A Dark Journey:

Synopsis: For one hundred years unceasing, Man has been made to suffer. A Dark Elf queen gathers her army with which to conquer the world. Her army of rapists are gathering forth. There are those who fight for the Humans, in their final hour, those who call themselves Black Dogs. But are they any better than the dark queen? What of the survivor, who threatens the world?

Note: This story, while not solely intending to follow Wimblegurk Brigade's challenge to the letter, will at least use the challenge in spirit and use it as a staging point. I will not be following the challenge to the letter, I am going to go for whatever I feel will make for an entertaining story. If you do not find this story entertaining, that's totally fine. Go read whatever you want to read.

For those Interested, It's mainly going to be based on the mercenary path.

Disclaimer: I Don't own any of this except for Tryggve, so please don't sue my ass.

Chapter 2: The Dark Fortress.

'There is blood in the sky, black in the stone. This place is the epitome of all that has lost its way, and travelled deep down into the depths of hell. This is a wasteland.' Tryggve mused, mentally. 'No, wasteland is not even apt a word for this… shit-hole…' Tryggve added after a further momentary reflection.

"So, you are a knight, now." Hicks said, trying to start a line of conversation to alleviate his boredom on the travel. Hicks was a martial man, in some ways he was very much like Volt himself. He was also quite uncouth, far more uncouth than Tryggve by any rate.

"Huh?" Tryggve uttered, being brought out of his reverie as he rode along on his horse.

"You are a knight. You've gotta tell me what that's like." Hicks offered.

Tryggve yawned. He was not used to staying up so late. "Yeah… I've only been one for about… three days now. I can't tell you shit about being a knight."

Hicks laughed. "No shit. You're going to need to find some retainers… get some land, maybe get a vassal or two."

Tryggve added up with a hint of humour. "I hope the women are not so bad either. I shall have to look for some veritable… 'assets', particularly in regions from the central region or more to the south. Such great swathes of land~"

Tryggve was referring to the area down south as a euphemism for a ladies posterior, whilst the more central region was a euphemism for a woman's breasts.

Hicks caught onto this with a smile. "Ahh, to be sure. But the south-west or eastern regions should not be discounted, I've heard that they grow fine pomegranates."

Tryggve took this to be a euphemism about a lady's hips. Pomegranates were additionally a symbol of fertility.

Tryggve offered with a wry smile. "Let us not discount the ''Dark Fortress' entirely, A rocky outcropping surrounds her fortifications. The land is most barren and It is not a good, fertile land. That sounds perfect. Let the 'sapping' fingers dig way, from south to north to aid the siege. When this is done... you should ready the battering ram for which to make an… entrance~"

Hicks slapped himself on his thigh as he began to laugh, as Tryggve was referring to a ladies… hole, the part of which children could not be spawned from. "Oh you… you'll go far with us! I cannot wait to reach the Dark Fortress. I'm going to fuck Olga up her ass."

Tryggve's smile turned into a frown. "I would not fuck that… cunt. I would rather strangle her with my hands, watch the life drain from her slut eyes… I will avenge all those who have suffered."

Hicks paused for a moment. "What if we were to turn her into a sex-slave?"

Tryggve sighed. "Not good enough, that is not anywhere near good enough for her, for all the things that she has done. She must die and not quickly either. She should suffer for every bit that she has done, for every part that she has played a role in. No mercy, no compromise, no remorse." Tryggve quickly slapped his left fist against his right wrist to emphasise his last words. "She must die."

Tryggve paused, speaking again when he had calmed down slightly. "Besides… I find the prospect of sex-slaves unsettling. Whores are people who simply ply a trade at a craft not too dissimilar to us sell-swords, but slavery, one where you cannot be freed over-time or through a payment, I don't like that. To condone sex-slavery… I might as well be an Orc myself."

Hicks quickly understood that Tryggve was reluctant on the subject, and shut his mouth for the next few minutes.

Tryggve had been invited to a special celebratory meeting. It turns out that upon reaching to within an hour's distance from the 'Dark Fortress', Volt seemingly wanted to celebrate even making it that far. Rumours abounded about a curse that impeded anybody from reaching any closer to the fortress, but Tryggve thought that it was a pile of crap.

The meeting was held just outside of a hill. On the hill was Volt's tent, and near it were Kin's and Hicks's tents as well. On the flattest part of the slope rested a series of small tables. There were a few small barrels of assorted ales, as well as a few wheels of hard cheeses resting to a side.

