The mysterious figures continued on with their experimentation. And with every moment that passed, Agathor lost a little bit more of himself. The memories that he treasured, that sustained him on the battlefield and in life, began to be replaced with the sensations of trauma and pain he now felt.

The faces of his loved ones – his father, mother, sisters, and fiancée – faded as the cruel and unusual faces of the two monstrous creatures that tormented him, and the mask of the swordsman who brutalised him, took hold.

His hometown and the city Aberle, which between them had been the setting of many of Agathor's happiest memories, had been supplanted by the nearly bare black cell he now inhabited.

After an indeterminate amount of time, the tall figure, who had revealed himself to be quiet talkative, spoke to his partner.

Although Agathor could no longer see, with both eyes now being damaged beyond repair, he could still somewhat listen. Not that he could care much about what was being said.

"I think we have gathered about all we can from this specimen for the purposes of our mission."

The small one, who spent their time alternatively between chanting, to tighten Agathor's binds, and loitering in silence, nodded in response.

The tall one smirked, revealing a row of sharp teeth.

"But before we let them dispose of this body, what do you think about taking away the manhood of one of the heroes of mankind. It would be quite ironic, wouldn't you agree?"

That they spoke in Ordesque so that Agathor could understand did not appear to be coincidental, Agathor figured.

The small one merely shrugged at the suggestion as if they did not care either way.

The tall one giddily returned to his tools. He perused them, looking for the one best suited for the task in mind.

But while he did so, to his surprise, the room's door swung open.

A masculine voice that Agathor seemed to recognise, though could not quite place, shouted in disgust.

"What is this madness!"

Hope began to fill Agathor's mind. He had wanted to die, for this pain to end, but now that a chance of salvation appeared in this accursed room he realised, with all his heart, he still wanted to live. No matter his injuries, so long as he lived, he could see his loved ones again, and have his revenge.

But this hope was soon shattered.

The new voice continued.

"The mess I see before me is beyond anything contemplated in the agreement!"

The tall one bit his lips and snarled.

"You're early."

The voice snapped.

"And you were given licence to conduct a few experiments, not desecrate the man to this degree."

The torturer retorted.

"Well, the terms of the contract were somewhat ill-defined."

He continued.

"And in any case, you humans are such peculiar creatures. You have the nerve to show anger towards us for this when you are the very ones responsible for poor Agathor's fate. A false sense of conscience indeed suits you."

Agathor, who had been trying to take in as much as the conversation as he could, began to writhe as much as he could in anger and frustration. With every word, the voice became more familiar to him.

The man responded curtly and with a sense of shame.

"We all have responsibilities."

Agathor then felt, though he could not see to be sure, that the man's vision settled on him.

"So, you may put your tools away and leave this room with whatever knowledge you acquired."

The rattle of a sword being drawn from its sheathe echoed out. This was a sound Agathor would always recognise, even with his limited hearing.

"Because the contract has been performed and you have received your rewards."

Footsteps approached the table that Agathor was strewn upon.

"And it is time to put an end to this misery."

Agathor, realising what the familiar man intended to do, howled with all the strength he had left. He had realised that he did not want to die. That he could not die like this. He had to escape this place and seek his revenge.

The tall figure also shouted out in disagreement, telling the man to not be so hasty.

But neither protests bore fruit.

Soon, Agathor felt a sharp blade pierce his heart. Pain spread throughout every fibre of his body as his consciousness and remaining senses quickly slipped away.

And just like that, in a dark room beneath Aberle, the hero Agathor the Gallant passed away.