The night proved rough. While he managed to get some sleep, the bitter wind made his rest intermittent and miserable. His legs also ached from all of the running the night prior. There was no doubt it was the worst sleep he’d ever had—even worse than the time he had passed out drunk in a skip. At least trash provided a little cushioning, which is more than what he could say for the rock-solid ground beneath him.

  The sun had long risen, and while it was clear no more sleep was on the cards, despite his body crying out for it, he remained where he lay. The words of the Chief were on repeat in his mind, “We’ll reconvene in the morning to discuss our options.”

  Most of the monsters had been very vocal about killing him, and despite the so-called “Chief” calling the shots, he did appear to have a kind of entourage advising him. One convincing argument could mean his end, and there were likely many. And this was even assuming the Chief didn’t want to kill him, which he likely did.

  So he lay still, hoping to delay his sentencing, but how long could false slumber postpone his fate? Not very long, he surmised. Despite his intention of feigning sleep, he couldn’t resist a brief look at the guard opposite. Was he awake? Maybe he’d left. Thomas slowly opened one eye so he could just make out the guard. Luran was wide awake, and he was sitting exactly as he was the night before. It didn’t appear as though he had moved an inch. Thomas quickly shut his eye and went back to pretending he was asleep.

  “I know you’re awake,” Luran said in a mocking tone. “Stupid human.” Ah well, so goes that plan. He rolled to a seated position and stretched out his achy legs.

  “You caught that, huh? Can’t blame a guy for trying. It’s Luran, isn’t it? So what’s going to happen now? Is there some kind of meeting to decide my fate?” Luran took out an immaculately constructed dagger with a curved edge and started spinning it on his finger from the pommel, pretending he was oblivious to the question. “Hey! I’m talking to you!”

  Luran then flicked the spinning blade up in the air and continued the spin in his other hand in an incredible display of precision and timing. If he weren’t so disgruntled at being ignored, he might have applauded the show.

  Not keen to waste his breath, he scooted to the back of the hutch and tossed and turned until he found a somewhat comfortable position. He would be summoned eventually; no point whining about it. So what could he do in the meantime? What would actually help him in this situation?

  If this place was indeed purgatory or hell, there was likely nothing he could do or say to get him out of this predicament. But assuming for a second that he was not in either of the places, that somehow, some way, he hadn’t died on that electric chair, perhaps there was still hope.

  If there’s one thing he knew about people, it’s that they’re inherently selfish. While most put on a facade to pretend they’re good, this is nothing but a mask. At their core, most people only really care about themselves, and they have no trouble trampling over others to get what they want. Had his adoptive parents ever really cared about him or his sister? Perhaps. But they’d turned their back on them soon after Lily’s diagnosis. The medication was just too expensive, and they wanted to wash themselves of the burden.

  And those were the people he loved. Trusted. Strangers were far more narcissistic—and this, he could exploit. It wasn’t a leap to imagine these monsters operated much the same way. Based on last night’s events, they were clearly intelligent and highly opinionated. They even looked kind of like humans, too, in an intimidating monsterish kind of way.

  Therefore, saying the right thing could very well secure his life. It was just about crafting the right argument. Finding something that they wanted more than they wanted him dead. No biggy. But what did they want exactly? Only to kill him? Why? One might assume they wanted to eat him, being monsters and all, but there was never any mention of this.

  There were also no suggestions of killing him for entertainment, like locking him in an arena and forcing him to fight for his life. No. It was more like they stated they needed to kill him out of necessity. But why? Was a human really so dangerous to them? They certainly looked capable. Luran had killed that nightmare monster with ease. If all had such ability, he imagined humans posed little threat.

  He was missing something. He had to be. But he just didn’t know what. After thinking long and hard, the only value he could think of to trade in return for his life was that of labor. While the idea of becoming a slave wasn’t a pretty one, it was a lot better than being dead. That was assuming he wasn’t already dead, in which case, it probably didn’t matter what he did. What happens when you die in purgatory?

  A growing commotion filtered through into the farm and he shuddered. He had never heard what a lynching might sound like, but if he had to guess, the sound coming from that crowd was a precursor to it. Their voice raged like a growing typhoon, threatening to whisk away the guilty into oblivion.

  From the sounds of it, a decision was yet to be made, or perhaps it was one the crowd did not agree with—it was impossible to know. All that he knew was that they hated him. Each and every screaming voice. For what reason, he could not guess, he was just thankful that the decision did not ultimately fall to them.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Just as the crowd seemed ready to erupt, all became quiet. From headache-inducing roars to silence was quite the contrast. It was rather disarming. He wondered what had happened, but he didn’t have long to think; the faint sound of a pair of footsteps approached. Another monster entered the farm and stopped beside Luran.

  “Bring the prisoner. A decision has been made.” Luran wasted no time jumping to his feet. He sheathed the knife he had been spinning as well as his sword before re-buckling his scabbard.

