Chapter Text
Chilchuck watched the fire with eyes half closed, the fire mere embers but sparking quietly was lulling him to sleep. Fatigue dragged at his bones, and he had to remind himself that it was almost time to wake up Marcille for her shift. He just needed to stay awake a little bit longer.
But the pull was nearly too much, so with a quiet groan he stood and walked over to where more of their firewood was waiting. He didn't need to feed the fire much during his watch, his senses were much sharper when there wasn't a roaring fire blocking everything. .
But that wouldn't work for Marcille, and Chilchuck knew from experience that if the fire wasn't roaring Marcille would either just scare herself and wake up everyone in the process, or fall back asleep.
It was only as he was reached for the wood did he hear it, the sound of shoes on stone echoed through the room. Chilchuck turned in an instant, arms raised and ready to punch whoever was behind him. But as he turned his arms were harshly pinned to his side and a hand was shoved over his mouth.
He didn't hesitate, opening his mouth wide and biting as hard as he could.
“Fuck!” The metallic taste of blood floods over his tongue as the hand disappears from his mouth. Chilchuck heaves in as deep of a breath as he could, but another hand was roughly shoved against his mouth and this time Chilchuck could feel something sharp nip at his neck.
“Think about biting or screaming and we won't bother with you at all.” The voice was low and quiet, low enough Chilchuck knew none of his party members would be able to hear it. Chilchuck could see movement as he noticed another person in the room, standing at the entrance of the room with a large staff pointing straight at the rest of the party.
Dammit.
One part of him knew what he should do. He should scream, cry, kick, do anything he can to wake the others. It was part of his contract, for them to protect him.
But another part was louder.
He was going to be taken anyway, alive or dead. His blood was cold with just the ideas of what they could want him for.
The only thing that changed if he fought back was whether the party got to wake up unharmed in the morning. He watched as magic started to gather at the tip of the mage's staff, pointing straight at Marcille’s head.
His brain was working fast, trying and failing to find anything he could do to stop this kidnapping from happening, eyes bugged as he glanced around the room for anything. He couldn't move to reach his knife in his boot, there was no way he could inconspicuously wake up the party, not without getting stabbed in the throat
His heart jumped when his eyes landed on Laios’s sword. Chilchuck willed the sword to move, knock itself over and hopefully wake him up.
But nothing happened.
Finally he nodded slightly, feeling the metal dig into his neck a little as he did so. The leader watched him for a second before nodding at the person holding him. The hand was removed from his mouth and he didn't even bother to say a word, just licked the blood that stained his lips.
The person holding him must be a tall-man because not a moment later Chilchuck is easily lifted into the air, the arm around him tightly warningly as he slightly kicks his legs. They work quickly, tying his ankles together first, easily finding his knife and placing it gently to the side. Chilchuck can't help the bit of sweat that rolls down his back as they tie up his hands behind his back, wrapping his thumbs within the knots.
Within a minute they're on the move, Chilchuck is thrown over someone's shoulder and the group makes a break for it. This time they don't bother to mask their footsteps, prioritizing speed over stealth.
Chilchuck has to hold in his grunts of pain as he is thrown about, a shoulder repeatedly driving into his stomach and forcing the air out of his lungs.
His mind couldn't help but flash possible scenarios behind his eyes. Were they going to use him for sirens, watching as he lost himself to their song? Would they use him as bait to lure in a large monster, not caring if he lost his life in the process?
He had to suppress a shiver as a wave of fear washed over him.
What if he died here?
What if no one found his body?
If someone found his body, would they even bother to revive him?
He knew from his own experiences that it was rare for half-foots to be revived, and even rarer for some passersby to bring them to the revival center.
The possibility hung over his head like a cloud, panic starting to leach into his veins as he pulled at his bindings. Harsh rope dug into his skin, and he could feel the beginnings of rope burn forming as he struggled harder.
He really didn't want to die today, and not wherever these fuckfaces were bringing him. He needed to do something before they reached their destination.
As it turned out, being carried over someone's shoulder makes it pretty hard to concentrate on escaping. With the position he was in he couldn't get the proper angle to dislocate his thumb, and even if he could he doubted he could get his hands out of the bindings anyway.
So he went with the next best plan.
Leave behind evidence he was here.