Tryggve had decided beforehand that it would be a good time to show his loyalty to the cause. After borrowing a needle and some thread, he appliqued the symbol of the Black Dogs on the upper-right side of his padded armour. The black textile was first tacked on, then sewn on, after which he removed the tacking. When he saw it from a distance, it looked as though it were done by a seamstress or tailor.

Tryggve was quite happy with it, he had used a white linen thread and used a tight herringbone stitch for decorative purposes. He hadn't sewn in a long while, as he had never needed to tend to his clothing as there were always camp-followers who handled that sort of thing, for a fee. This time, though, he opted to do it himself, out of loyalty to the cause.

"Ahhh, You're here, Orc-slayer, someone get this man a drink!" Volt said, his boisterous voice distracting him from his thoughts.

There was a raucous shout of applause from an assembled throng of about fifty of Volt's chosen men.

"Hey, you've got the Dog on your chest, You're one of us now." Volt said after a moment, noticing the appliqued work on Tryggve's chest.

Tryggve took a seat nearest to Volt's seat. "Yes. I sewed it on myself."

Volt took some minor offense at that. "Have the camp-followers not done that for you. Have they neglected in their duty?"

Tryggve looked on Volt with minor apprehension. "No, I opted to do this myself. By taking the brief time out of my life in service to you and your cause, I have done it, by my own hands."

Volt looked at Tryggve with a small level of scorn. "Sewing is woman's work and it is beneath you to do so. The next time you need something like that done, get a woman to do it."

Tryggve looked down at the table, looking at a particular portion with tree-rings. A man came up to the table, laying out a ceramic goblet filled with wine.

Tryggve didn't look to the man, but he accepted the drink. He gulped it down hastily without savouring it.

Tryggve turned to face Volt, speaking up after a moment. "My father told me that a true man is self-sufficient, If he must rely on someone for something, then he is all the more weaker for it."

Volt sighed. "That is peasant talk, Orc-slayer, suited to someone who lives alone on a farm. When I rely on my men to fight, is that a weakness or a strength? A woman should follow a man's orders, do every-fucking-thing that they say. We're dying for the cunts for fucks-sake. Let them do that shit. Women doing their fucking job's don't make me weak, It makes me stronger."

Tryggve looked to Volt. "Look, It doesn't apply like tha…"

Volt put his fist to the table. "The fuck it doesn't. A man should expect a woman to do whatever the fuck he orders her to do!"

Tryggve was shocked by Volt's anger. "I am sorry, but I don't agree."

Volt put his hand to his forehead. "I shouldn't expect you to follow along with my ideology. But I will expect you to serve me."

Tryggve stood up and lowered his head downwards. Slowly, Tryggve raised his head after a moment. "If you will excuse me, then."

Volt raised his voice after a moment. "I have a mission for you… nobody else is as suited for it than you." Volt then gestured for Tryggve to come closer.

Tryggve hunched down so that Volt could speak into his ear. "I need you to lay an ambush, In about an hour. There is an Orc leader about a league east by foot, with maybe one or two goblins accompanying. The orc has a magical talisman… a seal. You will kill them all, take the talisman and return it back to me. Got it?"

Tryggve nodded his head in affirmation. "This orc is dead."

Tryggve returned back to his tent.

He sat all alone in his tent, He removed his padded armour and draped it down over his lap.

He looked over his handiwork, he felt over every bit of stitching. He hated them, wanted to tear out all of those seams… to throw his stich-work in the fire.

Every single time in his life, whenever he tried to do something nice, someone always ended up hating it.

'What the fuck do I even have to do?' Tryggve relented in his mind. 'All the fucking time.'

Tryggve threw his gambeson off to a side. He sat down, feeling angry at Volt's comment. He did not move an inch, his whole being focused in on replaying every moment of that encounter, thinking of all the things that he could have said to change things.

A tingling sensation emerged from his Tryggve's belly. At first, he thought it was indigestion.

'Don't you fucking trouble me on my ambush, stomach!' Tryggve thought, mentally chastising himself.

However, within half an hour, things had turned for the worst. Tryggve rushed outside of his tent, making over for a nearby cliff-edge to the side of his tent. He almost managed to make it, but instead he hurled out over onto the dirt instead.

Tryggve noticed that there were strands of blood in his vomit. Tryggve wiped over his mouth with the back of his hand, and when he looked… there was also blood on the back of his hand.

