A cacophony of sound blared against Trodden's mind while he simultaneously felt the raging pain from his flesh which stemmed from his right eye.

Two voices battled in his head.

One that yelled incomprehensible words in a hoarse and frightening tone and another which was familiar to Trodden.

It spoke not with the intent to rattle him, but to remind and inform.

"Find....the Bringing..." it called.

All but the young man knew of the sting of flesh that caused one to wince or groan.

All but Trodden knew that under the skin, soft muscles yearned not to be pulled, blood vessels tearing apart as it would cause unimaginable torment.

How could the eye cause a chorus of discomfort throughout the body?

The short, square-faced man, a soldier in the Ruined Hold, narrowed his beady eyes.

Many of the soldiers around also turned to Trodden who had felled his block with confusion, along with the other slaves.

Was a scream of pain finally emerging from this numb fool?

The squared-faced man walked up to Trodden who trembled, kicking up dust and barked.

"Mutt! Stand up! We are not fools! Quit your pretence else I'll carve out your heart as you watch," the man said as he viciously kicked Trodden in the ribs, on his thick calf, hard, bark-like skin being seen.

Trodden shuddered from being kicked, flying a few meters as he vomited blood, for the strength that adorned the body of this soldier was not from mortal flesh.

The young man clutched his face as after taking in deep breaths, he found the unbearable pain subsiding and the voices in his head growing silent.

It turned quiet.

His flesh screamed no more.

Trodden raised his head and looked around at the soldiers and slaves who looked at him curiously.

Nay.

The soldiers looked at him with an unveiled bloodlust stirred by a twisted hope.

Hope that he had finally gained the gift of sensation.

Trodden's eye had returned to normal, the black that had replaced his whites receding.

Aneus had gazed upon his friend in utter shock.

Was his timid and stoic friend finally turning into a jester? If that was the case, why would he risk playing such a foul game in front of these brutes that sought for the slightest reason to flog and kill?

Trodden stood shakily and grabbed the block he had dropped.

'What happened to me?' he asked himself as he sweated. 'What was that? Those voices... that one... was it... was it her... Was it...mother?'

"Move it!" the square-faced midget lashed at Trodden with his whip to which the young man did not react.

For he felt no pain once more.

The soldiers, upon seeing this grumbled, disappointed at the prospect that what they had hoped did not seem to come to pass.

Trodden raised the block and walked with it, a troubled expression upon his face.

The daily work continued in the Ruined Hold.

The blocks were to be delivered to a plot of land that had been cleared, intended for the building of a new arena for the soldiers to quench their thirst for blood.

It was by the lord's decree, the one who owned the Hold and brought it up from seemingly nothing.

A huge mansion stood at the centre of the Hold, adorned with finely carved stone and brick, ascending high above all but the wall of the Hold. It looked like a golden palace built for a king of old, with thick pillars at its base that supported it, sculpted into dazzling men that held spears and swords covered in robes and leather armour.

The detail was impeccable.

From this mansion came different winding paths tiled with large plates of brass-coloured rock, flowing into the city to direct into the commercial areas, the living areas and barracks; all of which made up the enormous Hold.

The slaves' duties within the Hold were varied and quite arduous. The sheer strength required to accomplish the tasks demanded of them was staggering; moving large masses of rock, participating in cleaning campaigns for all sections of the city, building new structures under the specific instruction of intelligent men, of Hormund men, accepting every duty issued by the denizens of the Ruined Hold, among many other tasks.

Yet, the slaves saw not, never for a day since their coming into the city, what was beyond the walls. They were not allowed to step out of the gates and all escape attempts were effectively fatal.

Trodden continued his work while lost in thought. He could not find it within himself to simply forget what had transpired before.

Because of the looming soldiers, Aneus who was deeply concerned could not approach him to try and inquire or comfort him.

The massive pile continued to descend with the rise and fall of the sun.

When the brightest one above was finally descending beyond the walls of the Ruined Hold, the slaves were lined up to return to the Watering Hole.

The odd opening in the earth that descended a full hundred meters to their resting place was surrounded by shaved ground, wooden poles made into structures like kraals, surrounding the girth of the Water Hole with bits of hay, bone and dried blood tinting the dusty ground.

The slaves stood haphazardly and expectantly.

Fortunately, today was the day.

