Damian's POV

"My greatest sin is to live over others, even though I should be the one to save them."

—Damian Stark

The colorful crystals flicker above us, shifting hue every few heartbeats; blue comes first, drenching the chamber in melancholy, then red, pulsing rage through the stone. "Zene!" a woman cries. The man in the corner—silent until now—shakes as he rises, his legs trembling while he follows her. "Please, take me with her!" he begs, his voice cracking.

And then he is left behind, kicked down by one of the other colored men. His body folds, face dark as ash. Not one of those who have caged us from the start, but a new one. Another. Always another face in deep dark shades.

The light turns yellow. Optimism. I laugh at it bitterly and hollowly. A breath later, it shifts from violet to orange, blending into a storm of color I refuse to follow anymore; let it all blur.

Frank left the cage some time ago. The colors have cycled at least a hundred times since then. With him, more than eight others. Each vanished every few minutes, one by one, as if picked clean from the bone of our group. Now, only a man, two women, and I remain.

Kicking my feet lightly against the stone, the cold cuts into my toes; my hand props up my chin.

When is my turn? Next? Last? Sweat beads along my palms, and I chew at my nails, every second stretching itself into eternity. The people, walls, and colors are blurry, but no tears fill my eyes.

"Next, Shalla."

It is the blonde woman; her hair is so pale it is almost white. Early thirties, I guess. The other woman is younger, her maroon hair catching the fractured light.

They, as I am, are naked; most of us are. There is no dignity left, only the stone beneath me, rough and fractured, catching the shifting colors like a cruel mirror. Looking down at my feet, the nail of my big toe is cracked, and the grit of the ground lets me sink into it.

Minutes crawl by. "Next, Damian."

The voice belongs to one with skin as dark as ash, eyes as pale as alabaster, glowing grey against the contrast of his flesh. He seizes my wrist. For a moment, I think he will snap it outright. Pain sears through me before he lets go, shoving me forward instead.

A sack falls over my head. The crystal light vanishes, replaced by choking black. The lattice slams shut behind me, the sound carved into my skull after watching so many dragged out before me.

My breath grows ragged. The ground is rough underfoot, stones jutting up to catch my steps. I stumble and nearly fall. The ashen man behind me chuckles under his breath, mocking, then smothers it quickly, as if laughter itself is forbidden.

Humiliation burns hotter than fear. But what can I do? He is taller than me, though shorter than most others I've seen here—briefer even than Frank, impossibly so. Yet he moves with the weight of a predator, each shove against my back nearly toppling me.

He is not human. None of them are. They are all Monsters.

My legs tremble, every step fragile, every movement threatening to cause me to collapse to the ground. My breath comes shallow, a rapid beat against the dark sack banishing any light.

My steps are awkward and uncertain, and behind them are steady and cruelly calm. His exhale is measured; mine, on the other hand, is frantic.

A stone juts up from the ground. My toe strikes it. Pain spears upward, sharp and immediate.

I hiss, but it is not the pain that terrifies me. No—it is the thought that at any step, I could walk off a cliff into endless nothingness, or that I could be punched in the side or back. From any angle, and being crushed, each bone breaking, my flesh tearing, and my blood splashing all over the place.

My feet move like a madman's, cautious, dipping like toes into cold water, always expecting to fall.

The ashen man laughs again, openly this time, cruel mockery in every sound of his very being. He pushes me harder this time, letting me stumble, nearly collapse completely.

"You lads are all the same," he sneers, his voice thick with contempt. "Clinging to your short lives as if they mean anything to your Red souls."

Blackness swallows me, and my heart pounds without a break two to three times a second. My tongue wants to curse him, but I bite it down, too afraid that if I speak, he will shove me into whatever abyss waits ahead.

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