Page 17 of The Chamber

Anger flared within Kenneth, a fiery rage at the injustice of it all. “How have you survived everything?”

“By focusing on the person nearest me,” Jeremiah said, his gaze holding Kenneth’s unwaveringly. “In times like these, trust is our best weapon. There was another, but he’s—he’s—“

“What?”

“Gone.” That was all the information Jeremiah would share. Kenneth understood that asking for more details would be fruitless.

As they pressed onward, Kenneth felt the weight of Jeremiah’s words sinking in. Trust was a scarce commodity in his life, but now, faced with the unfathomable barbarity of their situation, it seemed more vital than ever. The instinctive bond they’d formed needed to solidify into something unbreakable. Their lives might depend on it.

“Lean on me when you need to,” Jeremiah whispered. “Together, we’ll find a way to get through this hell.”

Kenneth’s breath caught as he stared at Jeremiah, the gravity of their situation pressing down on him like a crushing weight.

“Fighting each other for the amusement of others? That sounds like being reduced to gladiators.”

Kenneth clenched his fists, feeling a surge of adrenaline pumping through his veins. “I never thought I’d fight for my life in front of an audience.”

Jeremiah’s gaze met Kenneth’s, filled with understanding and perhaps a hint of admiration. “It excites them when we suffer. Why else do you think Richard would put together a place like this? It’s not because he’s generous, but we can’t let them break us. We have to stand tall and show them we aren’t their toys.”

As Kenneth listened to Jeremiah’s words, he couldn’t let go of a twisted sense of excitement at the prospect of the Battle. For so long, he’d endured his pain solo—in silence—using it as a means of control over the terror inside. Now, it seemed almost poetic that his survival would depend on his ability to withstand the torment longer than a similarly tortured soul.

“Is there any way to prepare for a battle like you mentioned?” Kenneth asked.

Jeremiah smirked. “I don’t think there’s much. At least, I haven’t found the Chamber of Endurance gym yet.”

Kenneth chuckled softly. Even a tiny hint of humor in their situation was like a ray of sunlight drifting through a grimy window.

“Endurance is important, of course,” Jeremiah said, flexing his toned arms, which bore the marks of previous battles. “I would have known more about that if I choose cross country instead of downhill when I skied.”

“Do people ever die in a battle?”

Jeremiah ignored the question and let it hang in the air. “Mental fortitude is the crucial element, and I think you needed to come here with that. It’s hard to figure out how to get it once you’re already in this hellhole. You need to find a reason to keep going—something worth fighting for.”

Kenneth’s thoughts drifted to his art, images of vibrant colors and abstract shapes that had brought him peace in his darkest moments. He found purpose and meaning in those fleeting instances of clarity, but he feared it might not be enough.

“Thank you for the heads up.” Kenneth felt warmth bloom in his chest as he spoke, gratitude for the guidance and support this unexpected ally provided. “Your strength gives me hope that we can get through this.”

“Remember, Kenneth,” Jeremiah said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’re not alone. We’ll deal with the Battle together if it comes to that and show them that they can’t break our spirits.”

“Thank you,” whispered Kenneth.

“Watch your step here,” Jeremiah warned, his calm voice echoing softly as he guided Kenneth over a pile of rubble. “I’ve seen things explode after a wrong step.”

Kenneth nodded as he scanned the dimly lit path ahead, searching for hidden dangers. While he cautiously moved forward, he marveled at Jeremiah’s ability to navigate the infernal environment with such calm determination. The former athlete seemed to possess an almost supernatural intuition, a gift that Kenneth found both awe-inspiring and comforting.

“Jeremiah,” Kenneth murmured, his voice barely audible above the distant cries of their fellow captives, “how do you stay so focused in this place? How do you keep from losing yourself?”

“Survival is a choice,” Jeremiah replied, his dark eyes filled with a quiet intensity. “I choose to fight, not just for myself, but for those who still have hope. There’s no room for fear or doubt when lives are on the line. My coaches taught me to cast those aside.”

As they continued onward, courage and strength radiated from Jeremiah. It was contagious and infused Kenneth with determination.

Jeremiah interrupted his thoughts. “Listen—hear the boots crunching gravel in the distance?” Urgency colored his words. “They’re coming for us—“

EIGHT

A FAMILIAR FACE

“Kenneth!” Jeremiah shouted frantically as cold and powerful hands gripped Kenneth’s arms. The darkness clung to the faces of the assailants like a shroud, their features reduced to ghostly silhouettes.

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