"Go on, do whatever you want with him," said Fortune.

  The wind carried away another blood-red leaf, tearing small pieces from its body, slamming it to the ground, picking it up again, and tearing it further. The leaves rustled, spun, and crushed each other. Dark clouds drifted across the sky, with the Moon hanging like a crooked grin among them, as if Darkness itself was looking down, eagerly anticipating what would happen next. A caravan waited by the roadside, surrounded by tents. Nine men watched the sleeping man's dream, waiting for it to end. "Good moments always take time," Fortune thought.

  The awakening man, once a slave owner who had bought, owned, and spent wonderful times with them, was now being watched by his former slaves with longing eyes. He tried to stand up and back away, but no matter how hard he strained against the ropes, panting, they did not give. They looked at him as he once looked at them, evaluating what they could do with their master. Fortune's fingers danced impatiently.

  "What are you waiting for? He's yours!"

  The eight men towering over him stepped closer, their faces showing both anger and joy.

  "Don't you dare touch me! I am your master! I command you to untie me! Mercenaries! Come here and deal with these wretches!"

  Fortune smiled, remembering the mercenaries. They were all sweetly asleep as he slit their throats. They could hear nothing now, their ears clogged with their own congealed blood.

  "Oh, all good things come to an end. You are no one's master anymore," Fortune laughed, showing a black ring with silver waves. The slaves looked at the ring with disgust, the same ring that marked them. Their collars were made in the same pattern, reducing them to mere objects. They gave Fortune the same look but quickly turned back to their former master.

  He squirmed and writhed like a worm on a hook. The slaves surrounded him like starving fishes, each claiming a piece of him. Some merely took a hot bite before being shoved aside by the next. Each had their favorite part, just as their master might have had with them. As they grabbed his thigh, claimed his mouth, and dragged him back and forth, they made him recall the years spent together, whispering back every command and groaned sentence into his ear. His face darkened, his body throbbed, his throat was occupied, and he could barely breathe. Fortune watched with joy as his face paled, eyes bulged, throat gurgled, trying to scream but unable to let out any air.

  They dragged and tossed him between them, his master only managing to catch a breath whenever possible. Fortune watched the show in the firelight. He only tore his gaze away as much as needed to heat the irons, their color slowly turning like the sunset.

  "Enough! It's time to shove something else down his throat," Fortune said.

  Fortune only glanced at the glowing, thin spikes, and the eight men immediately had an idea. The man writhing on the ground now had a moment to catch his breath, his sweaty face turning to them, and he said he would do anything, just leave him there, don't even untie him, they were free.

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  The man's sweating, naked body was painted with patterns by the glowing metal, a map revealing the beautiful world of pain. Fortune sniffed the air, inhaling the aroma of burnt flesh, skin, sweat, and singed hair. The man wriggled like a worm on the ground, trying to crawl away, but the glowing irons herded him back to the center. Beautiful gashes opened on his skin, but the heat immediately sealed the blood flow. Fortune knelt, his gaze fixed on the grinning sky, hands raised in prayer, taking one last breath before beginning.

  "Darkness, take what is yours. Let the guilty suffer day and night. Today, tomorrow, and forever." The irons struck down. "Light, guide my hand, show me your way, show me my place. I act for your realm, forgive my sins, grant rest to my head." Teeth were ripped out. "Forgive the fire, forgive the anger, forgive the suffering, forgive the darkness, forgive the death I caused. I thank you for everything!"

  The screams gained strength again and again, the flesh sizzled beautifully. By the time Fortune stood up, the man's skin was swollen, red and black, burned on the outside but still raw inside.

  "The time has passed; it's almost time to put him on the fire."

  The man's eyes were half-open, but he clearly saw the glowing iron crawling into his mouth, burning and tearing his esophagus, taking away every gap for air, then crawling down to his stomach to roast him from the inside. Then it pierced the stomach wall, sliced through the intestines, and came out the other side.

  The meat was already on the spit, turning over the fire.

  "Why did you help us? We are slaves."

  "Exactly. You are slaves with no master anymore." Meanwhile, he only watched the meat.

  "So we should serve you. Is that what you want, you filthy bastard?"

  They stood up from the fire, took the irons in hand, and pushed Fortune to the ground. The irons glowed before his eyes, forcing him to turn his head away, or he would be blinded.

  "You have other options too."

  "We have plenty of options, right, boys? Like I could stick this in your eye." Fortune jerked his leg away as the metal burned it. The group laughed at his torment.

  "Or you could leave and go somewhere."

  "Hah. You won't live to see that, you shit-eating louse. Search him; maybe he's got something useful. I like your outfit; it looks like it's my size."

  Hands fumbled on him, unbuckling his sword, checking his pockets.

  "So that's your plan. You'll head off into nothingness. You won't get far without food."

  "There's enough money on this cart."

  "Oh," Fortune smiled. "How long will that last? A week, two weeks?"

  "What does it matter to you?" Fortune's face was slapped with the flat of his own sword.

  "Even if you reach the nearest village, what will you do? Those nice little collars will be hard to remove without help. What do they do to runaway slaves again?"

  "Shut. Up. You. Damn. Bastard," stomped on his stomach with each word. He paced back and forth, gripping the sword hilt.

  "What are we going to do? What the hell are we supposed to do?" they pondered among themselves.

  "We'll find someone. Someone who can take these off us."

  Fortune coughed painfully. "If you even make it there alive. Do you even know how to hunt? Do you know how to start a fire? Anything other than sucking?"

  "Shut up!"

  "If you want to join some gang, don't take money with you, or they'll kill you and take it. It's time you listened. Or you'll die one way or another."

  The man stormed towards him, his sword swinging in his hand, his face flushed with anger. He stood over him, aiming at his throat. He didn't wait a moment. Despite Fortune's writhing, they held him too tightly.

  Pain shot through Fortune, he gasped, all air leaving him. They both fell on his leg. Both the one who wanted to stab him and the one who pulled him aside.

  "Let's hear him out!" said the one who ended up on top.

  "What the hell are you doing, Pisser? Let me go, or you'll die with him!"

  Every comment adds one year to my lifespan. So go ahead. Help me reach immortality.

  I hope you’ll continue to enjoy the journey, and I’m really grateful to have you here!

  See you in the Darkness.