Trying to not draw attention to himself, he slowly went limp, letting his head drop as far down as he could manage. Then, in time with the tall-man's footsteps, he pushed his shoulders upward, slowly pushed his neck wrap over his head.
It fell to the rocky ground with barely a sound, though it was deafening to Chilchuck's ears, and he watched as it was quickly swallowed up by the darkness.
As it disappeared, something occurred to him.
What was he doing? Did he really think that the party would look for him? They would probably think he just left in the night, fed up with the lack of progress they had been making.
He had been making a fuss right before everyone went to bed, making a few snarky remarks about how they hadn't made any progress. Even had just glared at him, remarking that if he didn't want to be there to just leave.
There was no way they would look for him.
He was on his own.
—
The group eventually slowed, and Chilchuck was grateful as he finally got a chance to take a full deep breath. He slowly lifted his head to glance around them and the sight made his blood run cold.
He knew this place.
It was a more dangerous part of the upper dungeon, an area most adventurers avoided.
Especially half-foots.
After all, he was the one who forbade them from going in this area. It was even written in his contract that his groups would never go near this area, and any half-foots going through his guild had the same conditions.
After all, this is where Roc’s nest.
Was this really happening? He turned his head side to side, glancing this way and that, looking for anything he could use to his advantage. There was nothing around him, just sand and sandstone pillars reaching far into the fake sunset above them.
Was this really happening to him?
He had always been so careful, learning from his own and others' mistakes as quickly as he could. He picked his parties with care, always being paid upfront and making sure they understood his contract.
Was he really going to be used as bait, when he was the one who fought so hard to prevent it from happening? Memories flashed in his head, time after time he had found a friend's body and had to haul them up to the revival center himself because the rest of his party didn't care about half-foots.
He had seen their broken bodies, some half eaten, blood sprayed out around them. No matter how they were found, it was always clear, they had suffered. That they had been used as bait.
All at once their plan formed in his head. Kidnap him, use him as bait, and kill the Roc while it was feasting on his body.
He was so screwed.
No, calm down, this was not the time to panic. He was Chilchuck Tim, he had gotten out of worse and he would do it again.
He tried not to think of his daughters, completely unaware of what was happening to their father.
Were they at home? Were they with his ex-wife?
What would they think of him if he just disappeared? Would they think he just abandoned them, left for another life? Or would they just be left wondering, for the rest of their life, what had happened to their father?
Would they even care?
He had to physically shake the thoughts from his head, this was not the time to think about that, he needed to focus. He tried to keep an eye on his surroundings, making sure he remembered every sandstone pillar they passed.
Super tall one right by the entrance, one shaped like Senshi, an X carved into one, and at last a blood splatter at the base.
At last they came to a stop, the man who was carrying Chilchuck didn't waste a second, as though he just wanted to stop carrying him. Chilchuck was easily heaved over the man's shoulder and harshly placed in front of another pillar.
“Alright, this is where I head out.” The man who carried Chilchuck turns, and gives one final glance over his shoulder and Chilchuck distantly wonders if that man feels sorry for him.
Too fucking bad. Who knows how many half-foots have died at this party's hands?
“My death,” Chilchuck shouts, “It's on your hands.” The man flinches at his words, and Chilchuck knows he has struck a nerve. “When my daughters go hungry, it's your fault.” The man didn't need to know he hadn't seen them in years, that they were full grown, but his point seemed to hit home.
The human simply turns and speed walks away.
That's one down, now he just had to deal with the fighter and a mage.
How the fuck was he going to deal with a mage?
“Why don't we have some fun while we have it?” The fighter, who Chilchuck now realizes looks a lot like Laios says.
Chilchuck glares at the man, mustering all the hatred he can into them. “Fuck you.”
Chilchuck barely has time to brace his stomach and curl inwards before a boot is kicked into his stomach, throwing him backward and smashing his body into the stone behind him. Chilchuck is sure he feels something POP and CRACK as his wrists collide first with the stone.
He forces himself to breathe, shaky breath after shaky breath before he looks back up at the man, snarling, “Do your worst, bitch.”
The blonde is smiling . “You know, when I started, I was told it's better to rough them up before you leave them. Easier for the Roc to find them.”
Chilchuck doesn't have time to contemplate the man's statement before he reaches down and wraps his large hand around Chilchuck's throat. The grip is all encompassing, wrapping around as he is lifted up and off the ground. The blond wastes no time in shoving Chilchuck hard against the stone.
