a giant sphere of swirling white blasted from the man. One of the catapults exploded from the impact of the sphere, sending chunks flying in every direction.

Ansel's jaw dropped at the immense show of power. He'd only seen Kazmere use his Viberium powers before. They weren't something you saw often.

He shook himself from his daze. Time to run.

He turned toward Building 49. All I have to do is follow the numbers and get a Shroomveil. No breathing that pink mist again.

He sprinted along the pathway between the Buildings, focusing on the numbers. 103... 99... 83... He round a corner and skidded to a halt. A Crimson Guard stood with his back to him, longsword ready to stab downward. A prisoner lay on the ground, arms up in a defensive manner.

Ansel clenched his jaw, hot anger filled him. He wouldn't allow any more death by Crimson Guard's hands.

He sprinted at the guard with all the energy he could muster. He leaped and planted both feet into the backside of the man. The kick launched the guard forward. He rolled in the mud, covering his crimson armor. The prisoner nodded at Ansel and ran away between two of the Buildings.

Rule two. If no escape is available, fight to your last breath.

Saving the other prisoner revived a part of him he thought lost. The warm feeling was one he hadn't felt in months.

Pride.

He saved a man instead of harming one. I'm a Foundling, through and through. He grinned and his resolve hardened.

The Crimson Guard jumped to his feet and set his balance with his legs spread shoulder-width apart. Red-faced, he roared with anger and sprinted at Ansel through the pouring rain. Big mistake attacking first on this mud. Ansel crouched, ready for action.

The guard swung at him with his longsword. Ansel leaned far backward - hand touching the ground behind him. He kicked his leg out and caught the guard under the right kneecap. The man flailed forward onto the slippery ground.

The impact made Ansel roll with the man. The Crimson Guard fell face-first into the mud. His sword launched off to the left. The guard tried to get up but slipped forward onto the muddy ground. The blade landed tip down, right near Ansel. Ansel dragged himself to his feet while smiling. He grabbed hold of the hilt, sprinted at the guard at full speed, and leaped into the air.

Ansel landed sword-point down. The man gave a gurgling sound beneath him. He drove it deep into the guard's head.

No time for satisfaction. Around the bend of Building 81 crawled the pink mist of madness, moving toward him at a brisk pace.

He ran in the direction of Building 49. His breath grew ragged. He looked over his shoulder to see the mist not far behind. Men that didn't have Shroomveils fell into the mist, hands clasped around their throats, eyes bulging. Exhaustion threatened him every step, his eyes scanning anywhere for a Shroomveil.

He came around another bend reaching Building 58. A familiar face in front of him, the prisoner he saved moments before. The thin man carried a crate of lower-grade Shroomveils and was handing them out to other prisoners fast as he could. The man scanned around and noticed Ansel running toward him.

The other prisoners all turned and saw his spiraling black tattoos. Recognition gleamed in their eyes. They gripped their weapons, preparing to attack him. The thin prisoner stepped in front of Ansel, his arms spread.

"If you kill this man, you must kill me too." All the prisoners glanced at each other confused. "He killed a Crimson Guard and saved my life. The Foundlings saved my mother from getting raped back in Reven too. Leave him be."

Ansel peered back over his shoulder. The pink mist wasn't far behind. He pointed toward the mist. "Hurry men put the Shroomveils on."

The other prisoners were mesmerized by the pink mist and donned their Shroomveils. The thin prisoner turned and handed him one.

"Thanks for saving me back there." The man grinned. "The name's Theor. You can count on me. I'll spread that you're not as bad as they're saying."

Ansel stabbed the longsword into the ground right by his side and donned the Shroomveil. He grabbed Theor by the shoulder. "You've helped me today more than you will ever know, my friend."

The pink mist surrounded them, dimming their view of their surroundings. Random booms continued to echo off in the distance.

Flashbacks from his earlier episode racked through his brain. He touched his Shroomveil with his hand, reassuring himself. He looked right. The other prisoners already ran off in the direction of Building 49. He moved to follow but remembered Theor.

Ansel turned back. His breath caught in his throat. A dark-haired man was standing behind Theor. A crimson-soaked blade pierced Theor's chest.

Ansel took a step forward, his eyes wide. "Theor, no!"

Sven pulled the sword out of the man and pushed him toward Ansel. Theor dropped to the ground, blood pouring from the open wound on his chest. Ansel stumbled forward, crouched down, and held his new friend's head in his hands. He watched his new friend die before his eyes. Theor's eyes stared up into the pink mist, glazed over.

Flynn emerged from around the corner of Building 57, a few paces away.

The pain of his nail being ripped off earlier was nothing compared to watching a person - who believed his innocence - die in front of him. White-hot fury built up in his gut at the sight of these two men. They attacked him on the ship and almost killed him by stealing his Shroomveil away. They would die this day. He planned to keep his word.

