(A few hours later, ’The Pit’, Veyr’s POV)
The unique air of ’The Pit’ hit Veyr the moment they arrived, thick and oppressive, carrying the stench of iron, sweat, scorched stone, and old blood that had soaked so deeply into the ground it felt permanent.
*Rattle* *Rattle*
The chains around his wrists tightened and dragged him forward like a tethered animal being led to slaughter, as Raymond walked ahead of him casually, one hand holding the chain loosely as though leading a walking dog, his posture relaxed and unbothered while his boots echoed rhythmically against the blackened stone pathway.
*Scrape* *Thud*
Veyr stumbled once before steadying himself, his bare feet scraping painfully against the rough ground as he was hauled forward past rows of towering barbarians lining the passageway, their massive frames wrapped in scarred armor and bone trinkets, crude weapons resting against their shoulders while eyes filled with raw violence tracked his every step.
"Grrrrrr—"
"Hisssss!"
Low snarls rippled through the ranks.
Hisses followed.
Teeth bared.
Their expressions twisted with hatred as they recognized what he was—
The Cult Dragon, a symbol, a prize meant to die for their entertainment, as waves of killing intent rolled toward him thick enough to taste.
"Come fight me if you dare! I’ll kill you right here!"
A barbarian challenged, as Veyr simply smiled in response.
It was not a brave smile, nor a proud one.
It was thin, tired, and laced with quiet contempt, as if intimidation at this level no longer even registered to him anymore.
"Stop smiling, weakling, or I’ll bash your teeth in."
One of the barbarians snapped, stepping half a pace forward as his knuckles whitened around the handle of his axe, veins bulging along his neck as rage spilled freely from him.
Veyr’s eyelids lowered slightly as he turned his head toward the man, his gaze drifting over him without urgency or concern, as though he were looking at something already dead.
"Oh yeah. I’m a dead man anyway. You think I care about a few broken teeth anymore."
Veyr replied calmly, his voice dull with exhaustion rather than fear, as the words landed with unexpected weight causing the barbarian to freeze.
His anger faltered mid-breath as confusion crept across his face, the simple fury that fueled him moments ago finding no place to settle, as his limited reasoning struggled to reconcile the lack of resistance.
He glanced sideways at his fellow clansmen, then back at Veyr, uncertainty dulling his eyes.
"This one has no fire in him. He’s pitiful."
The barbarian muttered, stepping back into line as his interest evaporated.
"Hmpfh,"
Raymond snorted softly and tugged the chain again, dragging Veyr forward as they approached a reinforced holding cell carved directly into the stone wall, thick bars etched with fresh containment runes that still shimmered faintly, as he pushed Veyr towards it.
*CREEEK*
The holding cell’s door groaned open, as Raymond shoved Veyr inside without ceremony, the chains rattling loudly as he staggered forward before catching himself, boots scraping against stone as he lifted his head.
And then he felt it.
A presence.
Heavy.
Oppressive.
Wrong.
His gaze rose slowly, dread coiling instinctively in his chest as his eyes locked onto the figure already waiting inside the cell.
Mauriss sat on a stone bench with one leg crossed over the other, his posture relaxed to the point of mockery, as his long hair floated upward unnaturally, drifting as if gravity itself had chosen not to apply to him, his eyes sharp, calculating, and faintly amused all at once, like a predator already bored of its prey.
"Well, well, well. If it isn’t the oath breaker’s son."
Mauriss said smoothly, his voice deliberate and controlled, as his gaze never once acknowledged Veyr, and was instead pinned squarely on Raymond, as Raymond stiffened instantly.
"L-l-lord Mauriss?"
Raymond stuttered, his throat tightening as his shoulders drew back involuntarily, sweat forming along his temples as the weight of Mauriss’ attention settled onto him like a vise.
Veyr, meanwhile, felt something colder than fear slide down his spine, not panic but something worse, something that came from recognizing a presence so far beyond him that even resistance felt meaningless.
His instincts screamed in warning as his breath hitched slightly, unable to even begin comprehending the scale of power radiating from the man seated before him.
Another God.
And unlike Raymond, this one felt layered, deliberate, and infinitely more dangerous.
*CLANG*
The cell door slammed shut behind him with a deafening clang, metal reverberating through the stone as the sound echoed far longer than it should have.
Veyr did not turn around.
He kept his eyes on Mauriss, jaw tightening as the reality of where he stood finally settled in.
"H-How have you been, My Lord? It’s an honor to see you again....."
Raymond said, as Mauriss grinned ear to ear listening to his fear.
"Ohhh Raymond, I’ve been simply brilliant ever since you attacked the Cult and killed Charles.
I must say, it was a turning point in the history of this universe.
Because since then I’m just having soooo much fun all the freaking time.
So I must thank you, my boy.
I must thank you for encouraging your father to break the holy oath between us, and allowing you to become Demi God.
For without it, I would never be so entertained."
Mauriss said, as sweat beads began to stream freely down Raymond’s forehead now.
The predatory look in Mauriss’s eyes scaring him more than his father’s anger ever had.
"No... nonono, My Lord, you’ve got it all wrong.
My father never allowed me to become Demi God, I just deceived him.
He would NEVER knowingly break a holy oath between you Gods ...."
Raymond defended, as Mauriss instantly scoffed in response.
"Oh please.... Don’t talk about deceiving anyone before me, boy.
I’ve been deceiving Gods since before you were in your father’s ball sack.
So save the drama for someone else? Eh?"
Mauriss said as he stood up and gave Raymond a spank on his bum as if he were a naughty little child and nothing more, before walking out of the prison cell like Veyr wasn’t in it at all.
The Deceiver never even acknowledged the Dragon, as if he did not even care for him at all.
As it was only now that Veyr realized that even though he was the one being executed soon, he was no more than bait meant to lure in the big fish.
The execution was never about him.
And it wasn’t him, that the Gods were really after.