It was the Feeding Rite. An occasion held every six days where they were graced with a full meal and not the scraps they were fed in the middle of the day; chunks that were flung on the ground, to which they scrambled bitterly for without knowing what they were.

One could see several of the slaves looking with bloodshot eyes at their fellows, saliva sliding down their throats as they balled their hands into fists as they prepared.

Groups from the Hold marched to see the Feeding Rite with amusement, settling behind the wooden poles to see how the slaves would brutalise each other for the food with snickers.

Little boys and girls donning fancy garments pointed and betted on who would be crushed in the stampede and who would get to feed, for the food provided was surely not enough for a hundred.

"10 gelts says the old maiden will rip apart a few arms before claiming the prize," said a middle-aged man dressed in a fancy robe, a silver ring adorning his right index finger.

"Preposterous. Your unsightly fetish for dominant old women has not waned I see. I put 25 gelts on the young man with the brown hair. Yes. He seems to hold a callousness about him that makes my blood boil," said another man with a wide girth, looking at the figure of Trodden.

"Ha! You look down on the strength old bones can conjure when desperate. Keep your eyes peeled. That old crone may surprise you yet..."

Between the old woman whom the two men were talking about and Trodden who looked rather downcast as he anxiously looked around, one actually couldn't tell who would win in a brawl because of the desperation vivid within the eyes of the withered old loaf.

Aneus found his way to Trodden as he limped through the crowd of slaves. He hunched as he stood, his eyes depicting a rather torn emotion.

"I still cannot get used to how easily these people enjoy our suffering, Trodden. Is this... is this perhaps how we all are at our core?" Aneus asked his voice echoing with his genuine curiosity.

Trodden was torn from his thoughts as he then turned to his friend who was much shorter and much thinner than him.

"Aneus..." he said without a continuation of his sentence.

The dark-haired young man turned to look into Trodden's eyes, seeing the worry and anxiety that flooded them.

It was only then that he decided to ask.

"What happened earlier? Did you truly feel pain?"

Trodden sucked in a deep breath before nodding once.

"I... think so. I had no idea. I..." Trodden spoke finding it difficult to form words.

Aneus usually saw Trodden's stoic personality which he relied on most of the time crumble. Now that the tables were turned, he did not know what to do or say.

"Your feed is here, mutts!" a boisterous voice boomed from behind the spectators who then parted, making way for a lean yet powerful-looking man who wore the same linothorax armour while heaving atop his shoulder... a cow!

The brown-furred creature was alive, bellowing weakly, the state of its body heavily suggesting that it was ill; a drooping belly attached to an udder with the creature's bones showing, very little flesh visible on its body.

Yet, when this creature appeared in the eyes of the slaves, they licked their dry lips and pushed against themselves, the light of hunger beaming in their eyes.

This was their meal.

"Meat!" one of the slaves yelled in joy, looking expectantly at the cow.

The soldier who carried the beast hung back and threw the animal over the poles to the kraals, the cow mooing in sorrow as it crossed over a ten-meter distance to land over a bunch of slaves that refused to move out of the way.

For if they did, they would not see a single morsel of raw meat in their bellies.

Chaos ensued.

Crazed expressions rose within the eyes of those forced to work against their wills.

They leapt over each other, rushing over to get a piece of the ill beast!

Dust and dirt shuddered and flew as a vicious fight occurred over the limited meat among the hundreds of slaves.

The worn tunics they wore with barely anything underneath revealed quite a bit as they wrestled with abandon, the cow seeing the absolute worst of it!

The old woman that had been wagered on by the two finely dressed men could be seen, knocking every fool in sight with her elbows, breaking jaws and tackling other folks as she reached the bellowing cow whose hide had been dug into by several rows of rotting teeth!

She stomped on its leg and pulled the animal which slid over inches closer to her and tore the flesh on its tendons with what remained of her teeth!

Blood sprayed as she did not give a rodent's arse about anything other than her shrivelled stomach.

The poor creature served as food grunted with its eyes bulging in its sockets from the pain.

A young man grabbed its udder and tore it open, digging his face into the flesh within!

The crowds that watched cheered while trying to get past the line of soldiers that impeded them from interfering, as they also gambled on who would give the best show!

Madness.

Amidst this, Trodden grabbed Aneus who was trembling as he pushed through the chaos where some were being stomped on, their bones snapping as they fought over the chance to feed the cow.

