TW: violence, death
As though removing ear muffs, Octavius found himself now aware of the noises above his head. Running footsteps, shouting, the occasional short scream, and the constant metal scraping, like prongs of a fork skidding against a plate. Octavius trailed after the drunk, who ran with surprising speed. The drunk disappeared through a wide open, heavy looking door, held open by a door jam made of wadded up cloth. The drunk's footsteps ascended what sounded like a stone staircase. The sounds were clearer closer to the opening, and a distant voice cried out before being cut off by a metal scraping. Octavius's feet slid to a stop and he threw a hand against the hallway's wall to stop himself from falling into the doorway just in front of him, his breathing coming too fast and feeling lightheaded.
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The metal scraping was swords. A metal scrape followed a shout. Octavius flinched. The cutlasses worn by the guards were making the same noise an unsharpened steel play sword from Octavius’s youth made slicing through the air at imaginary foes. Except the guard's weapons sported deadly sharp serrated edges meant to tear through underbrush and flesh alike. Curses and shouting continued from above. How many guards were stationed at a Death’s Row keep? Surely the question was posed by his tutors along with questions about the noble house hierarchy and the necessary square footage of sewers relative to the population. But city planning was always Octavius's least favorite subject.
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Octavius was dimly aware he was breathing too fast but he was completely aware of his own mortality in the face of whatever was happening upstairs. He spun in circles needing to move but unsure where to go. The only exit meant sure death, but the cells would hold no better. They weren't going to let Octavius out of Death’s Row for not escaping.
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An arm reached out from behind the inwardly opened door and grasped the back of Octavius 's collar, forcing a manly yelp from him as it dragged him to the floor. On his knees, Octavius found himself crouched behind the door with the same short figure who unlocked the cell doors previously. She had an ear to the gap created by the open hinges but had him in her peripheral. Like Octavius, she wore a threadbare tunic and had no shoes on.
"You're the Grimvalt, yes?" She spoke aloud.
"Yeah" Octavius replied in a whisper, looking through the thin gap into the metal stairwell.
"Live up north? Somewhere rural?"
"In Pitchfort," at the girls blank expression he continued, "yes, rural, why?" Octavius muttered and motioned his head towards the stairwell, the noises had gotten quieter and less frequent. Someone could walk down any second now-
" There cash there?" Octavius nodded, impatient. "I can get us out of here, and to wherever, for a price."
Octavius 's eyes widened with the small hope growing in his chest. "Yes, any price, I'll pay it." Octavius 's family would easily pay his weight in gold twice over. The girl nodded now.
"Ok, but if you betray me I will kill you myself. Got it?" She wasn't looking at him but Octavius nodded furiously as she quickly continued,'' Follow me, stay out of the way, but stick close or you will get cut up."
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Without another word she stood and moved out from behind the door. Octavius now noticed a small sharpened wooden stake in her hand and wondered what that was supposed to do against a 2-foot cutlass. A faraway bell rang. Nonetheless Octavius followed the girl up the spiraling metal staircase, apprehension growing with each curve. Each of their steps echoed loudly and Octavius was hyper aware of his bare feet and sharp, rusted, cast iron treads. With his head down he nearly ran into the girl when her footsteps suddenly stopped at a door that had been flung open so readily one of its hinges snapped in half.
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What little Octavius 's poorly adjusted eyes could see around the girl revealed another hallway, though this one was bright with daylight. Someone's shrill voice giggled somewhere to the left, though the ringing bell seemed to be coming from the right. The girl took a steady breath, brushed her short hair off her face and darted up the last few steps through the door. She went left through the painted hallway, Octavius following close behind, feeling remarkably queasy. She passed multiple doors on either side, all of them thrown open outward. Octavius attempted to look into them as they sprinted past. He glimpsed what appeared to be a prisoner wearing the cheap tunics they all had, laying still in a pool of red liquid. Octavius stopped trying to look and watched the girls running feet a few steps in front of his own.
