June gritted his teeth as he had no choice but to bring all the bodies inside the carriage. Killing people was his forte—that’s for sure—but cleaning up is far from it.

Despite being a butler, his main task is not-so-butler-like. Once Jacob’s body was finally loaded up to the carriage, the remnants of the underwhelming battle that took place wafted in the air—metallic, and sickeningly sweet, as if it was touching your inner brain. 

June’s cheeks flushed as he inhaled and exhaled with a shiver as he stood still—leaning against the carriage door. His eyes travelled to the moon, that followed him, with a tired, yet joyous smile—as if nothing just happened, after all—

“This is my day to day job, as if something would shock me or scare me anymore. Human lives are fragile, the way they struggle was fun—but I wonder, how does it feel when one dies?” He spoke to himself, as his attention now turned to the droplets that were on the soil.

How ironic—drip, drip, drip, it started to rain as if God was on his side,

The rain poured like it weeped for the lives that were lost. 

June messed up his hair with a laugh then he wiped his face roughly. The remainder of those lives he took slowly washed away from his own cloak—now soaked with rain water, the soil muddy as if it was clay.

Those people will never find peace, never, as long as he existed. He shook his head, his face clearly exhibited sluggishness and fatigue. He had to get this job done, knowing that the man, whom he calls his master, is the one holding his life.

One flick, and he could be done—dead. And he cannot let that happen. 

He made sure that the carriage door was tightly closed, adding an extra layer of rope on its handle to ensure it was safe. “It would be a disaster if it suddenly opened, after all.” June laughed to himself and jumped to the coach’s seat.

The rain started to get heavier and heavier, the hard evidence being washed away. 

Perhaps it was God’s way of protecting—or weeping—for what was lost. Who knows? 

June started the carriage, the neighs and hooves of the horses clacking filled the silent dread. His mind was plagued no more by the faces of the people whom he just killed as the bodies danced in rhapsody inside the carriage. 

“I’d at least remember your name, Jacob. You exhibited nice human qualities, and I’m proud of you. Perhaps I could ask my master if I can keep your head, and give you at least proper buria—in my country,” the sound of his voice was drowned by the rain and splashing water as the trotting of the horses continued.

Click, click, clack.

June groaned in annoyance as the downpour got heavier, obscuring his vision. A musky and earthy aroma kissed his nose—the smell of petrichor.  He surmises that the rainy season is here once more.

“Tsk. Anyway, Jacob, in my own customs, the head is the most important—" June spoke, as if he wasn’t the one who just ended Jacob’s life. 

“Perhaps I could shrink your head, wear you like a necklace to show how brave you were—or perhaps, would you prefer your head to be buried on the ground properly?

Bodies are useful for making bombs or gunpowder, but the head—not so much, we usually throw that out so… what would you prefer?” June’s question hung in the air; and the man above—the one who listened to most of his woes was no longer able to reply since a long time ago.

Who was he even talking to? Perhaps, God has long since punished June—as he could suddenly see the lives he took, hugging him from behind and ghosts craving to drag him down with them, where he belonged.

He laughed to himself, “Don’t worry…I already know I’m not going to heaven, so why don’t you all just sit tight and see where we end up?”

Matthias has lost track of the time. 

The prison cell was mouldy and dark with not even a single ray of the sun passing through the gaps on the walls to tell time. The only thing signifying the shift of night and day was the temperature—it significantly went down, signalling that it was night—that, atleast, he knew.

He curled up on the concrete bed, shivering as there was no blanket available. Nothing of comfort was offered other than the thick silence enveloping this hell.

The rattling of the chains, the moans and groans of those who remained here echoed, like a lullaby—except, this one did not put him to sleep. It made Matthias more aware of his predicament, that this is very much real. 

“I should've…should've listened. I should've listened to Chris and Leila,” he huffed, a fog of breath formed with every spoken word. His eyes stung, his eyelids heavy, and a migraine was threatening to form. His lips now cracked dry, and throat parched as he coughed—which felt like thousands of knives piercing him every damn time. He groaned, as he started to count sheep in his head. 

“1…2…3..”

Click, ting, click. 

“4…5…6…”

The sudden sound of heavy footsteps pranced around the dungeon like a tune waiting to be discovered. It made the ever-present  moans and groans stop and be replaced by squelching combined with chewing sounds.

It made Matthias’ stomach growl in hunger—whatever or wherever that sound came from, it sounded like they were having a feast.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance, envy flowing out of his brain. He quickly opened his eyes and closed it shut just as fast, to drive it away. He tried to drown out the sound but it was too loud not to notice.

It grated on Matthias’ nerves.

As time went on, the chewing got louder and slimier, accompanied with the sound of  something crunchy. It made Matthias mess up his hair in frustration, as he sat up.

“Why can’t I catch a break—Christ,” he murmured to himself as he stood up with a stretch. He couldn’t sleep anyway, not when someone was clearly having fun munching on something.

“Perhaps I could try and get a bite too, if they’re willing…to…” Matthias’ words drawled and his eyes widened—focusing on  the metal bars that separated his cell from the hall. There was something outside, in the hall.

There was an obscure figure standing still, tall like fenrir—humanoid, but not. Its fur was midnight dark, yet smeared with blood. It blended well within the hall that was dimly lit—sloppy mess dripping from  its mouth, its sharp canines still distinguishable from all the blood and flesh, a finger stuck between its teeth. 

Matthias halted in his movements, thinking that it did not notice him—yet.

His heart thumped against his chest, as he held himself back from gagging. The smell of rotting meat, combined with excrements equalled rancid and rotten—sour, with a sickening sweet that made him gag once again.