Tryggve realised that he had been poisoned. Tryggve panicked, but he knew just how dangerous a situation he was in.

Tryggve rushed back to his tent, reaching out for a bag filled with all of his camp-goods. He threw aside all the crap inside of it before he got his hands on his collection of charred cloth.

He gathered up a bunch of it and hastily forced it into his mouth, chewing it up first before swallowing it down. It was said that charcoal could filter out poisons in the blood, and Tryggve was hoping that it was true.

Tryggve, having done all that he could possibly do himself, he hastily abandoned his tent and tried to reach Volt for aid.

But, then it struck him. Perhaps he might have been wrong… perhaps Volt had actually been the one who poisoned him?

But then again, Volt had just given him a vital mission. It didn't seem that Volt would have enough motive to poison him.

As he stepped out about forty paces from his tent, he was aided by a group of mercenaries who quickly held him up by the palms of their hands. "Are you alright!"

Tryggve, being in so much pain that he could barely speak, spat out the charcoal residue in his mouth before groaning out a single word. "Poison."

Tryggve blacked out immediately afterwards.

A large crowd had assembled in front of Volt. Laid down at his feet was the body of Tryggve, who was wrapped around a black shroud. His face was uncovered.

"Who did this!" Volt shouted out to his assembled crowd. "I know that he was poisoned here, by one of you. Who did this!"

When Volt saw that none of his men raised their hands, Volt lashed out. "I expected more from you. I thought you were all my loyal men. A man is dead because of one of you, I want to know who did it!"

Finally, after a momentary lapse, Volt saw as a hand was raised. A man then stepped out from the crowd and walked forwards for several paces.

"I did it. That disloyal sack of shit disobeyed me… my orders. Don't forget he even had the gall to argue with you... So It is good that I killed him… so are you going to kill me for it?"

Volt lowered his head. "I have already lost one man. I am not going to lose another."

The man laughed. "I get to go? free?"

Volt looked to the man. "If you do anything like this again, I will have your head."

That man rejoiced graciously as he returned back into the crowd.

Hicks and Kin walked up alongside Volt as he watched the crowd. Hicks spoke first. "What a fucking shame. He never got to prove himself, even after he survived… 'that'. The kid could've been great, someday."

Kin silently watched the crowd before speaking himself. "He knew enough to try to slow the poison down by ingesting charcoal, not many would have thought to do the same. It is a shame that he is dead. We have enough brain-damaged morons in our outfit, a few practical thinkers would do us good. His defense-strategy itself, whilst flawed due to it being improvised as the scenario permitted, It was an excellent idea that allowed for a few to take out many."

Volt turned to face Kin. "There was nothing that you could have done?"

Kin lowered his head down. "No, he was too-far gone by the time I could help him."

Hicks raised his voice. "What about the body?"

Volt looked out onto the horizon. "There is a cavern over there, about a quarter-league from here. I've heard that it used to be the burial-ground of some ancient kings from long ago. He can have his rest, there."

Kin raised his own voice after a moment. "What is to be done with his belongings and tent?"

Volt sighed to himself. "His armour and weapons will be put into the armoury. He no longer needs his tent or his belongings, so I will burn them. May the ashes rise up, to wherever he may be."

Volt turned to face Hicks. "Hicks… about the orc. I want you to fucking kill him. With that seal… I'm going to break through that fucking magical barrier… Then I am going to rape that Olga bitch hard!"

Kin's face visibly recoiled. Kin was eternally loyal, but he himself was disgusted by that one particular action, either rape or consensual sex. He was generally repulsed by physical acts of a 'carnal' nature, and thus tried to stay as far away as possible from that aspect. He himself though, was not adverse to stories of grand romances, once he was in a private location which was far away from the rest of the Black Dogs. They would no doubt harass him if they ever discovered his collection of romantic material.

"Kin?"

"Yes?" Kin replied, canting his face upwards to better observe Volt.

"There must be a library worth of knowledge in that fortress. Kin, my first priority is to discover how that bitch gathered the Demon forces together in the first place. If she can get them to work for her slut-ass, why can't we do the same?"

Kin listened to that and responded with a intrigued tone. "Ahhhh, I don't suppose why I couldn't find out how she did it. A Demon army sounds like something to be feared… but, will it be a double-edged sword?"

