One Year Later

Will walks through the front door of his house, with his LARP equipment in tow. A cute girl with elf ears follows closely behind him.

His mother shouts for him. “Honey, come here quick. You need to watch this…”

“One second, I need to put my gear away.”

“Drop it and come here NOW!”

Will, hearing the panic in his mother’s voice, drops his gear and hurries into the living room. The news is on the TV.

“Flight 1337 England to Dallas has crashed over the Atlantic with 229 passengers aboard. They are searching for survivors, but none have been reported, as of yet. They are continuing the search and rescue efforts.”

Will looks toward his mother. “Mom, is that Clyde’s flight?”

“I think it is. Try calling him, then his mom, to see if they know what’s going on.”

Will pulls out his phone and calls Clyde. It goes straight to voicemail. Before the greeting ends, he hangs up and calls Clyde’s mother.

After a few anxious rings, there’s an answer.

“Hello?” she asks with a hoarse voice.

“Is Clyde alright?!” Will gasps.

Clyde’s mother answers wearily, “We don’t know for sure. My husband is trying to get in touch with the airline now. But, he sent a text as the plane was departing... It’s not looking good.”

Will drops the phone on the ground, shattering the screen and ending the call. The world seems to slow down as he falls to his knees, tears streaming down his face. Will’s girlfriend gently embraces him from behind, as tears flow from her eyes. She let's him go and looks into his eyes.

“Will, he’ll be okay. I know he’s gonna be alright… He’s the strongest person I know.”

Will nods, as he tries in vain to wipe his tears. “I know. But I’m going to miss him so much…”

~

Clyde wakes up in a strange room. He’s disoriented and has a pounding headache. At first, his sight fails him- he can’t make out a thing. He feels around where he’s sitting… Brick? As for the room itself, it’s dark, damp, and ripe with a foul odor. As his eyes adjust to the dim atmosphere, Clyde can see that he’s not alone. With him are four men and seven women. When he focuses his vision, he recognizes a few of them from the flight.

Clyde looks at his surroundings, taking in every detail to process.

This room resembles medieval architecture… not modern.

Clyde walks up to the only door in the room and tries to open it. He pulls and pushes on it.

No dice. He thinks to himself. I didn’t think it would be unlocked, but it's always worth a try.

He looks over to the barred window and can faintly hear people speaking and walking. I wonder if I can get up there? It only looks about 10 feet tall.

He backs up from the window and addresses the people in front of it. “Excuse me, I'm going up to try and see out.”

Clyde waits for the others to shuffle aside, then dashes toward the wall, running up it. He grips the bars and pulls himself up to see the outside, taking a moment to observe everything he can.

Clyde looks backward to drop down but notices that the ground has a faintly scorched circle on it with what appeared to be foreign letters encompassing it.

He drops down and a few people flock to him.

“What was out there?”

“What did you see?”

Clyde replies with doubt. “There is a wall made out of logs… It looks like a fort. I also saw a stable with horses… and what looked like a dragon.”

Across the way, an old man wearing a gray suit snarks at him. “Have you lost your mind?! Dragons don’t exist.”

Clyde remembers him from the plane- he was in the first class, yelling at a stewardess during the flight.

Clyde shrugs. “You don’t have to believe me, but I saw what I saw. It looked like a dragon.”

The old man stands up. “Lift me up. I want to see it.” Clyde ignores him..

Two of the other men offer their assistance in exchange for them being helped up for a view as well.

Clyde leans up against the wall and slides down into a sitting position, putting his hands over his face. “What the fuck is going on? It's like some trashy anime isekai plot. Though, I thought I was supposed to be hit by a truck,” he mumbles, perhaps an attempt to calm himself down.

The suited man starts berating those holding him up, “Push me up, I can’t see!”

Suddenly, the door opens. A man wearing leather armor and wielding a wooden club enters. He pulls the old man down off the shoulders of the others, and he falls to the ground underneath the guard’s feet.

The guard raises his wooden club, preparing to strike. In defense, the old man raises his arm, successfully blocking the attack. Clyde anticipates a crack of bone, but remarkably, the sound seems dampened. The club doesn't even leave a scratch. However, the same could not be said of the second blow. As the club was brought down upon the old man once more, the impact sounded as if a twig was just snapped. When the third strike landed, the man’s arm flopped into an unnatural position, horrifying the whole group of onlookers.

