Chronicles of Aetheria

Chapter 4: The Eleventh Captive

Chapter 4: The Eleventh Captive

Memories flooded his mind; he could hear the screams and wails of various voices. He held his head, feeling as if it might detach from his neck. The pounding was relentless as blurred visions continued. He saw himself coughing up blood and, in a flash, found himself in the middle of an ocean.

The visions cleared, and he collapsed abruptly onto the wet sand. Every part of his body ached terribly, making it impossible to move.

"Why am I having these visions? What's happening to me?" he couldn't help but ponder. He tried grasping the information his visions were passing, but it all seemed blurry. He gave up trying and then gazed at the sun.

The sun, which had shone golden the day before, now turned crimson. The once crystal-clear sand now caused him sharp pain every second.

It was unfortunate to say, but he was now by the ocean—the same ocean he never wanted to leave. Now, he wasn't alone. He was a captive of fearsome creatures, their features visible but unrecognizable.

"Eleven," he heard one of the Grim Reapers whisper. With all his effort, he struggled to raise his head. His gaze fell on the gruesome creature. They had long, sharp nails like the talons of an eagle, and their cloaks covered every part of their bodies, including their faces.

Their faces looked unlike anything he had ever seen before—no eyes, nose, or mouth. Just dark fluids moving in a circular motion. The other parts of their bodies were covered with their dark hoods. They looked more like the living dead.

"Join the line," the Reaper commanded, and the young man exhaled loudly. He was the eleventh prisoner of the Reapers, the replacement for Vagnar, hence why they addressed him as Eleven.

Coincidentally, his real name remained obscure to him, so he had to adapt to Eleven.

As he got to his feet, he realized his trousers had been stripped off, leaving him naked. This sent sharp signals to his brain. He recalled that he had trousers on yesterday. So why was he naked?

"Move," the Reaper whispered again, noticing his sudden pause. He then raised his gaze, staring at the face of the Reaper before him.

"Where are my trousers, and why am I naked?" he questioned, creating turmoil among the other captives. Who dared to question the authority of the Grim Reapers?

The young man, now known as Eleven, noticed the uproar among the captives. Before he could realize what was happening, a whip descended on his bare back, and he crashed onto the wet sand on his forelimbs and knees.

His cries pierced through the ears of Rose, who sat on a boat, blindfolded and surrounded by four Reapers. She heard his cries again and tried to remove her blindfold, but her hands were seized by a Reaper.

"I wouldn't do that, my lady," she heard the voice of the Reaper who sat opposite her. She knew better than to confront this gruesome race, so she let go.

The pain Eleven felt was unbearable. His entire body ached, and his limbs were numb. He soon realized that the more he delayed, the more the whip descended. So, he pulled himself together and started crawling toward his fellow prisoners, who were waiting impatiently for him.

He crawled toward the first captive and tried to grab his legs for support, but the latter shifted away from him as if he were an abomination.

This act surprised Eleven; he hadn't expected such a reaction. He went to the second person, and it was the same. The third and fourth captives also shifted away from him.

"Don't you dare come near me," the fifth captive warned before he could even think of getting closer to him. Another whip descended on his back, and he kissed the wet sand instantly, trying hard to suppress his pain.

"It's unbearable," he murmured as he struggled to rise.

He raised his head and saw his fellow captives clearly. They were ten in number and were all naked just like him. They had humanoid figures like him but with differences. Unlike him, they were light-skinned with pointy ears and blue eyes, similar to Rose's, except theirs didn't shine.

Speaking of Rose, he hadn't seen her, and she wasn't in the line of captives. He struggled to get up, squinting to scan the environment. He was searching for Rose. He then saw her among the Reapers, blindfolded and sitting comfortably. Her ears were the same as the other captives'.

He overheard one of the Trollocs calling her an Elf. "Does it mean they’re all Elves?" he pondered. "If they're all Elves... then what am I?" he asked himself and decided to go ask Rose.

He advanced toward her, his manhood dangling between his legs. He hadn't taken two steps when a whip descended on his chest, causing him to collapse heavily on the wet sand, coughing out blood.

His cries filled the air as he held his chest. The sun's rays penetrated the mark on his chest, a mark drawn by the Reapers—two straight lines on his left chest, signifying he was the eleventh captive.

One of the prisoners advanced toward him, and Eleven quickly used him as support to get on his feet before another whip descended. He stood behind the captive, who had long brown hair, and held his portion of the wood.

The Reaper, who had been whipping him, bound his hands to the wood. Then, a whistle blew, and they started advancing into the ocean, heading toward the great clan of Loctrum, the clan of Arctic, the master of the Reapers.

"Are we going to pass through this ocean?" Eleven mumbled softly, but it was enough for the prisoner in front of him to hear.

"Yes, black boy... and from the tales I've heard, the wood must not get wet," the prisoner whispered, causing Eleven's heart to skip a beat.

"How are we going to do that? I don't think I can swim," he added.

"Just stay in the right position... the ocean is not that deep," the Elf replied as the young man coughed out more blood.