Rows of dark elf slaves stood lined up in the open pit, the cold morning light doing nothing to warm the jagged stone beneath their bare feet. Aside from them, the overseers also gathered, already done searching for the escaped children everywhere but to no use.
"This many men," Crass bellowed, his voice echoing off the cavernous canyon walls, carrying the distinct, obnoxious volume of a man who enjoyed the sound of his own anger, "and you can't find three little kids?!"
He kicked a loose stone across the dirt, his face flushed red. "Worthless pigs! The lot of you!"
In the front rank of overseers, one man muttered under his breath, eyes fixed straight ahead. "Look who's calling others pigs. Damn fat bastard..."
Crass turned on him instantly. In a flash of raw violence, he grabbed the overseer by his leather collar and slammed him violently onto the sharp stone ground. "Shut your filthy trap! You call me a pig again, you miserable trash, and I'll personally gut you, feed your organs to the wild boars, and bury your bones in this ditch!" Crass shouted, his eyes turning red from anger.
"You'll die," he whispered, low and lethal, staring into the man's terrified eyes.
Satisfied, Crass straightened his belt and paced back toward the front of the line, his heavy stomach bouncing with each furious stride. "Anyone else want to say something?"
Silence fell over the pit.
Among the ranks of overseers stood a tall man with crimson hair, a jagged scar cutting through his chin, and sharp green eyes that tracked Crass's every movement with careful, calculated attention. Beside him, another overseer nudged his arm, whispering nervously, "Keep your head down. He'll come for you next."
The red-haired man lowered his eyes, saying nothing.
On the ground, the bruised overseer tried to push himself up. Crass sneered, shoving him back down with the heavy heel of his boot and striking him twice across the face before finally turning his attention to the shivering slaves.
The dark elves cowered where they stood.
Then, an old dark elf—thin, frail, and thoroughly worn down by years underground—stepped forward from the line. He held his hands out with the careful, submissive posture of someone approaching a wild beast.
"We... we still have work to do," the old man said, his voice barely above a rasping whisper. "If we don't meet today's quota—"
"You dare speak to me?!"
Crass crossed the distance in three heavy strides, his thick hand raised back to strike.
The green-eyed overseer moved.
The guards beside him hissed in alarm—"Wait, don't!"—but the red-haired man kept walking, closing the gap with steady steps. "I think we should let th—" but his words came slow as crass moved swiftly.
Crass's backhand caught the old dark elf squarely across the face before the red-haired overseer could finish his sentence. The old slave crashed to the dirt, clutching his bleeding jaw.
Crass glared at the red-haired overseer. "What did you say?"
The old elf on the ground spat blood, saying nothing.
"That's what I thought," Crass spat.
The red-haired overseer swallowed hard, forcing the words out anyway—hesitant, but firm. "We're doing this search without authorization. If the higher-ups find out—"
"Fuck the higher-ups!" Crass's voice dropped, turning ice-cold. "They wouldn't dirty their boots setting foot in this filthy pit if you paid them a fortune. You think they care what happens down here? I'm the one in charge. You listen to me, or you get buried under these rocks alongside the rest of these dark elf shits."
The red-haired overseer held Crass's glare for a second, then slowly backed away into the ranks.
Crass turned back toward the hundreds of assembled slaves, adjusting his leather jacket with a smirk.
"Listen up! We're looking for two boys and a girl. One's got purple hair. The other's tall. The girl..." He shrugged carelessly. "Well, she's a girl. Start looking. Whoever finds them and reports it gets a reward." He grinned, revealing a row of crooked, yellow teeth. "Clean food for a whole week!"
A flurry of urgent murmurs ran through the long line of slaves.
"And if you don't find them," Crass added, his voice dropping into something far quieter and infinitely more sinister, "I'll kill every single one of you." Crass smiled, seeing the darkelves cower in fear.
Suddenly, a jagged rock caught Crass squarely in the back of the head.
"WHICH MOTHER FU—" Crass roared, spinning around, his hand flying to the back of his scalp.
"You wanted to catch us, right?" a calm voice called out.
Crass looked up.
Standing high on the rocky ridge overlooking the open pit were four figures—the purple-haired boy, Bram, Chloe, and the old man. They held whatever crude weapons they had managed to scrape together: rusty shovels, a cracked wooden staff, and pickaxes. It was a pathetic arsenal that shouldn't have given anyone confidence.
Yet, they looked completely fearless.
"So we thought," the purple-haired boy called down, his voice echoing across the canyon, "why make you wait?"
Crass stared up at them for a long, silent moment.
Then, a deep, raspy laugh burst from his chest.
"Truly," Crass wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye, "you brats are absolute idiots! What kind of rat walks right into the cat's claws?!"
"Laugh all you want," the boy replied coldly. "Because soon enough, you'll be dead."
"And how exactly do you plan on doing that?" Crass grinned, resting his hand on the hilt of his weapon. "You don't have any tricks left! Last time, you only got a hit in because you caught me off guard!"
The purple-haired boy smiled.
"This time," the boy said, "it won't just be me."
He raised his right hand into what little sunlight could come into the deep cave.
Clutched tightly in his palm, the glowing purple bead caught the morning light, radiating an ominous, vibrant energy.
"The Angel of Rebellion has blessed us!" the old man beside the boy declared, his voice booming across the entire pit. "His warrior has descended, and he will lead us to freedom!"
Crass stared at the glowing bead. A scoffing laugh burst out of him. "That fucking trinket?! You actually believe—"
Down in the pit, the old dark elf whom Crass had struck moments earlier was already frantically whispering to the slave beside him. "Could it... could it really be...?"
Others turned. Whispers rippled down the line, spreading faster than Crass could possibly track.
"The bead...""The symbol of the Angel...""He's returned..."
"Shut up!" Crass screamed, turning wildly on the crowd. "You little shits! He's talking complete nonsense! All of you shut your damn mouths—!"
Nobody listened.
The timid whispers swelled into loud voices. The voices grew into a roaring chorus.
Standing among the nervous guards, the red-haired overseer watched the surging crowd, and a faint, knowing smile touched his scarred chin.
Then, the slaves began to shout as one.
"FREEDOM FOR THE DARK ELVES!"
"THE ANGEL OF REBELLION HAS RETURNED!"
The chant erupted through the pit like a wildfire catching dry brush—hundreds of voices rising together, the deafening roar filling the dark valley that Crass had spent years using fear to control.
Crass slowly raised his head, staring up at the purple-haired boy standing tall on the ridge.
His arrogant smile faded, then slowly returned—sharper now, edged with a dark, furious terror that had not been there a moment before.
The revolution of the slaves had begun.
To be continued...