"Trodden!" Aneus yelled while being held over the shoulder by his friend. A light of unwillingness was unveiled in his eyes. Just to feed, he had to become this? To tear up his fellow mates and become a savage. Or rather, to let surface what was hidden deep within?

"You won't survive without eating, Aneus! Your innocence will not allow you to see another day! You will starve, same as the last Feeding Rite!" Trodden called before taking a ruthless punch to the face which he shrugged off and countered with a vicious kick to the assailant's chest!

He leapt over a few other slaves, taking brutal hits without batting an eyelid, head-butting incoming crazed mates with a stern expression before reaching a literal human wall where the intense reek of sweat and bodily gases diffused.

"If you don't eat after I have given you this chance, your death is your own fault, Aneus," Trodden said before he ran up, climbed over a few unsuspecting men and hurled Aneus with all his might, the young man flying over the wall screaming "Trodden" as he went.

The brown-haired young man who had just flung a friend over three meters, watching him fall into the bloody feast, started fighting to get a chance to eat too.

He wasn't too eager as he did not feel the sting of pain from the gut when the body craved sustenance through feed.

Only the symptoms would assail him, heaviness and weakness weighing him down after many hours. For that, he had to find even a scrap of flesh.

A man who seemed to be in his fifties slammed into Trodden, hugging his waist and pushing him against the ground where several dry, fungi-infested feet crushed him underfoot!

Trodden roared as scraps and cuts appeared on his face, blood sprinkling all over him while a metallic taste registered on his tongue!

The man who had pushed him down pounded his fist into the bridge of Trodden's nose repeatedly, but the young man didn't react to it.

He tried to set his sight on the man and when he did, he saw a familiar face.

A man with a black and white beard, shallow, downturned brown eyes lodged into his face with his wide mouth open to reveal his gaped teeth appeared!

This man.

Was this not Desmas, the old carpenter from Albir?!

What was the world coming to?!

To witness a man whom he had known since he was five try to strangle him squeezed the little innocence that remained within Trodden.

However, he would not allow himself to perish in such a distasteful, symbolic and ironic manner.

He rolled, trying to escape the stampede that was occurring on his face when...

His eye.

His right eye suddenly bulged and turned dark, his iris burning with a golden glow as a surge of pain screamed within his body, a great intensity exceeding that of the pain earlier gushing within him!

The frustration from being trampled, the pain and the voices that once again began to nag within his mind along with the rough atmosphere wrought by lust and violence caused Trodden to emit a deafening screech that ruptured his throat!

All of a sudden, the activity around paused as everyone clutched their heads and turned to Trodden, bewildered!

The screech was that unnerving as it stained the air!

The soldiers and the crowds grew silent.

Everyone grew quiet.

Trodden continued to screech for a full twenty seconds before he finally stopped and gazed ahead where everyone was looking at him, shocked.

What an inhuman scream!

Trodden's eyes surveyed the surroundings and all of a sudden, he saw differing images from a few moments before.

He saw dark husks all around instead of the human beings that surrounded him and drew back in fright.

...!

They looked like shadows, bulky shadows that emitted no light as if going against the radiance of the dimming sun!

Among the lot of them, some had glowing eyes with a brown hue, the only bright coloured things on them.

Their right eyes.

When looking at their positions, Trodden saw that it was the soldiers!

Only they held eyes with this lustre.

What did this mean?

"What is wrong with the numb mutt? You! Why do you sully such an event with your bark?!" the square-faced soldier leapt over the wooden poles and walked up to Trodden with his whip.

The young man kept drawing back and grunting while his eyes fluttered in pain, tears strolling down his dirt-covered face as he felt like he going insane.

Yet, something halted his movement.

Unlike the sonorous voice that had spoken in his mind before, the screeching noise of a voice that had wrestled with the feminine one blared in his head with a mind-numbing frequency!

"FEEDFEEDFEEDFEEDFEED! I DESIRE THEIR EYES! FEAST, MINE CHILD OF THE ENDLESS HOLLOW! FEAST AND DEFY FATE!"

It was a crude call.

A call to the line of duty.

With the yearning voice that called, Trodden felt an insatiable sensation and a burst of strength tear free from his bones!

He saw the incoming shadow, a bulge of brown hue floating in its skull that aroused a sensation that he had not tasted in his life before...

Hunger!