He struggles, he tries so hard to struggle. But his hands are tied behind his back and hurt , he fruitlessly tries to escape his bindings, but it's no use. He tries to kick out his legs, but he's too small; he can't get them high enough to hit the man.
He keeps trying to suck in a breath, but the grip is too tight.
He can't panic, stop panicking.
But he can't stop it as a fresh wave of panic washes over him. He needed to get out, he needed to breathe.
This guy was going to kill him.
Just as his vision starts to swim, he's falling, and lands with a crash on the floor. There's a loud, audible SNAP as Chilchuck's knees burn white hot with pain.
But he can't focus, he tries to suck in a breath but it's like his lungs won't cooperate, his chest is spasming and blood is finally rushing to his head. His throat is already starting to swell and it feels like he's still being choked as no air enters his lungs.
He pulls at his bindings, desperately trying to get into an easier position, but nothing gives, and Chilchuck is forced to lie half curled in the sand, gasping desperately.
After the longest minute of Chilchuck's life, he gets a short gasp of air. Then another, and another. He starts to cough and can feel the blonde stare wash over him.
This mother fucker.
But Chilchuck can't get himself to do anything about it. Everything hurts. His head is pounding, vision pulsing in time with his heartbeat. His hands burn and distantly he can feel the blood dripping off his hands. His knees ache and he can already tell they're broken; he knows if he looks right now, his knees will be at an odd angle.
He takes a moment to close his eyes, trying to regain some bit of composure. He feels all out of whack in that moment, like his body is starting to splinter with the pain. He almost feels floaty.
Through half-lidded eyes he watches as the blond pulls his leg back. Chilchuck's brain doesn't even comprehend what is going on until his knee is screaming at him with renewed pain and he lets out a gasp of pain.
The blond doesn't stop, kicking everywhere in his reach.
Knee, stomach, head. His skin tears, cartilage crunches, bones break.
Over and over.
Chilchuck doesn't even realize when the kicking stops. As his whole being is positively burning, a fire tearing his body apart from the inside. Through the pain he can even feel his blood dripping down his skin, falling with a splat on the sand below him.
Distantly he hears, “That's enough, we need him alive.”
A grunt.
Chilchuck peels open his eyes, they are heavy and swollen, and he has to blink away some blood that has dripped down.
He's on his back, staring upward at a twilight sky.
The sky looks so pretty.
As Chilchuck watched the last of the light disappear with the two, he couldn't help but groggily think.
This is it, huh?
This was how he was going to die. For real.
No one was ever going to find his body.
He would never see his kids again.
Fuck.
He can't help himself as a wave of something washes over him, some mix of serenity and fear causes tears to swell in his eyes. They feel like fire as they roll down his cheeks, he lets out a small guttural laugh.
He always knew he was going to really die in the dungeon, no matter how much he hoped he wouldn't. He had always hoped he would die at home, somewhere calm and peaceful, where he could forget all the horrors he had seen.
Surrounded by his kids.
And maybe even his wife.
Even now, with his blood pooling around him, he knows that was such a stupid fantasy.
He was so stupid.
Worthless.
What was he thinking, going on this stupid adventure, leaving his kids, not chasing after his wife. Not trying just a little bit harder at everything.
More tears dripped down his face, and he couldn't stop them as he started to sob. Distantly he knows he shouldn't, he should try to be as quiet as possible but with pain racking through his body he couldn't help it. Every sob jostles his ribs, each movement causing his body to scream at him.
He’s so cold. At least the floor was warm now.
He wishes he could see them again, just once more. He wants to say goodbye, say he's sorry.
He feels detached from his body when he hears something. Wings.
Oh, the Roc. That's what he was supposed to be worried about.
His heart was beating too fast, he ought to do something about that.
The wings were getting closer, it sounded so loud. So close.
His mouth tastes like blood, and he coughs, his throat too swollen to swallow.
There is a loud cry that pierces his ears. And something else.
He feels warm. He's starting to shiver.
Was that clashing he could hear?
A powerful boom echoes through the dungeon and Chilhuck shudders with the aftershocks.
He peels his eyes open. When did he close them? They feel sticky and he has to struggle to keep them open.
Why does he have to keep them open?
He’s so tired.
There is someone in front of him, a blonde .
Oh. No.
His eyes roll back into his head and everything goes dark.