The CampMature

Falcon is the first out of the cart, followed by a hesitant Drake with Life still huddling into him. Tense as a bowstring, Falcon peers around, watching the Devil and his hooded companions out of the corner of his eye.

The camp is enormous, bigger than anything Falcon had ever seen. Rows upon rows of grey stone buildings stretch in all directions, and great black watchtowers rear out above them like twisted sentinels. Shadowy shapes flit through the buildings, none stopping for more than a moment, but Falcon has the horrible feeling they are being watched none the less. He steps back, closer to Drake and Life.

"Something tells me we ought to get out of here. Fast."

The devil turns and looks at Falcon, amusement on his face:

"Not thinking of escape already? Dear oh dear, you really are a stubborn one. I hope this experience won't be as painful as I fear it may be for you."

"Shut it." Falcon snaps, bile rising in his throat as his hand throbs agonisingly again.

Drake hisses at him, "Don't provoke him! You'll get us all killed, calm down."

Falcon snorts, but pipes down none the less. Then, suddenly, the hooded figures step forward and grab each of them in turn, dragging them away from one another amid howls and shrieks of protest. Falcon struggles, but the creature's grip is like iron and the next thing he knows a foul smelling rag has been dragged over his eyes, rendering him blind. Distantly he hears the devil's deranged laughter, the sound grating on his ears like a nail on glass. Then, a harsh command is barked out across the camp:

"Now, to the quarters with them!"

The End

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