Volt smiled. "Kin, what I am already planning to do is a double-edged sword. The second Celestine discovers my plan… I am fucked. I don't see why I shouldn't have a Demon army at my beck and call, considering that. If the Demon's turn on me, well… that's always a risk, but Celestine is the larger risk, and the prize."

There was a large field of wheat, turning near gold. It was autumn, the harvest was going to happen within a week or so, and then the threshing would start. Then the grain would be stored into the silo, and distributed out. One tenth to pay the tithe, another eighth went to the fief-lord, and a tenth of what was left would go to the domestic labourers. Tryggve's father, Mammen, had also promised one tenth of what was left from that to pay for the ploughman, who was still owed from last year and the year before that. It might be another hungry winter, as winter always came after autumn.

Soon enough, some of the pigs would have to be killed too, and bled. Hung up from the rack and cut up by the village butcher. Then it would be salted, eaten during winter and into the spring.

Tryggve was six again. He was running through the fields of wheat, those large stalks waving by his long hair as he passed by. He was the strange one in his family, blackish-brown hair instead of red or blond, his eyes were brown instead of blue or green. His father didn't like him, and his mother always looked the other way at him. But, he loved them with all of his heart.

He ran and ran. The wheat gave way to grassland, and from the grassland Tryggve climbed up the hill. When Tryggve turned around from this hill, he saw his house, just barely on the horizon. So small, a faint presence, a mere speck on the outline. He wished he could be back again… but it could never happen.

"You are all dead…" Tryggve uttered to himself. Tears welled up at his eyes.

"So, this is what you are seeing?"

Tryggve turned around. He was surprised at what he saw.

It was the orc. Tryggve was facing the thing that he had once taunted. The thing that he had 'supposedly' killed.

Tryggve felt vulnerable. He was still in the body of his six-year-old self.

"You…" Tryggve said, as he pointed to the orc. Tryggve noticed that even his voice was like that of his childhood.

The orc nodded his head, then he pointed his right thumb to himself. "Me…"

Tryggve realised that the Orc was humouring him, as it was he himself who had pointed the thumb to himself as he taunted the Orc.

"So this is what you dream about? Some plot of land? a farmstead?" The orc commented.

Tryggve replied. "You wouldn't understand..."

The orc sat down on a patch of grass. He was just as tall as he was, previously. "I guess not, Human. I would have thought you would dream of a castle, something more lofty than this."

Tryggve waited for a moment. "Are we… dead?"

The orc nodded his head. "Hell."

"Why am I in hell?" Tryggve asked.

The orc looked down at his feet. He pulled out a patch of grass and started throwing it around. "I am curious also."

Tryggve decided that he would sit down also. He sat in front of the orc, facing him. "Why are you here?"

The Orc laughed. "Because In my hell, Human, it is filled with you. So, I decided I would visit yours, see if It is better than mine."

Tryggve pondered on that for a moment. "You can visit other people's dreams?"

The Orc nodded his head. "Hell's. Dream is a bad word for it, Human. Your dreams turn to hell, it is why it is called hell. To see something you love, you dream for, destroyed continuously for all of time. That is hell."

Tryggve realised that if the Orc was telling the truth, he knew exactly where this dream was going to lead. Tryggve's heart sank. He would live this for an eternity.

The Orc humoured him, as he threw a pile of grass at Tryggve. "Cheer up."

Tryggve stood to shake off the grass that covered his body. He then looked up at the orc and spoke. "Why are you being so nice to me? We are enemies."

The Orc looked at the human with a forlorn expression. "You don't remember, do you?"

Tryggve looked down at his feet. "No. I remember being trapped in that room with you… then I woke up in a tent."

The Orc sighed to himself, before standing up. "We fought. I was winning, you were an experienced fighter, but I was legendary. You stood no chance against me. You were bleeding, yet you fought on. When you could no longer fight, I tortured you. I killed all of your friends in the other room, showed their corpses to you. Do you know what happened? You tore me and all my men to pieces."

Tryggve looked to his hands. "Bullshit."

The Orc reached for Tryggve and pulled him up by the neck. It was easy to do, and it terrified Tryggve. "I don't know what you are, but you are not Human."

Tryggve looked down at his feet as they dangled. He could feel the suggestion that the orc was trying to imply. "Hah, I am no demon!" Tryggve jested.

As though, through an act of fate, a rustling sound was heard. The orc turned to face the sound, and saw as three figures emerged from the field of wheat.

