Free Web NovelChapter 37: The Prison Cells
Gabriel staggered back. He held his head with both hands, his fingers digging painfully into his scalp and scratching his face.
A sadistic pain pierced his skull without mercy, causing such violent dizziness that his vision spiraled.
He gritted his teeth hard, holding back bestial growls that threatened to shatter his rationality. In his mind, the visions of the old man writhing with chains piercing him, his bloody smile and apparent surrender to life, kept replaying.
Little by little, the vertigo finally subsided. He slowly got back up, bracing a trembling hand against the damp, cold wall.
His already pale face had taken on an almost cadaverous tone. His eyes were heavy, silently bearing the grief.
He took a deep breath, the fetid air filling his lungs. He slowly lowered his gaze toward the old man’s remains.
The grotesque body lay motionless, the dagger wound in his chest still bleeding and the fatal blow to the head ensuring his definitive end.
His insides twisted with ecstasy and fear.
"What kind of game is this?" he murmured in a tired voice. His words echoed weakly in the chamber. "Kill, consume, and forget... What do they think my limit is? I’m not a monster... Am I?"
He closed his eyes for a second, shaking his head to clear the remnants of the visions. He took a flask of flammable material from his inventory — an oily, dense liquid that gleamed under the warm light of his torch.
He poured it generously over the old man’s remains, soaking his flesh, the rusted chains, and the pools of dark blood.
Then, with an almost ritualistic gesture, he tossed the flame onto the flammable material.
The fire fed voraciously and ignited with force, devouring the scene in intense orange and red tones.
The smell of burned flesh and shattered rot invaded the room, but Gabriel did not move.
The flames grew uncontrollably.
He stayed there for a moment, watching as the flames consumed the body until it became black, smoking ashes. It was not a dignified burial, nor could it even be considered an act of mercy.
He simply did what he believed was right — discarding other thoughts. The only relief he could offer that creature, who had begged for death for who knows how many years, was to burn the remains of that suffering.
He withdrew from the room without looking back. The fire illuminated his back, casting a shadow of great magnitude that seemed voracious through the forgotten corridors.
The heat at his back contrasted with the cold he had felt when he absorbed the mysterious blood. The only element from which he could obtain pity.
Back in the ruined and abandoned hall where the experiments had been carried out, Gabriel rummaged through the discarded files.
There were countless yellowish papers, covered in dried ink and bloodstains. They decorated the aesthetics of the place, covering the floor and the collapsed furniture.
He examined them one by one with hands that still trembled slightly, looking for connections. Trying to find clues that would make sense of the scenario and the madness woven into it.
There were unintelligible records, others much better preserved. But only a few sheets did he consider interesting enough to keep in his possession.
Until his fingers stopped on a thicker, almost intact sheet. Protected beneath other destroyed documents by a cracked leather envelope.
The title, written in neat, scientific handwriting, read: Case 634 – The Man, the God.
Gabriel read in silence, his face darkening at times. The data described in great detail was macabre and extremely heretical.
Progressive mutations, superhuman resistance to pain, unnatural longevity, and minds that could not endure and eventually broke.
The alchemists had been inhuman gods. Acting on their victims without shame, until finally causing their preconceived death. But there was one variable — one who survived and was considered a success.
As for the others... they were always simple waste. Bodies discarded in huge pits that had not received proper treatment.
He crumpled the sheet until it wrinkled between his fingers and stored it.
His clarity on the matter was painfully clear. The "success" of that case had been an imposed curse, far worse than a violent death.
An eternity of chained suffering, conscious but unable to free himself.
The old man had probably never been a monster by nature. They had turned him into one.
His figure merged with the shadows of the ruins as he moved away from the room, heading north. He decided to trust and follow the old man’s advice, who had given it to him before accepting his death.
His nose continued to be assaulted along the way, because the smell never improved; it only grew worse with every step.
A thick stench of putrefaction, humidity, and a strange odor that permeated the air, ensuring his tension never disappeared.
He tried to perceive other hidden objects within the ruins, but there was nothing valuable. Only ruins, silence, and the distant sound of dripping water.
After what seemed like an eternal stretch, he spotted an almost intact staircase descending into the depths. The stone steps were slippery with black moss, but they held his weight.
As he descended, the environment became even more oppressive.
The smell became almost unbearable, as if it were the dwelling of death.
He reached the dungeons.
The dungeons were simply a pit of bones. A wide underground hall divided into several cells with thick, corroded iron bars.
Bones were piled up. In the corners and inside the cells, with skulls rolling into the hallway.
It was a ritual to death without ceremony — only extensive abandonment and evidence of barbarity.
Dozens of rats scurried away upon sensing the fire of his torch, squeaking and disappearing into dark cracks.
Gabriel advanced cautiously, the light illuminating the cracked walls.
The place was a disaster. His feet skillfully avoided stepping on the fragile bones, which practically piled up over a meter high.
With a creaking sound, he managed to open the cell doors — chronically worn. At that moment the bones finally found an escape route, spreading with a characteristic solid sound through the hallways.
His ankles were covered, with numerous mice creating a symphony of squeaks.
Inside, he found an extremely sad and disheartening discovery.
There, carved with nails, sharp stones, or whatever they had at hand, the ancient prisoners — presumed results of the experiments — had left their final testimonies.
Desperate words, broken longings, and dreams that would never be fulfilled.
"How lucky I am, I dreamed of my daughter today. I still remember her big, beautiful green eyes. Here only moss grows."
"I’ve discovered it, I’ve discovered it... The wait is the greatest pain. I prefer madness and death to this."
"If anyone reads this... tell Elena I’m sorry. Her husband couldn’t return as he wished."
Gabriel carefully read every inscription. Emotional, desperate, and impregnated with madness.
Cell after cell, each one held its own unique testimony. Apparently it had been a popular activity among the victims.
And even some were incoherent, scribbles from completely broken minds.
They were especially terrifying. Mostly illegible letters, but they described deeply terrifying beings and memories that did not belong to them.
Some writings in particular were surprisingly poetic, as if in their final agony they had found one last spark of humanity.
Expressing warm feelings, mentioning spring rains — in their already disturbed minds, it was the most beautiful thing to utter.
In a deeper cell, he found a skull with a silver chain still around what remained of the neck. There were no inscriptions or symbols.
No one had tried to steal the belonging. Allowing him to die in peace, with what seemed to be a valuable object for the deceased.
Gabriel took the silver necklace between his fingers. In those cells there were no rescues, no escapes... Only the constant pain of uncertainty and oblivion in the depths of the ruins. freeweɓnøvel.com
At that instant, his interface glowed. The quest had been updated.
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[Quest: The Evil in the Ruins – You have completed an important step, congratulations]
[Step 2/3.]
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Even so, he remained motionless; for a second only he and the inscriptions existed. The fire of the torch crackled, illuminating imaginary faces in the shadows.
He identified the bones that belonged to the young son of the alchemist, the owner of the necklace; becoming, for a moment, a gravedigger.
He packaged them and stored them in his inventory. He would carry out that kindness with the sole objective of pleasing the father. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm
Finally, he withdrew. His steps echoed on the staircase as he ascended, leaving behind the pit of bones and the silent traces of those who never returned.
In his hands, the silver necklace reflected the lights of the torch fire, with one last trace of light.
He already had a destination in mind. It had to be delivered to the man who had never given up, preserving hope and feeding pain for many long years.
The Alchemist.
An NPC and also a father.
