Who is it?

The guard grunted. "Orso's orders. You're the Reaper blood, aren't you? He wanted to get it over with before he changed his mind. Too bad for you though."

Kyrexiel sat there, his head echoing. What? 'I'm going into the dark room now? But I don't have a plan yet! Shit!'

Number One was stunned, this was the first time it would be happening. She did not know if she should be happy or sad– sad that her death was moved up or happy that she would still have time for some nap before death.

So she decided to feel both. "Wait! It's my turn, I'm number One! That means I'm the one to take a turn now."

The guard looked at her flatly as he started to unlock the bars. "Are you that eager to die?"

She stammered. "N...no...but I'm going to die either way. Why not just do it sooner?"

Kyrexiel found himself nodding to her words. Why must they change formation when it was his turn? Just why?

The guard had finished unlocking the door and came in, the huge Ometra shrugged. "Not my problem. You are asked to go in the next Reaper blood. And that's what you'll do if you know what's good for you."

Kyrexiel stood and walked forward towards the guards, his face downcast, he walked slowly as if he had already accepted his fate but immediately he got close to the Ometra he bolted for the door.

Number One gasped, the guard cursed but Kyrexiel's feet made little sound as he made it past the guard's reaching hands. One thing about him was that he was fast on his feet, his body was nimble.

He slammed the door shut, and finally some luck was by his side because the lock slip into place.

Outside was darkness and rows of cells made directly into the walls. He almost stopped but the guard's curse was a promise he didn't want to wait for to be fulfilled.

Then he saw walkways that were almost hidden by the cells. He chose one and made for it, guards and collared slaves walked side by side to do whatever it was that was making a slave pen work smoothly.

Kyrexiel slowed down, calming his breathing and adopting the slumped, downcast posture of the slaves. The clothes he wore hid his neck. He heard shouting behind him in the open prison yard chamber but he didn't pause as the guards and most of the slaves did.

'Shit! What am I doing?' Kyrexiel had no plan, it was all a spur of the moment but now he had no choice but to continue whatever it was he started.

The shouting in the center chamber was getting louder now that all the guards and slaves walking in the hallway slowed and Kyrexiel had to too because he would be too noticeable if he was hurrying away.

"What is going on now?" The guard beside him growled. He looked back and licked his thick lips, his hand touching the sword belted around his waist. "Are they fighting? Leaving me out?!"

One of the guards that was coming snorted. "I'll check it for you and if it is fighting, I'll join!"

The complaining guard frowned, he looked around and when he caught sight of Kyrexiel, he pointed at him. "You! Slave, follow this other wretched one and do the task." He pointed at the slave in front of him who was balancing a big tray on his head.

Kyrexiel's heart beat fast, and he tensed preparing to run but fortunately, he got what the guard meant in time. He should follow the other slave.

He lowered his shoulder and head then moved closer to the slave with the big tray. The slave turned to the guard. "B...but...."

"Oh shut up! You'll be fine." Then the guard turned and hurried after his fellows.

Kyrexiel and the slave stayed in silence as the hallway quickly emptied of guards and the remaining slaves. Red touches burn merrily on the wall, causing shifting shadows that dance and snap.

"Bastards," the slave muttered. He's an old slave but still strong enough to do tasks. "How dare he send me alone to that monster! Now I have to go alone."

Kyrexiel moved closer but still kept his head low. He didn't want even the slave to recognize him. Nothing to chance. "Are you taking that to Orso?"

The slave paused and turned to him, the covered tray on his head was balanced perfectly. "Oh...you are here too. That's good. Here, take this."

The slave moved the tray on his head and rested it on Kyrexiel's head with a relieved groan. It was heavy but not something he could not handle. They began walking and Kyrexiel asked again. "What's inside?"

The slave didn't even look at him as he waved at him, distracted. "What else? It's food. Served fresh directly."

Kyrexiel felt a chill. 'Why must I be so unfortunate?' He asked. "For Orso?"

"Orso? Do you think we are qualified to serve a man like that? Don't be stupid! Master Orso has quality slaves to serve him."

Kyrexiel tried his best to keep up with the old slave. The man sounded as if he would want to join the slaves serving Orso. Even though he was relieved to learn that it wasn't for Orso, he still worried because who warranted serving with a guard?

"And it's Master Orso for you, slave!" The old slave snapped.

Kyrexiel rolled his eyes behind him. "Of course, but if it's not for Or.....Master Orso, then who has it?"

The slave chuckled. "Even though I'm not serving Master Orso directly. Who I'm bringing food for is equally important. Especially if we are fighting high-level fight in the pits," then his voice turned darker and low. "If only he's sane enough."

"Who is it?" Kyrexiel asked. What he wanted now was to get as far away from the guards that would soon be here to search for him.

"The only tier-four rank one that the Ometra clan has in their arsenal. The only one to ever survive the dark room."