"That's not fair, Asketill, you cheated!"

"No…" Muttered Tryggve. "Asketill, can you hear me, Asketill!"

The orc dropped Tryggve down to the ground. "Sometimes, you can speak to the people in your hell, at other times you cannot."

Tryggve looked on. He could remember this, he was racing with his brothers.

"You are a liar, Arnbjorn, I won!"

"No, I did!" Bjalk said.

"I can't remember this…" Tryggve said. "I tripped up on a rock and injured myself while I was chasing after them. I never saw this."

"Where is our brother?" Arnbjorn said.

Asketill spat at the ground. "He is not our brother. You were too young to hear the fight between our parents. Our mother is a slut, she had sex with another man while dad was away."

Tryggve felt a strange feeling of relief. He always had the feeling that he was born to a different father, but to finally hear it was a weight off of his chest. To discover this through death was a strange concept.

Arnbjorn pushed Asketill to the ground. "You watch your tongue. Tryggve is our brother, just as much as I am your brother. If I see you messing with him, I will hurt you. Do you understand."

Asleif came up a few minutes later, with hell-Tryggve by her side. "You idiots, I'll hide you all If this happens again, look after our brother!"

The orc raised a comment. "This is your sister?"

Tryggve tried his best to growl. "If you are about to say what I think you mean to say, I will punch you in the dick."

The orc spoke after a moment. "They are all dead, aren't they."

Tryggve looked onwards for a moment. He took in a deep breath, tears streaming down his eyes unbidden. "To be with them is heaven. Not being able to speak to them is hell. I know what is going to eventually happen, and I never want to see that ever again. I don't want to see my father or my brothers being slaughtered like fucking animals. I don't want to see my mother or my sisters being raped again. Over, and over, and over, without a care."

Tryggve paused for a moment. "Did you know that they tied my sisters and my mother up, led them about in a line like dogs… I never saw them again, as I watched whilst I hid in the field. I don't even know If my sisters or if my mother are alive or dead. Worst thing is, you are here, listening to me telling you all this, expecting you to feel some form of remorse for me. You likely don't give a fuck."

The orc shrugged his shoulders. "Life is hell. The strong do and the weak suffer."

Tryggve waited for a few moments, before turning towards the orc. "You have raped and murdered families, human families, haven't you?"

The orc simply nodded his head once. "Yes."

Tryggve sighed. "There is a part of me that should hate you, but I don't. It is in your nature, so they say… to be so damned evil. There is this strange feeling where I can understand you, or at least, I have a grasp of understanding about you."

The orc smiled. "The feeling is mutual. We have fought each other. Now, we are in hell together."

Tryggve thought for a moment, before speaking. "You mentioned that your hell is full of me. What do you mean by that?"

The orc looked forlorn. "I am forced to remember our fight. I am always about to win… then you tear me into a million pieces, while you laugh. It is always repeating, over and over and over, you, winning."

Tryggve walked up to the orc. With his diminutive size, he could only touch the orc's leg. "I feel slightly sorry for you. Don't mistake me though, I still dislike you, for all that your kind has done to me… to everyone else."

"How did you die?" The orc asked after a brief moment.

Tryggve returned his hand back down by his side. "I was poisoned… either Volt poisoned me, or one of his men did it. I wish to know if he had condoned it to be done to me, or If it was done to me by a jealous person. But, I will never know."

The orc sneered at the prospect. "The man who kills such a man through poison is no man, but a coward. If I were alive, I would kill that man."

Tryggve was surprised. "You would avenge me?"

The orc laughed. "I hate cowards. Poison is for pussies."

A quick and sudden pain gripped Tryggve, and before he realised it, he was being pulled up into the sky.

The orc looked on at this with shock… but just as quickly, he had disappeared as all started to become a blur.

Tryggve flew for what must have been an hour. All around was like a shifting whirl of colours not unlike a rainbow that was being melted. It was like being in a formless vortex without shape or reason.

Then, he heard three drips, the sound of water droplets falling from a great height, hitting on the surface of a pool of water. It made a -twiiirp- sound. The water was cool, it sent shockwaves through Tryggve's body. He felt so bitterly cold.

The vortex changed shape and was given form. The vortex materialised into the shape of Tryggve, a near-perfect clone, except this remained rainbow-coloured. The vortex-clone tapped Tryggve across the nose with it's forefinger. It felt as though it were made of slime.

