Lytheria – Kades : Sewers
The putrid stench of the sewers burned Cain's nostrils. His body trembled, worn down by pain.
He had crawled through this maze of concrete and rust for what felt like an eternity.
Finally, he stopped in front of a plain metal door. Nothing remarkable about it.
He knocked three times. Then waited.
After a few long seconds, the door creaked open, revealing a man with a laid-back look.
— "Who the hell are you ?"
— "Cain Caledron. I've… got information for Eraser." He paused, his eyes hardening.
The man stared at him, a mocking smile creeping onto his face.
Cain hated that smile. He knew exactly what it meant : there was no room for weakness down here.
The man didn't answer right away. He turned briefly, and for a split second, Cain saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
Then he returned, his expression more serious.
— "Answer my questions right, and I'll let you through. If not, I'll put you down."
He held Cain's gaze for a moment before speaking again, voice low and heavy.
— "Who controls the black market on 12th Street ?"
Cain wiped blood from his lips with a weary swipe and replied.
— "Old man Yasser. Don't you have a tougher one ?"
The man froze, eyes narrowing in surprise. Then he stepped aside and opened the door.
— "Go on in. Welcome to Al-Rashad."
Cain stepped into the underground city. Bell chimes, muffled screams, whispers bouncing off damp walls.
Neon signs flickered everywhere, advertising black markets, brothels, and seedy bars.
He walked at a calm pace, taking in the macabre scene.
People lurked in shadowy corners, trading substances and suspicious glances. Faces were marked, some tattooed with X across their skin.
The X were everywhere—cartel thugs, mercs, spies, store.
The alleys were narrow and cluttered with debris. Gang tags bled across the walls.
A true underground slum. A haven for criminals. A prison for Lytherian informants.
Cain moved among them, ignoring stares and whispers, nods laced with fear and respect.
He stopped in front of a building with architecture that felt completely out of place among the ruins.
No one stopped him as he entered. Inside, heavily armed guards stood watch.
He was led to a large door, one could call it the throne room, there Al-Rakhim, the boss of the city, was waiting for him.
Cain dropped to one knee, head bowed.
— "You dare drag your filthy carcass before me, Cain ?" Al-Rakim's voice thundered—barely restrained rage.
No reply.
— "You had one damn job. Watch over a territory. Just one shitty sector. All you had to do was put down a few dogs—and you failed ?!"
Cain remained silent, eyes locked to the floor.
— "Who the hell do you think you are ?" Al-Rakim growled, rising to his feet. "You think bleeding at my feet is gonna earn you forgiveness ?!"
A wad of spit landed inches from Cain's hand.
— "You're garbage. I should've let you rot that day."
Cain inhaled slowly. His fist clenched around the carpet beneath him. Under closed lids, fury brewed.
He wanted to kill him. Right there, right then.
To rip off his head… Yes. A tempting image. But not yet.
At last, his voice broke the silence.
— "I failed. That's true. But it wasn't a pointless defeat. I found someone."
Al-Rakim narrowed his eyes.
— "Someone ?"
— "Dante. My brother."
Al-Rakim descended from his throne, crouching inches from Cain's face.
— "Seriously ? You bring up your trash brother while you piss me off ? You got a death wish, bastard ?!" He stomped Cain's head into the ground.
Cain finally looked up. Frustration burned in his eyes.
— "He's not just ordinary guy. He's a threat to your rule. The proof ? He beat me."
Al-Rakim stared for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, a small smile tugged at his lips.
— "So… you're trying to buy back your honor with a gift. You think I'm giving you another shot ?"
— "No," Cain replied. "I'm asking for one thing. Full clearance. That's it. If I screw up again… kill me."
Sadistic glee danced in the warlord's eyes. He loved games like this. Desperate men were the most useful.
— "Fine. You've got what you asked for. But hear me, Cain." His voice darkened. "Betray this trust even once, and I'll make you wish you were never born."
Cain didn't flinch.
— "I won't fail."
— "Then show him the pit," Al-Rakim ordered his men. "Let him choose his demons."
He turned, his cloak sweeping across the stone.
Cain remained kneeling. But a thin smile spread across his lips.
---
The metal groaned as the gate opened.
Cain descended the stairs, boots slipping now and then on years of grime.
Two guards flanked him—towering brutes with X tattoos.
One chewed a mint stick to mask the stench. The other idly jingled a ring of keys.
— "Welcome to the Pit," the first one rasped. "You wanted monsters ? We've got nothing else."
The cells lined both sides, packed tight, carved into the stone. Each sealed with reinforced bars, behind which groaned shadows, broken minds, and strange, eerie laughter.
A corridor of rotting souls and shattered lives.
The key guard tapped the bars of the first cell with his baton.
— "Number 3. Sadok. Former war surgeon. Cannibal. Used to dissect his victims alive to 'feel the line between soul and flesh,' he said. Thirty-two body parts found in his basement."
Cain paused. A gaunt man stared through the bars. His eyes were blank, unblinking. His gloved hands trembled slightly, like he was still operating.
— "Not him," Cain muttered.
They moved on.
— "Cell 7. The Spider. No real name. Government spy. Strangled her targets with her hair."
From the shadows came a high-pitched giggle.
— "I hear you, sweetheart. Come closer so I can hold you tight…"
Cain looked away. Other inmates shrieked, some banging their heads rhythmically against the stone.
A boy no older than fifteen hummed a nursery rhyme, his bloody fingers scraping endlessly at the wall.
— "And this one…" the guard said, stopping cold. "These two just got here. Three days ago. Their parents thought they could start a rebellion. Now the kids are here, to make an example. We don't really know what to do with them."
Behind the bars, two figures huddled together. One tall and thin, slumped against the wall, drained. The other, smaller, clung to her leg, trembling.
Cain stepped closer.
— "Names ?"
— "No clue. They don't talk. The tall one tried to fight back when we separated them—bit a guard so hard he bled."
A long silence followed.
The older sister raised her eyes. They burned with hatred.
She didn't speak, but her glare said it all : Come closer, and I'll gut you.
Cain smirked.
— "Interesting specimen."
He placed a hand on the bars, crouching to examine the younger one.
She didn't move. Her face was hidden by long, filthy hair. One tiny hand clung to her sister's sleeve.
— "I'm taking her too."
— "What ?" the guard frowned. "They're not fighters. They're useless."
— "You wouldn't understand why."
He turned away from the cell.
— "Get them ready. I'll be back tomorrow."
The guard raised an eyebrow.
— "Why are you doing this, Cain ?"
Cain stopped. Slowly, he turned, and his sadistic grin widened.
— "A king can do whatever he wants with his subjects. Think of the earth as my kingdom. The common people my subjects. And the politicians… my royal court."
He walked away humming happily, while the guard watched him go, confused.