Flynn chuckled. "Look who's still alive–"

Ansel roared. He sprinted at Flynn with everything he could muster, punching him in the old stab wound made by the nail. Sven threw himself at Ansel. Flynn erupted with a painful wail. He clutched his side and fell to the ground.

Sven rammed Ansel up against the wall of Building 56, pinning him. A sharp pain coursed through Ansel's left side. The Shroomveil slipped off on impact, falling off his face onto the ground. Darkness threatened to consume his vision. He fought back panic. A sweet smell tickled his nostrils.

Exhaustion melted away before his anger. Within his mind, he focused all of the hurt, hate, and sadness on the man pinning him against the wall. With a furious roar, he bit down on Sven's left ear and ripped - spitting out the ear.

The man reeled, hand clasped over the hole on his head. Blood seeped through his fingers. Sven fell backward, crying out.

His eyes were wide with horror. "You really are mad."

Ansel picked up his Shroomveil and put it back on. His vision was red with fury. Time slowed. He walked toward Sven who was still laying on the ground, watching in horror. His body weighed heavier with each step.

"I told you I would kill you both." The pitter-patter of rain filled the silence between the two men.

Ansel looked right. Flynn leaned against the wall, holding his bloody side while trying to get up. He breathed ragged and his fair hair appeared molded to his head from the rain. Eyes filled with fear and anger peered back at Ansel.

Ansel looked down at the longsword stuck into the ground. He pulled it out and walked toward Sven. The man still gripped the side of his head, blood spilling between his fingers.

Sven screamed, eyes wide, "Show mercy. I promise I'll never harm you again. I'll even kill Flynn if you let me live."

Ansel thrust the sword through Sven's heart, pinning him to the ground. "There's no mercy left in me today. I told you I keep my word."

Flynn let out a frightened scream. He pushed himself up and hobbled away holding his bloody side. Ansel turned to finish the job but Zeer appeared around the corner. He was with a squad of five men, all wearing Shroomveils. One of the men was Reed.

"There you are." Zeer's hair was soaked from the rain, and his clothes were covered in mud. He looked at Sven's dead body and frowned. "By the Divines Ansel, what've you been up to? Nevermind that. We're getting out of here, can you run?"

Without the white-hot fury to support him, Ansel slumped against the wall. He was surprised to see Zeer but he was fighting to stay awake. Didn't he escape?

"Zeer, you're still in the camp? I thought you left me here back at the Harvest." His body felt heavier with each word.

Zeer walked up to him. "I didn't leave you. I told you I would get us out of here."

Ansel sagged against the wall, all energy leaving his body. He looked to his left to see if Flynn was still there but the man was already gone. A problem for another day. Two of Zeer's men lifted him up by putting one arm behind both of their heads. His head lulled back.

"Follow me and keep close," Zeer said to his men. They nodded.

He slowly drifted in and out of consciousness. The men carried him along. Questions arose one by one but the energy to focus wasn't available.

While he was carried along by Zeer's men, rain pelted his face. Loud booms still sounded off in every direction and he could barely hold a coherent thought. The sweet smell coming from the pink mist was ever-present, even with a Shroomveil.

Holding his head up a little to see, they were close to the front gates from before the Harvest. Dead men - prisoners and Crimson Guards - lay everywhere.

Zeer threw the key at one of the men from Building 49 and shouted, "Two of you go up and turn the wheels to open the gates. Then follow behind us. Quickly now."

Two men rushed up the ladders and opened the gates. As each moment passed, the loud creaks brought them closer to escape

Out of nowhere, the sound of hooves came from behind him. Oh shit. Still being held up by the two men, he turned his head back. Five men from Building 49 arrived, each with a horse. The beasts wore Shroomveils of their own, masking the front of the horse's mouth and going up behind the ears. They were bigger versions of the one he wore. Purple and green that resembled the caps of the mushrooms.

"Mount quickly. Two to each horse, otherwise none of us will make it out. The other five of you will run behind us, fast as possible. We will return with the horses to pick you up once we reach the rescue party and drop off the first load," explained Zeer. "Don't worry, we won't leave you. Reed, load up the Foundling boy first. He is in dire need of rest."

He expected outrage at Zeer prioritizing him but they all nodded, even Reed. They expected the command. Rescue party? He was too tired to ask. Did Zeer make a deal with the Native Races? That would explain the promise he mentioned yesterday. It would also explain his reluctance to tell me.

Reed and another man from Building 49 hoisted him up onto a horse with an unfamiliar rider. He wrapped his arms around the man leading the horse with all the strength he had left.

Are we really escaping from this nightmare?