"I can't let you die, not yet..."

"Aaaaaaaaaggggghhhhhhhkkkkkkkkkk!" Was the sound of a hoarse intake of fresh air, tainted as it was by the taste of charcoal.

Tryggve was dreadfully cold. Was all of that previous a dream? a nightmare? Was it real?

Tryggve didn't know how to feel anymore. He had been poisoned… now he was forced to find vengeance.

Yet, additionally, how is it that in the span of a few moments, he could feel some sense of companionship with an orc. The one that he had killed, torn apart. He wished he could remember it, about what had transpired during his fight.

-Twiiirp-

Tryggve paused for a moment. The sound of a water droplet dripping onto a pool of water. It was crystal clear within his mind. He remembered it from his dream… or his hell… whatever it was.

Wherever Tryggve was, it was pitch black. He could not see anywhere. Wherever he was, it was surrounded by stone, cold, unyielding, rough stone.

Tryggve rose from his position, his hands and feet touching around and feeling along all surfaces, trying to map the area that he was in.

Suddenly, from nowhere, Tryggve heard a spectral voice whispering into his ear. He could feel the sound reverberating along the hairs in his ear. It felt frigid. "Twenty-five steps, Interred in stone. We are the men whose voices are found. In darkness are we eternally bound. Banished from the light, we are enemies of the bright. Despair."

Tryggve had no idea what any of that meant. However, he took twenty-five steps forward. He felt something, as though there was a strange dias. He palmed along the top of this surface and hit an object.

He touched this object and felt along the surface. It was cold and smooth, a gemstone perhaps. On one end was a chain.

"Spirits of this place, are you suggesting that I wear this? Do I have your permission to wear this amulet? Is there a curse upon it or a curse placed upon those who wear it?" Tryggve tried to commune with whatever spirit haunted the place. He remembered hearing about giving specific requests, so as not to be exploited by a vengeful ghost.

It took a few moments, but Tryggve felt the same cold voice whispering into his ear. "The dark journey you must depart, battles-death you must prevail. Take my gift, free of will, I who no longer uses it give it so. There is no curse but one of inaction, use it well or not at all."

Feeling as though he had been given explicit permission, Tryggve put the amulet around his neck.

Stones tumbled down to one side as a large boulder fell from the roof. Daylight then entered the chamber, which was nearly three meters high. Tryggve would have to climb out.

As soon as he made it out, he looked at himself. He was covered in a black shroud, and beneath this were his pants and his shirt. He had no weapons, wielded no armour. All he had was a needle, which he had forgotten about and stuck inside the upper part of his pants as he finished sewing and tied the knot of his thread to finish his applique.

He was useless.

But… he had no other choice. Necessity sometimes demands that outrageous acts be done.

Derren smirked at his fortune. He had money, power… he had removed an opponent and felt about as relieved as one felt after taking a giant turd. The nuisance, so thoroughly removed, he could finally relax and enjoy his place in life. No one could question him now. He was powerful, and when that certain time came, he would be knee deep in useless, sodden cunts as far as the eye could see.

He could nearly envision it now, abusing women, using them, making them cry… those sounds were like music to his ears, that hoarse sound of hope as it was removed violently as he forces himself into them. It was all women were good for, after all.

It wasn't his wish to even fight. He'd rather be stuck in his bed, getting his cock sucked by a serving girl, rather than actually fighting a battle with the useless rabble. They were fucking gross commoners, all of them incompetent after all, they should be thanking him for the service of even leading them… that never happened. Besides, he was more than enough for the enemy by himself, he had learned to fight from various tutors, he always beat them within a single round because they were meer students compared to his skill.

If it hadn't been for that fucking Trig-bitch, he'd have gotten a promotion. Oh, how It would have been sweet if that cock-sucker had actually followed his orders. Regardless, he was now dead.

Worst of all, though, Volt had given him the shittest task imaginable, watching over the fucking Queen and her loose bitch valet, or whatever the fuck she was.

That didn't mean he couldn't get the opportunity to spread his 'kindness' to the women. Not as he held their food within his hands.

"Dinner time. Come and get it!" Derren said, as he clanged their bowls of gruel together.

They approached the bars of the cage where they held their hands out.

Derren laughed before he placed his mouth above both bowls. He spat in each one before handing them over to the useless cunts.