  “Cover yourself, human!” Luran ordered, throwing some grubby clothes on the floor in front of him. Thomas looked at them and scowled at Luran. How long had he had these? Last night was freezing! But fearful of the offer being rescinded, he quickly snatched up the clothes in silence.

  “Well?! Bindings?!” he urged, presenting his hands through the bars. He couldn’t put them on with his hands bound. Luran grunted before grabbing his wrists, unsheathing his knife, and slashing the bindings in one sudden motion. He barely had any time to react and was sure the dagger would have caught his skin, but no. The bindings fell to the ground, revealing only the marks from being restrained and the strange scar that snaked down his arm.

  After putting on the clothes and being released from his cage, the retrieving monster took up position ahead of him, while Luran followed from behind. A maneuver to prevent him from fleeing, no doubt, but what was the point? They’d impale him before he made it a few feet—of that he was certain. It was the only thing he’d been certain of since arriving in this strange forest.

  As they filed through the crowd, the two broke off, leaving him alone to bear the glares of the angry monsters. Yet no one spoke, not even the redhead who seemed ready to gut him like a fish. If looks could kill, he’d be dead many times over. He stood in full view of the crowd that had arranged itself in a circle. The only monster not among their ranks, the Chief. He stood at his side a few feet away.

  “Human,” he declared. “How is it you came to be in this forest?” his features stern, and his voice unwavering. Thomas tried not to let the countless eyes scare him to silence, but it was difficult.

  “I… I don’t know,” he answered, “One minute I was being electrocuted, and the next thing I know I wake up in—” an older monster from the crowd butted in.

  “See! He can’t even tell the truth! We should just kill him now and be done with it!”

  “Silence!” the Chief snapped, causing the monster to recoil into the safety of the crowd. He redirected his attention back to Thomas.

  “Don’t lie to me, boy,” he spat, menace creeping into his voice.

  “I—I’m not lying,” Thomas protested. “I swear! I don’t even know where I am!” The Chief sighed and closed his eyes, exhaling deeply.

  “Tell me who sent you and why you’ve come. Do that, and I might let you live… but lie to me again, and this is the end for you.” A cold wave of dread shot through his body like he’d been dunked in an ice bath. He figured he’d have had more time to argue his case. He didn’t know what to say. Who had sent him? He had no idea. But this monster wanted an answer, and nothing but an answer would suffice. If his threat wasn’t enough, his unblinking death stare certainly was.

  He could always try lying. But he didn’t have enough information. What could he say? Other humans? The monsters seemed to hate them enough. But simply blaming “other people” for his arrival seemed utterly insufficient. They wanted names, but he didn’t know any. Throwing out some random name was a quick way to get caught constructing a fake story that he hadn’t had time to rehearse.

  The clock was ticking. He needed to say something. At this point, anything. With every second, the Chief looked more likely to strike him down.

  “Look. My name is Thomas, and I don’t know how I got here! I really just woke up in the forest! I’ve never seen this place before in my life!” The Chief grimaced.

  “I tried to help you, boy. You’ve no one to blame for this but yourself. Luran, bury this one in the forest where he won’t be found.”

  “Gladly,” Luran responded, stepping forward and readying his sword.

  “No!” he screamed. “I haven't done anything wrong! Please just hear me out!” he begged, raising both hands and backing away in a show of innocence.

  “You had your chance. You should have chosen more wisely,” Luran chastised. Frantic, he turned to the crowd and attempted to dive in to hide among the monsters. They caught him and threw him back in the open area towards Luran’s advancing sword.

  Nowhere to go. So this was it. A second death in the space of a day. Another death that he had not earned, but had been thrust upon him unjustly. What right did they have to take his life? None. And he wouldn’t go down without a fight; he’d made that mistake before. Desperation and sadness turned to anger.

  “Monsters! The lot of you!” he shrieked, turning from face to face. The crowd erupted into a roar, those nearest clutching at his clothes. He fell back into them, unsteady, and blindly elbowed into the crowd, hearing an audible groan as he struck what felt like a monster’s belly.

  Before he had time to load up another blow, he was kicked in the back of the leg, forcing him to take a knee. He spun, attempting to back fist any monster that got too close, but something among the bodies blocked the strike. Numerous hands advanced from the crowd, locking him in place with vice-like grips, binding his arms, legs, and even his neck. He couldn’t move an inch. Luran stood before him, his sword raised, and his face resolute.

  “This is the end, human,” he declared. Drawing back his sword, ready to thrust, Thomas desperately tried to extricate himself from the grip of the crowd, but to no avail. The rage surged within him as he faced down death for a second time, finding purchase in something foreign. Something that hadn’t been there before. The rage was given form, and shot through his veins in fiery defiance. Upon impacting his skin, it erupted outward in jagged blue jolts, defending its master.

  The hands holding Thomas flinched back in shock, followed by cries of pain, and Luran’s once-hating face molded into that of surprise and alarm. Confused, Thomas looked down at his body to see the remnants of energy dancing on his skin—electricity.