The suited man’s pride was now shattered along with his arm. He crawls backward, screaming at the guard to stop as he braces his mangled limb. But the guard doesn’t stop, instead proceeding in a light stroll toward his prey, taunting him with light taps of his club on the floor, which grow louder the closer he gets to the man. Scuttling in a panic across the floor, the man soon feels his back against the wall, which he uses to slowly stand back up. With his good arm, he reels back and throws an uppercut to the guard’s jaw.

The guard isn’t phased or stunned at all, and the sound was only a muffled pat. There it is again, Clyde noted.

The guard smiles a toothy grin before slamming his club against the side of the old man’s head, making him lose consciousness instantaneously.

The guard chuckles to himself as he leaves the cell, flinging the blood off his weapon with a quick swing and slamming the door shut behind him. The two people who helped lift the man to the window approach him to try to help. They start by moving him to a corner away from the door and leaning him up against the wall, trying to bandage his arm by ripping up his shirt.

At this point, a beautiful woman with red hair stands up to assist, but the man sitting next to her reaches for her hand and grasps it firmly.

“Victoria please, don’t get involved.”

She looks at him and gives a warm smile.

“Richard, I have to help those in need.”

He lets go of her hand.“...I understand.”

She walks up to the two frantic men and asks “Can I look at it? I’m a nurse.”

She takes the shirt that was hastily wrapped around his arm and notices the damage. Clyde looks over and could tell by her face alone that the man’s arm was lost. His mind raced. That could have been me... The guard did that because he was looking out!

The nurse finishes up the make-do dressing for the man’s arm just as the door opens once more.

Four guards come into the room, all armed with wooden clubs. Two of them move further into the cell and grab Victoria, forcing her outside.

“Richard! Richard!!!” she screams, kicking and thrashing about between the guards, while the other six women cower together in the far corner.

Richard lunges behind one of the guards. He wraps his arm around the neck of the closest guard and locks him in a rear-naked choke hold. He squeezes the man’s neck with all his might and starts counting under his breath; just ten seconds is all he needs. The guard releases his hold on Victoria and claws at Richard’s arm, which holds fast against his neck.

Victoria acts on her husband’s assault by reaching for the face of the guard still holding her, scratching and gnashing at it, embedding the surface of his skin under her nails. The guard shakes his head back and forth trying to dodge Victoria’s sharp nails before throwing her to the side. He turns back to free his partner from Richard, but it’s too late.

Richard, now easing up on the purple-faced guard, drops his limp body, which makes a thud as it hits the floor.

The guard becomes furious and attacks Richard with the club. Richard watches his timing, and narrowly evades the swing before tackling the guard onto the ground. The two begin to grapple and scuffle: throwing punches, kicking, and bending each other’s limbs back. Richard rears his head back to call out to the other men.

“HELP ME OUT!”

The other men shuffle about, looking unsure as they watch Richard get on top of the guard and whale down blows to his face.

One of the guards standing near the door springs into action upon seeing his partner collapse, and the other becomes a human punching bag for Richard. He hits Richard in the back of the head with his club. But Richard doesn’t even flinch, as he barely even felt the hit. He continues to barrage the guard beneath him by raining down punch after punch.

The last remaining guard by the door, flees from the room, leaving the door open.

Feeling emboldened by Richard's courage, the idle men finally join the fray and pounce on the standing guard before he strikes Richard again, toppling him to the ground. Richard continues throwing punches, as the other two men pin the guard down against the ground.

Meanwhile, Victoria peaks outside the cell: no one else is there guarding them.

A mesmerized Clyde spots one of the clubs across from Victoria and hurries over to grab it. He hands it to Richard, who finishes his last punch and proceeds to bash the face of the guard in with the club. After a half-dozen strikes, Richard finally pulls away from the battered, bloody remnants of the guard, thanking Clyde for club while breathing heavily. Clyde couldn’t help but notice Richard’s hands, torn and ripped at the knuckles, looking as if dyed in deep, crimson paint.