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The girl's feet skid to a stop and she spun around, narrowly missing Octavius and his inertia. She doubled back to the last doorway they'd passed and jogged through it. Octavius followed after her. The giggling was louder, coming from the direction they were now heading. Hesitating briefly, Octavius tried not to tremble as he jogged after the girl.
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They were now in a large, tiled room, blandly decorated with mass produced art and wood veneer. Certainly some state or federal building. Octavius would have laughed at the poor imitations of roman columns supporting the roof, but his company didn't seem like the type to appreciate it, seeing as there were five people in front of him and the girl now. Four of them were guards. One was a fellow inmate, the culprit of the giggling, rocking back and forth on his heels, blood leaking from his mouth that was almost certainly not his own. Octavius gagged.
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The four guards were dead, piled haphazardly in various states of desecration. The girl nonchalantly stepped around the pile, quickly inspecting the group before breaking into a jog again towards another doorway. All too quickly Octavius followed after her leaving the giggler behind them, but repeatedly glancing behind himself to ensure the maniac wasn't following them.
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The next room was nearly identical, only with smaller desks and more bloody and still bodies, the majority here inmates. Again finding a guard's body, the girl trotted up to it, finding his cutlass missing, but his pockets apparently unraided. Much to Octavius 's rising horror, she had to pull with all her might to flip the gargantuan man over to check his back pocket, but she retrieved a tiny utility blade and a few candies, dropping her pathetic stake.
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Finally they dashed through a small metal door, making it out under the cloudy sky. They hopped off a small cobble path into the overgrown yard. The girl's movement got slower, and when she crouched, Octavius instinctively copied. Just ahead voices shouted and whooped, intermingled with the occasional clank of two metals meeting. Summiting a tiny hill the source of the sounds appeared. Three inmates, one being the drunk, wielded cutlasses against a lone guard swinging wildly, clutching at his side. The three hopped around his untimed swings, laughing. One of them swiped at the guards legs, slicing them both. The guard fell onto his stomach, his own body pining his arm and sword down. The guard moved painfully slowly to raise himself up but was pushed back down by the drunk's foot.
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The drunk shouted something indistinguishable and the other two cheered. He held the cutlass like an executioner's ax and raised it above his head before swinging it down into the back of the guard's neck. Even from their distance Octavius clearly heard a crack as the sword hit bone. The drunk stepped on the dead man's head, needing the leverage to pull out the cutlass wedged into the body. Voices arose from somewhere Octavius couldn't see, and the men ran into a pine forest just off the property.
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The idea of hiding in the pine flatwoods with the men was sickening, but Octavius saw no other choice. There were surely reinforcements responding to the bell, and all other directions only led further into town. Octavius moved towards the forest, but was held back by the girl's hand on his arm. She tugged his arm and motioned her head towards the streets. Octavius dug in his heels.
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"No! There's more coming! We'll be caught!" He shouted a bit too loudly. Her large eyes narrowed.
"Our chances are better in town, they’ll surround the woods!"
"They’ll kill us in town!" Octavious ripped his arm from her. A quick clash of metal swords rang out from somewhere on the other side of the building.
"Fine then, go die in the woods." She hissed. She turned and sprinted across the open yard to an adjoining street. Octavius stared after her, suddenly aware of the cool air on his tear-stained cheeks. When had he been crying? Chest full of adrenaline, Octavius began running for the pine trees. In a few steps he had once more crested the hill, only to see two guards ahead, running for the forest. Octavius flinched away, falling to his knees to peak over the grass. The guards had their backs fully turned and were still headed for the trees, slowed because they were carrying unwieldy jugs. Octavius scanned the tree line desperately. The tree line was small, and the guards had arrived but hadn't entered the woods. There was no way Octavius could get past them without being spotted.
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Setting his jaw, Octavius twisted around and sprinted towards the street he'd seen the girl head to. Before turning the corner into an alleyway Octavius looked behind him for pursuers. Instead the tree-tops visible over the crest of the hill were up in flames.
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