[So… this place… called Underpaths…]
The memories, sharp and visceral, flooded Ashutosh's consciousness, unwelcome intrusions from the life his current body had lived.
[All I read from memories of the previous owner of this body…]
Darkness. A suffocating absence of light, save for the sickly glow of bioluminescent creatures. The stench of stagnant sewage, the echoing drips and gurgles of the underworld's veins. And above it all, the Underpass Arena, a brutal theater where lives were bartered for fleeting moments of glory or the faintest glimmer of freedom.
[There is no light; it's dark, smelly sewage, and above the sewage is an underpath's big arena where battles are held for money, fame, and, most importantly, freedom. Being born here means you belong to trash like every other discarded… Soul. Demi-human? …human? Drakes? None has any value until they rise from trash itself.]
Ashutosh clenched his fists, the scales digging into his palm. He couldn't shake the feeling of being an unwilling passenger in this reptilian shell, haunted by the ghost of Muda's past.
[I can't control these memories… It's coming on its own whenever it seems like no time.] The fragments of Muda's life, the casual brutality, the constant struggle for survival, flashed behind his eyes, a grim slideshow of this subterranean hell.
[Even the area of the arena itself is dark but lightened by floating seahorse-like creatures in the air leaking light from their mouths like fucking flashlights. Because this realm has no source of light, darkness is primordial; it's just how anywhere In the cosmos would be if light had never originated. People here commit all kinds of heinous crimes, from as low as lying to as big as genocide… Every kind of people come here and take fun in the arena, watching filthy beasts ripping each other apart. Truly a horrifying state—a world without morals, a world without commitment, a world without God.]
A bitter laugh escaped his lips. A world without God. Even in his previous life, the concept had been a distant, philosophical debate. Here, in the Underpaths, it was a tangible reality.
[Being all atheist is good in a world where people fight on the basis of a difference in belief, but here I understand why a simple word like god had so much value. Because this is a true realm without a god. Where strong are abusers and weak are abused. I need control. I need strength to protect myself, at least.]
He found himself standing near the very pipe where Muda had been brutally beaten by Ronny. The memory, though not his own, sent a wave of cold fury through him. He leaned against the grimy metal, his mind racing, formulating a plan.
[First of all, my targets are Ronny, Victor, and Fumuel, but getting them wouldn't just involve conflict between us four, but… Practically everyone in Underpaths. Victor is a businessman; he controls the flow of money. He has every other being at his disposal; he just needs to mark a bounty on my head, and then everyone will drink my blood for a single dime.]
[Then there's brawler Ronny; he is just a meathead with a lot of strength and magic… All I saw in Muda's memories was that he has insane battle intelligence and a whole lot of experience in ending creature's lives, like flies. His kill count exceeds anyone in Underpaths—probably a few hundred thousand. He has no limits in brutality. But Fumuel, Muda's own brother… I don't know the Fk about him. He is still a mystery to me. All the information I gathered, I know he handles business and people but not money, but what kind of business? Memories are still incomplete.]
[There are a lot of questions. Who should I target first? I think I have my answer…]
Ashutosh moved through the maze of sewage with a deceptive air of nonchalance, kicking loose pebbles in his path. A wolf-like demi-human, one of Victor's enforcers – a familiar face from Muda's memories – approached him.
"Hey… Muda…"
"What?" Ashutosh replied, his voice a low, reptilian growl.
"I heard Victor kicked you out of business because you stole something from him. Is that true?" The wolf's ears twitched with curiosity.
"That thing was not his; I don't steal," Ashutosh retorted, a flicker of Muda's ingrained resentment surfacing.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, man, I don't care and he already taken his order back to get you, but I do have a job for you if you aren't working for anyone." The wolf's eyes gleamed with a predatory light.
Ashutosh's own senses sharpened. "Hm, I'm listening."
The wolf grinned, revealing sharp teeth. "So, Muda, my friend, I need you to deliver slaves to the arena redeem section."
The word 'slaves' sent a jolt of revulsion through Ashutosh. "Oh, for champions' price?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.
"Yeah, man, you've been delivering slaves for most of your life, imprisoning them. You are the best man for the job, so you have to do the same just on my behalf."
"And what about money?"
The wolf cleared his throat, a flicker of unease in his eyes. "Look, man, I have nothing over you, but Victor kicked you out of business, but I'm still giving you an opportunity… So, 30% of what you should've made regularly with Victor."
Ashutosh's carefully constructed mask of indifference crumbled, replaced by pure disgust. "Hey, don't make that face… at least I'm giving you money; at least you can live by your means with this job." The wolf's voice held a defensive edge, sensing the shift in Muda's demeanor.
[Greedy wolf bastard…] Ashutosh felt a wave of Muda's suppressed anger rising within him.
"You said something?" The wolf's eyes narrowed, a hint of suspicion entering his gaze.
Ashutosh composed himself quickly, forcing his features back into a semblance of neutrality. "No, nothing… I was saying, okay, I agree."
The wolf's eyes widened in surprise, but a cautious skepticism remained. "Really? I mean, are you okay?"
"Yeah, man, Just don't question anymore."
[Wow… What a stupid bastard he is, accepting a job at a 30% pay rate for what he used to do… I guess the rumors were true; Ronny and Victor really handled his ass.] "So, you're banned from business; give me a fake identity I can use for this new client who's bringing slaves."