“No problem,” Clyde replies, as he bends down to grab another club for himself a short distance over.

“I think one of them got away, so more will probably come!” Victoria warns, still keeping a lookout at the door.

The two men still struggle to keep the last guard pinned down, who looks over at Clyde. He growls something in a language Clyde doesn’t understand before spitting at him with disgust.

“Don’t you know when to quit?!” Clyde exclaims, as he takes his club and hits the guard across the head.

As before, the hit makes contact but deals no damage. Clyde shakes his head, confused and very irritated. “What the fuck! Why does this keep happening?”

“Just hit him again,” one of the other men angrily commands.

Clyde does so, but again, the hit does nothing. Is this magic or something?

“Give it here,” the other man says, taking the club from Clyde. “And take my place.” Clyde puts all of his weight down onto the guard to keep him pinned, as the man pulls the club back above his head and slams it down on the guard, fracturing his skull from the force of the hit and denting his head in. Blood flows across the floor, filling the cracks between the bricks.

Richard commands the women to grab the unconscious man. His wife, the first to listen, takes him and asks the girls to help. The largest girl there grabs his other side and the two hold him up, waiting for Richard.

Clyde goes for the last club on the ground, but is beaten to it by the last man.

“Get ready. We’re going to have to fight our way out of here,” Richard says, looking at everyone before turning back toward the door.

The men make their way out of the room first, following the hallway until they reach an iron gate. They give it a quick jostle, but it’s locked.

“The guard who left must have locked it,” Victoria sighs.

Richard and the other men start arguing with each other over their next move, though it wasn’t long before footfalls were heard over the bickering. The sounds of yelling were heard, getting closer and closer. The footsteps grew thunderous. Many guards were coming, and they sounded angry.

“Get back to the cell!” Richard yells, leading the way.

Everyone turns tail and follows closely behind Richard. Once in the cell, they slam the door, and the three men brace hard against it while the women stand by Victoria with the still unconscious old man.

The guards waste no time in their assault as they make their way outside the cell and begin pushing in. Clyde and the other men pushed back on the heavy door with everything they had as it opened and closed shut, again and again. After a brief moment, the mob timed their slams into the door until they were able to wedge one of the wooden clubs into it. They repeated the process until they had opened the door about a foot.

The man next to Clyde grabbed one of the guard’s clubs to pull it out of the door jam, but instead, his arm was pulled outside the door. After yanking it out as far as possible, one of the guards cleanly sliced his arm off with a sword.

Victoria rushes to his aid and creates a rudimentary tourniquet from his necktie.

Down a man, the door was held onto for only a moment longer before they all burst into the room. The cell was full of guards, and everyone was immediately overpowered by sheer numbers alone.

Clyde had three men on him, pinning him down, to the point he could barely breathe. He couldn’t resist even if he wanted to. He knew that they had lost, and no one dared to resist anymore. However, Richard continued to struggle and squirm with every fiber of his being, forcing the mob to dedicate 7 men to holding just him down.

As soon as the prisoners were secured, a wave of red caught Clyde’s attention. An aged, sharp-faced man in religious-looking crimson robes strides into the cell, flanked by two other guards. He bends down over the man Richard killed, and whispers something to the guard on his left. The guard nods his head, and the cloaked figure places his hands on the bleeding mass in front of him. He begins muttering a slew of words Clyde couldn’t make out.

Amazingly, the guard stands up and falters out of the room, holding the wall for support. The robed man makes his way around the cell, healing all the guards the group dispatched. Clyde and the others watch in awe as every one of the downed guards miraculously stands up and leaves the cell. No scratches or bruises could be seen, not even blood- save for what had spilled out onto their armor and the floor.

The man in red follows the last healed guard out, just as the others begin taking the men out one at a time. Clyde was taken out last, right after Richard, who required eight guards to carry him out- two on each of his limbs.

Clyde was thrown in his own holding cell, only a few doors down from the one everyone was just in. After the door is slammed shut, he rushes over to a crack in the wall, barely large enough for him to observe the women being escorted out. After the door was locked behind them, silence befell the corridor, and Clyde was alone.