Olga promptly threw her gruel at Derren. He didn't take it well, but… Volt had given him explicit orders not to harm them…

Derren was about to swear a furious storm of vehement vengeance upon them, but was suddenly halted from doing so when he felt his neck being pulled by something.

"Remember me, prick-face? I'm going to send you to hell."

Derren could hardly breath… but he recognised the voice… and his heart filled with terror. It was pure, unadulterated fear and terror. He was being strangled by a fucking burial shroud.

"You look good when your face turns purple, you pompous, incompetent, vindictive fuck!"

Before Derren could focus on anything else except for his excruciating pain… he pissed himself before his eyes fogged up. He blinked his eyes closed after a moment, these were his final moments of life.

He had a life in hell to look forward to.

There was a whole level of fucked up shit that Tryggve had managed to find out about this place. Where to begin… Volt's fucked up plan to turn all the world's women into fuck-slaves… or how about the fact that he planned to form a demon army to take over the world.

Volt was practically, positively pissing on his face. It was one thing to turn your back on the human kingdoms… but to raise an army of demons in order to persecute that war...

Fuck, that, shit!

Volt had been full of shit the entire time. His trying to 'aid' humanity… he was only saying that to pursue his own agenda. His charisma was a fucking facade to a vile, fucked up psychopath. Hicks was more like Volt, a fucked up human being.

Kin though, he was likely going to be the largest threat to the world outside of Volt. He is smart, informed, wise… a blatant intellectual as well as a skilled mage. A shrewd and very capable person who is also extremely loyal to Volt, He was likely going to be near impossible to defeat.

Olga was a small-time criminal compared to the evil shit that Volt tried to pull. Even though Tryggve wanted Olga to suffer for her crimes, he wasn't going to let her die like that. Not even she deserved the kind of treatment that Volt had planned out for her.

Tryggve lowered his hands down as he took 'Prick-face's' weapon, an arming sword about with a blade about the length of an ell-and-a-half. He then took the prison key.

Tryggve looked to the two women. They too looked at him in return. Tryggve spoke a moment later. "Listen. I'm getting you out of here. Don't say a fucking thing until we are free. Got it, I'm not fucking around."

They certainly listened to him. Olga and her servant followed him as he lead them through room to room, carefully leading them to the outside world.

Tryggve guessed that he would only have about an hour's head start, before Volt would find out.

For this, his new amulet was a god-send. It seemed to guide him out of the fortress. Tryggve had no idea how it worked, but he did know that it worked… it really did.

Now that they were out, though, Olga raised the palm of her hand.

Somehow, immense pain struck Tryggve's body immobile.

"I would thank you, human… but you would be put to better use as a decoy. It is not enough that A human saves me, now I must also run away from one as well, you useless pig. Keep those impudent dogs away from me, will you."

Why is it, that Tryggve always, always found himself in this type of situation.

Before Olga managed to leave the horizon, Tryggve shouted out to her in defiance.

"If Volt ever catches you again… Don't think I am going to save you!"

There was pain, then there was agony.

Many people could never tell you the difference between the two…

But, as Tryggve had a soaked linen sack hung over his face while he was tied upright and bound to a wooden pole.

Well, Tryggve was beginning to learn the difference.

Hicks began to shake slightly from his exertions. His whip had made fine progress on Tryggve's flesh, but the person inside remained undamaged.

Volt took over, and began to whip Tryggve's back near-raw. Still, he only shouted out but never did he let the whip damage the man inside.

Kin, however… was a different sort.

You see, Kin almost saw through Tryggve the first time that he had met him. Tryggve was not motivated by greed, nor was he motivated by sexual desires. He would be hard to bribe, and his general gruff attitude would make physical torture unreliable. This meant that another avenue had to be explored instead.

Kin didn't reach for the whip as Volt moved off to a side. He rather approached Tryggve closely and spoke. "I know that you are called Tryggve. I managed to find out who you are. You are the son of Mammen, are you not?"

Tryggve struggled to raise his voice, so he whispered out his reply. "You will never know me…"

Kin slowly paced himself back and forth, letting the sound of his footsteps reach into Tryggve's mind.

"I may not know you… But I know somebody who might."

Kin walked up to one of the orc bodyguards and spoke to him.

Tryggve waited in agony. He heard new footsteps approaching.

Kin spoke up to the new arrival. "I want you to take off the hood from that man there… Do not be afraid girl, there will be no punishment."

"Yes master." was the reply. Tryggve noted that the voice was female.

