What's Left Of Us | Kiribaku

What's Left Of Us

THE FORGE BENEATH KING HATHWAY'S CASTLE, a maze of caverns and tunnels tucked beneath the surface of the earth, was a place of misery that ran so deep, it hung in the air and clung to even those whose stay was brief. For a man who had not only begun his life here but spent years toiling in its sweltering underbelly as an inborn slave, the memory alone was enough for a shudder to ripple across his spine as he stepped through the entrance of the largest chamber.

Even now it stood the same as it had, the smoldering coals of hundreds of tiny, flickering fires providing the only light in the unforgiving void of concrete and earth. The ceiling rose several dozen feet into the gloom, lost to all but the bats that crowded and shrieked in the darkness above. Near each fire was an anvil, sparks flying as a creature pounded rhythmically at a slab of metal or half-finished sword with a hammer. Not all of the slaves were human — some of them nymphs, elves, dwarves and countless other races. Dwarves were the most valuable, with their natural affinity to the dark, metalworking and the mountains, but any creature with hands would do.

Bakugou stood unnoticed amid the commotion, arms folded over his bare chest. It would only be a matter of time before he was called out, but for now he fitted in — with his torn pants, lack of a shirt and grime-smeared face, he looked like a prisoner. The only part of him that stood out was the regal crimson cloak that swept his shoulders, brushing the floor and clasping over his collarbones with a rough-hewn jewel.

Four guards lay in the passage where the warrior had entered, bodies still warm. There wasn't much time before they were discovered, too, but this room did not hold what he was looking for. He would be moving swiftly from here, and with the sheer number of occupants it would be easy to slip away from any consequence.

Katsuki's eyes flickered as he strode through the chamber, shifting pools of maroon beneath the shadows of his hood. The air of the forge was humid and full of ash, the heat causing a sheen of sweat to form beneath the cloak covering his back. His throat itched, his lungs burned. His eyes struggled to adjust. He kept walking.

He pushed past a tall, furred creature carrying a red-hot rod of steel, almost causing it to drop its dangerous cargo as he stumbled over a trembling body on the floor — a winged humanoid, whimpering while a nymph kneeled at her side, tending to her half-singed feathers. The blond paid them no mind, grunting impatiently without glancing back. All around him was the sound of clinking chains, and the never-ending striking of hammers. It was starting to feel like his skull was being struck, the repetitive sound echoing through the chamber like a mechanical heartbeat.

The guards who stood watch were perhaps even less attentive than Bakugou, preferring to play dice and complain about the heat from under their pale silver helmets. A few stalked the wide expanse of the room with whips and cruel smiles, waiting for a stoker to allow their fire to dim or a hammer-wielder to strike poorly. Despite the relatively small force of guards, there were very few who managed, even attempted to flee this place. The maze of passageways, corridors that led to nowhere and deadly traps that ran beneath the surface of the castle was a cryptic defence system whose secrets were closely guarded. A trip to the forge was a lifelong punishment for a prisoner — even their children.

Shaking off his thoughts as he approached another narrow passage at the end of the hall, he lifted the edge of his cloak just enough to glance over the map that was roughly sewn inside. It was difficult to see in the dimness and he'd already committed the route to memory, so it was more of a force of habit.

To Bakugou's relief, as he ventured farther from the forge's largest chamber, the bustling noise began to fade. The clanging of hammers seemed to permeate the walls for a much further distance, but at least it was easier to think without the groaning and yelling and constant conversation.