Ashutosh leaned back against the wall, a plan forming in his mind. [So… Muda will no longer be… Good, yeah, I have one name.] "Ash… call me Ash."
The wolf nodded, a smug look returning to his face. He turned and walked away. "I'll come to give you more information about the client later."
[Slave business, huh… Like Kelly's mother, probably for sexual purposes? Well, what can I say? This is Underpaths for a reason.]
Ashutosh arrived at the gate to the outside world, near the lumbering Giant who stood sentinel. He looked around, the faces unfamiliar. Then, the gate shimmered, and a lumbering behemoth of a slave cart groaned into view, its wheels protesting against the cobblestones.
Ashutosh's heart plummeted. Even from a distance, he could sense the overwhelming aura of despair emanating from the cart, a silent chorus of suffering. He tried to compose himself, taking deep, ragged breaths, but he couldn't tear his gaze away. It was horrifying, not in its appearance, but in its very essence.
A human In silver armor, a decapitated lion emblazoned on his shoulder plate, stood before him, having delivered a swift punch. He looked at Ashutosh, his eyes quickly assessing him. He walked closer, the size difference stark. The human barely reached Muda's waist.
[He is tiny… What is my height, damn? I didn't get a good look. In this, everyone is so damn towering compared to humans.]
The human looked up at Ashutosh. "So you're Mister… Ash?"
Ashutosh nodded. In response, the human handed him a smooth crystal that seemed connected to the slave cart. "Use this to move the cart; hopefully you know how." His tone held a hint of condescension, questioning Ashutosh's abilities.
"I understand that," Ashutosh replied, his voice tight with suppressed frustration.
The human nodded and began to walk back towards the gate. Ashutosh couldn't hold back his curiosity. "Oye, you knight!"
The human turned, confusion etched on his face. "What?"
"What's your height?"
The human blinked, taken aback by the random question. "hmmm… six foot two."
[What the f? I was six foot one in my previous life and that was considered tall! What the f? People here in Underpaths are beastly giants.]
The human left after answering, as if eager to escape the stench of the underworld. Ashutosh approached the cart, his hand trembling as he opened the gates to check on the slaves. The sight that greeted him broke his soul. Human women, children, demi-humans with feline features, half-bulls, centaurs, dwarves, a horrifying tapestry of captive beings, their eyes reflecting nothing but utter despair. His hands shaking uncontrollably, he closed the gates and began to walk beside the cart, the weight of their suffering pressing down on him.
[no no, I can't save them. I can't save them. I can't save them.] The mantra echoed in his mind, a desperate attempt to numb the crushing guilt.
What felt like an eternity later, he arrived at the Underpass Arena. He found the designated delivery location. The same wolf-like demi-human approached, a wide, expectant grin on his face, his hand outstretched to pat Ashutosh on the shoulder.
He was speaking, but no words registered in Ashutosh's ears, as if he had suddenly gone deaf. He saw the wolf gesturing with his hands, as if asking for something. Ashutosh, his mind reeling, vaguely recalled the crystal the human knight had given him. He fumbled for it and handed it over. With a swift snatch, the wolf took the crystal. Ashutosh abruptly turned and began to walk away, pulling the slave cart with him. The wolf stared after the retreating cart, his outstretched hand frozen in mid-air, a range of bewildered emotions flickering across his face. He had just witnessed the delivery moving away from him. He felt a sudden, sickening lurch in his gut as the weight of his complicity crashed down on him. [I can't protect them. I can't protect them… SHIT… AGHHHHH.] He screamed internally, a silent torrent of self-loathing. [I could've stopped this from happening; I could've killed that human and sav—tsk.]
He found himself sitting on the edge of the highest tier of the arena, looking down at the vast, empty space below. [I could've saved them, but… that decision would have come at the cost of ruining my plan… What should I do? How can I cope with this feeling? I pushed so many souls to their inevitable suffering… Aghhhhhhh…]
He thinks what would Mansi have said if she were here with him? He closed his eyes, conjuring her image – her light pink floral gown, her curly brown hair framing her fair face, the small birthmark near her jaw. He could almost feel her soft gaze on him.
"What's happening to you… Ashu?"
Tears welled in his eyes, spilling down his scaled cheeks in silent drops that vanished into the grimy arena floor. "I hate this world… I hate this. I hate everything…"
"What do you hate specifically?" her imagined voice asked, gentle and probing.
"I hate Ronny, I hate Victor, I hate Fumuel. I hate this place, but also… I hate myself."
"And why do you hate yourself?"
"For what I did." He slumped his head in his hands. Her voice, a comforting echo in his mind, spoke again. "Could you have killed that man, given those innocent souls a chance at life? Even if you did, was that enough? You were attacked again; could you have survived that? Could you have given those two – Ritso and Kelly – a better life? Could you have changed anything in the long run? Could you have hoped to meet me again? Could you? Could you?"
He simply listened to her words, her imagined presence a fragile anchor in the storm of his guilt.
"What happened was not entirely in your hands, was it? It wasn't solely your fault. Your plan still works; believe in yourself, Ashu… For the time we'll be together again…"
The imagined warmth of her presence faded, leaving him alone with the crushing weight of his decision.