With a shout from Zeer, all of the men ran out of the opened gate. Pink mist followed. The rain poured down his back but he didn't care anymore. He hoped the prince and Celibrik died in the attack. But certain questions still plagued his mind. Where were the Native Races? What a strange strategy to attack, but not send an army to finish up. The image of Theor dead was painted onto the back of his eyelids. He hoped Flynn had died too.

They raced west toward the forest of mushrooms, covering leagues as fast as their horses allowed. He held onto the man he didn't know with everything he could muster. He looked back over his shoulder at the prison camp. Smoke rose from the buildings, pink mist rolled over the camp. The prisoners that opened the gates ran after them until they slowly became black specks in the distance. The catapults weren't firing off green wax into the camp anymore. Celibrik must've finished the job. I won't be there to find out. That's for sure. The rain poured as the group continued to escape.

From the back of one of the horses, Zeer shouted and pointed toward the entrance of the mushroom forest. "Over there. Follow me, men." As they got closer to the forest, the muddy ground changed to grass. Zeer directed them to a spot between two giant stalks where smoke rose from a fire.

They must be using the mushrooms to shield themselves from the rain. Interesting idea.

"Dismount and stay calm. It's time to meet our saviors. Ansel, go introduce yourselves. I'm going to check if the other men are far behind."

Talk of the Native Races was filled with rumors and speculation back in Reven. Everything from four-armed people who sucked blood, to an all-women group that ate anyone they seduced. He never really paid any attention to the rumors, people loved to make things up. His wildest imagination couldn't conjure up the reality in front of him.

The first member of the group, a humanoid figure with dark gray-blue skin and dark blue eyes, stood up, reaching six feet tall. Black hair covered his head to his ears. His ears were long, longer than any human Ansel knew. Pointy too. His eyes narrowed while he scanned over their group.

The second member, the same race as the first, carried more feminine features. She was half a foot shorter than her male counterpart. She had sharp cheekbones and her hair was a brighter shade of blue, but not by much. She studied them with acute curiosity. Her eyes paused on Ansel's spiraling black tattoos.

The third and final member made Ansel suck in his breath with astonishment. A humanoid shape made from thousands of overlapping vines, all coming together to form two legs and two arms with hands. Their head had two holes that were eye-shaped that held glowing blue lights behind them. The lower half of the being's face split, forming a mouth. The being wore no clothes, only bark.

None of them wore Shroomveils. Ansel wet his dry mouth with his tongue. A walking tree man and two blue humans. If that's even what they are. Fascinating.

The other men in the group exchanged worried looks. Ansel took a step forward. "Thank you for saving us from that camp. Umm... I don't mean to be rude, but what are you?"

The vine being took a speculative look at each member of their group. "My name is Feldund, and they are Aella and Keill." Their deep voice flowed through the words in a rhythmic cadence. "I am a sylvirian and they are drow. We are natives of this continent. The humans refer to us as 'the Native Races,' but we are Aslians. This land we call our home is Asli."

Reed walked up beside Ansel, his eyes narrowed at the Aslians, and whispered, "What has Zeer gotten us into? He didn't say he made a deal with them."

Ansel ignored him. He focused on Feldund, Aella, and Keill. "Thank you for explaining. We've never seen anything like you before. We promise we are not your enemies. We didn't come to the New La– I mean Asli by choice."

Feldund gave off a sound that resembled a chuckle. "Follow me. We will lead you to safety." All three members of the Native Races turned and started to walk away.

Zeer emerged from the undergrowth. "Wait, I still have some men coming. They're running this way as we speak. Please give me time to save them."

"We can't waste a moment more," replied Feldund, turning back. The words sounded strange coming out of the creature. "The Viberium user among your camp has laid waste to our attacking force. They'll be coming this way any moment. We leave now." The three of them turned away once again.

Zeer visibly argued with himself. Ansel walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know you want to save them Zeer, but we must follow them. The Crimson Guards will be on us at any moment."

With a heavy sigh, Zeer nodded his head in agreement. Ansel mounted the horse with the stranger from earlier. The other men mounted the four horses and followed after the Aslians. Their group came around a bend and Ansel's eyes widened. Three giant white elk, the size of horses, stomped in place with excitement. The three riders walked up and calmed the elk before mounting them one after another. Ansel absentmindedly adjusted his Shroomveil while he watched in awe.

Feldund turned their elk to face them."We have days of hard riding ahead. We brought enough food and water for you, but we have to get a headstart before we can rest. Just hold out a little longer."

The group started off at a gallop. Each member of Building 49 looked destitute at leaving their fellow prisoners behind. Ansel could barely keep his eyelids open.

Questions arose one by one. Are these Native Races really here to help us? What promise did Zeer make to them? He sighed while the galloping of the horse rocked him.

Rain poured, never-ending. His Shroomveil pressed against his face while he bounced along behind the man in front of him. He smiled behind the mask, happy to be out of the prince's clutches at last. At least one good thing had come from arriving in the New Lands.