Cold sweat soaked him like rain, his body that was already cold became freezing—his body knew what it was; something that he was not supposed to look at—or perceive, even. Despite being in his cell, he did not feel safe.

If this humanoid monster decided to attack, he would be a piece of cake. 

Matthias’ legs almost buckled as he walked backwards in fear. His legs felt so weak that he almost tripped, but was caught by the grimy walls. It made his breath hitched. 

It locked eyes with him—crimson, and crimson. 

‘Is this where I die?’ Matthias thought, gasping for air. His hunger was now gone, replaced with dread. His ears rang, the unnerving silence soon followed devouring his whole being whole.

He trembled because of the fear—he was afraid of dogs, and this was a dog—but not, at the same time. 

‘Someone, please save me!’ He prayed in his head as he slowly slid down to the floor, sitting on the filth. Trying to make himself as small as he could. As if doing so could lower his chances of being devoured by that being.

The beast continued to stare at him, as if contemplating. Matthias did not move nor breath. 

Not that he could, anyway.

The beast soon left, walking to his right, down the alleyway where the other prisoners were held. He felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders as he sighed in relief. That thing ignored him, and he felt a sense of safety once again.

Ting, ting, ting. 

A ring rolled down his path, between his legs. It was covered in dirt, and stained with blood—but it looked hefty, and expensive. Amidst all of what he just experienced, Matthias’ eyes glimmered with glee. 

“Perhaps being in a dungeon isn't so bad after all, are there more riches hidden here?” Matthias stood up, his panic attack over as his greedy eyes glanced at every corner of the cell he was placed in. It was grimy and dirty alright, but there was something he did not notice before—

“A chest?” He murmured, his voice went high-pitched, almost like a screech. He rushed to the said box, opening it only to find moldy bread, and a rusty dagger.

With his dream cut too soon, he sighed, thinking that there would be something more of value hidden within the chest, walls or the corners of this dungeon. 

“I guess the guards probably took it for themselves, before anyone could. After all who cares about what the fuck the prisoners had? No one.” He sighed with dissatisfaction, unable to hide his initial depression. The fact that nothing of value was really here—except for this one shiny ring that he now wore in his ring finger. 

Disappointment, that was what enveloped his chest like a blanket. The beastly creature had been long forgotten, buried beneath his brain—replaced with the shiny ring that seemingly mocked him. Another sigh.

Matthias’ attention turned towards the shrieking of the iron door against the concrete slab above the spiral staircase. He couldn't see what was happening—but the thudding of boots was faint. 

“Someone's coming down, I hope it's food.” He muttered as he deliberately sat on the ground, near the iron bars that kept him confined in this enclosed space—with all seriousness, if he really wanted, he could fit between the gaps, but he decided against it.

Who knows when that damn beast would come back to roam again.

The thudding became louder, and Matthias’ hopes got bigger. He placed his head between the bars—eyes gleaming excitedly, looking to where the spiral stairs were. His eyes hazy, taking to re-adjust. 

An old man wearing a uniform with a name tag led the way with a torch in his hand. Looking at the figure walking beside the old man,  Matthias’ eyes widened, disbelief written in his face upon seeing who it was behind him. 

“Henry!” 

It wouldn't be a lie to say that Henry was ecstatic that Matthias was safe from harm—glad that damn hound did not strike him as a meal tonight. 

He couldn't help but feel pity towards the younger man—thrown in a cell due to a crime he did not commit. And the real suspect was just standing in front of him—unscathed, and free. 

Guilt hit Henry for a brief second, and he rushed to where his cell was. He crouched down, reaching inside the cell, and caressed Matthias’ cheeks.

“I'm so glad you're fine, I…”

“So glad you're here, I thought, I.. I thought I'd die here—” 

Henry frowned, his voice cold and sharp. “I’d never let that happen—I told you that I'll always be here,” he said strongly, but his voice dwindled to a whisper in the second part. 

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” 

The attendant, Harold coughed to interrupt the scene which earned him a glare from the young Lord Henry. 

Henry's attention snapped to the attendant as he stood up. “Open the cell, please.”

The sickening sweet voice that Henry used made the attendant straight up revolt for a brief moment, a frown appearing on his face. He pulled out a set of keys and soon, Matthias was out. 

Matthias had to lean against the iron bars to keep himself straight. It was damp and cold; the hound had disappeared long before the two arrived, which gave him comfort. For Matthias, everything felt like a fever dream and he couldn't wait to go home and rest. 

Henry sensing this—offered his hand to Matthias to hold. “Come on, just like before.”

Matthias laughed with a silly grin, “And once again, you're the one who saved me.”

Henry led the way upstairs, and the attendant trailing behind them with speculations slowly forming in his head. The spiral staircase was long, that was for sure—and Henry debated whether to end Harold after Matthias was home, or let him live. 

Henry's eyes glinted dangerously—‘I want to kill him. He knows too much. Should I just also kill that damn grandchild of his?’

“Ouch, Henry, you're really hurting my hands.” too absorbed in his thoughts, Henry did not realize he tightened his grip on Matthias’ arm until he heard the young man’s pained whine.

“Oh! Sorry. Sorry,” Henry loosened his hold but they continued to walk upstairs in their own world. 

However, there was something inside Matthias that screamed for Chris’ presence, something, perhaps, an expectation that he would be the one to take him home – out of his misery.  “Was him being on my side a lie?” he whispered to himself.

“What did you say?” Henry asked, looking at him worriedly. 

“Nothing! Just talking to myself,” Matthias flashed him a smile—that was enough to keep the Young Lord happy. 

The attendant continued to observe them as they emerged from the depths of the dungeon – the torch he held flickered, and that was when his eyes met another man's. Henry's eyes were cold and hostile, as if warning the attendant – say something to someone about this, and consider yourself done with life.