Tryggve heard footsteps coming closer. Then he felt inquisitive fingers prodding over his face.

The sack was carefully withdrawn from Tryggve's face. Strands of his hair clung to his face, his beard was unruly.

Tryggve opened his eyes slowly. There was a heavily pregnant woman on the other side. She was notably dirty, but there was something about her face that intrigued him.

His heart stood still. "As...leif." Tryggve mumbled.

Shock registered on Asleif's face. Then guilt… "Tryggve?"

Volt walked in. He grabbed Asleif by the hair and forced her face into the ground. Tryggve roared loudly as he struggled against the binds keeping him attached to the pole. "Volt!"

Volt snickered. "So this is your sister? Your sister is little better than an orc breeder. You could say that she is a sow. Isn't that right?"

One of the orc bodyguards in the room laughed at that.

Tryggve calmed down after a moment. Then he changed his tactic.

"What does she have to do with this? Volt? What is going on here is between me and you. Keep her out of this."

Kin noticed the change in attitude, Tryggve was up to something. He promptly shoved his weight around. "Volt, enough. I will handle things from here."

Volt, having no reason to not trust Kin or his loyalty, backed away over to a corner.

Kin pulled Asleif off the ground and pushed her towards Tryggve.

She walked over to her brother, moving the strands of hair from his face before hugging her brother tightly. "I'm sorry, Tryggve."

Tryggve leaned his head downwards into her embrace, leaning his head onto her shoulder for support. "Sorry for what?" Tryggve questioned.

Asleif pointed to her belly. "I have given birth to so many sons... "

Tryggve began to cry… thinking up of the right words to say. "I could never hate you for it. We all do as we must, sister."

Asleif looked down at her belly. "I never wanted this to happen… I am the only one left, aside from you."

Kin went between the siblings, pulling them apart. "Your reunion is complete. Orc, hold her down."

Tryggve immediately knew that something bad was about to happen. Kin noticed Tryggve's facial expression and reacted accordingly. "Don't fret, Tryggve. This is not going to happen the way you think it will happen, I am no rapist. No, she must be made witness to this…"

Kin then held his hands forcefully onto Tryggve's chest. "Come out, I know you are dwelling inside. Why don't you greet us all with an appearance?"

Tryggve looked out in shock. Kin was murmuring something that bordered on the insane. Speaking to some imaginary being.

Kin pulled his hands away after a moment. Hicks's laughed at this. "I always thought you liked men, Kin. Now I know it."

Kin shrugged the comment off. He reached inside of his pocket and pulled out an amulet. Tryggve knew what it was, the artifact that he had taken from the dias.

Kin's face suddenly lit up, and then the amulet began to glow. After a few moments, Kin pointed his finger towards Tryggve. A bolt of energy surged forth.

Tryggve's whole body lit up.

"Well, it seems somebody has figured me out..."

Tryggve turned his head around and saw a large, winged demon appear from nowhere…

The demon turned his head and looked to Tryggve.

The demon, through the use of magic, tore Tryggve's bindings into a hundred pieces, freeing him from the pole. Volt charged in as Tryggve fell to the ground, trying to hit Tryggve while he was down, but the demon intercepted Volt's path.

Kin began to charge up a spell, but the Demon knocked him down to the ground with a burst of speed. The demon's tail wrapped around the amulet that Kin took from Tryggve, Then he knocked over Hicks and Volt with his magic, before proceeding to tear apart the orc bodyguards in the room with his bare hands.

The demon walked over to Asleif, who was cowering in fear, and lifted her up over to his left shoulder, settling her down there. He then walked over to Tryggve, who was unable to speak in protest as he too was lifted up and brought over to rest on the Demon's right shoulder.

The demon flicked his finger and the rooftop collapsed, removing the obstacle in his way.

The demon flew high into the air, escaping the Dark Fortress with both humans on his shoulders.

Volt got up off his feet. "Fuck!" Was his reply.

Kin stood up a moment later. "I drastically underestimated the level of the situation. Whatever that was… was a grand demon. I was not prepared for such a thing."

Volt quickly calmed himself down. "At least I have a Demon army..."

Hicks smiled. "That you do. Dirty, smelly, stinky demons."

Volt turned to face Hicks. "Don't bother following them, he likely knows of our plan by now. He will likely try to reach Celestine. I would rather this be a surprise engagement, but we are strong enough to take them out anyway, in the field of battle.