After passing through the gates, Tre felt his body suddenly become almost weightless—as if he were as light as a feather—but that sensation vanished just as quickly, and reality's full weight returned. Then an intense flash of light blinded him, and a foul stench—like rotting meat, unwashed bodies, and a damp forest—hit his nostrils.
Once his eyes adjusted to the brightness, Tre scanned his surroundings. Behind him, he saw a gate identical to the one he had just passed through—except this time it bore no inscription, suspended in midair, and it didn't budge when he tried to open it again. Yet nothing shocked him more than the awful smell coming from just a few dozen meters away, where a mound of decomposing bodies—both human and animal—lay.
Behind the heap of bodies rose a massive mound, and in the opposite direction, a cliff suggested that he was roughly halfway up some natural rise. Outside the barren clearing, marked by signs of logging, trees typical of a mountain climate grew everywhere.
Suddenly, a figure emerged from behind the pile—a tall, sturdy man in his middle years, dressed in leather with patches of metal plating. He strode toward Tre with a self-satisfied smile. At his waist hung a knight's sword, and in his hands he gripped an old chain showing obvious wear. Attached to the chain was the source of that terrible odor which had greeted Tre when he arrived. A few people of various ages and ethnicities dragged themselves along behind him, their ankles and wrists bound with shackles, all linked to one central chain that, as Tre began to suspect, belonged to a guard.
An older woman from the dismal group glanced at Tre with a muddled expression. Initially indifferent, her face soon shifted to surprise, then understanding, and finally terror.
Everything unfolded within mere seconds. The woman tugged hard on the chain she was attached to, causing the guard to lose his balance and, with visible anger, turn toward the unfortunate souls with a furious look.
"Get out of here! Run if you don't want to end up like us!" she screamed, pulling on the chain with all her strength.
At first, Tre didn't know what to do, but the panic on the prisoners' faces and the woman's desperate cry quickly gave him direction. He turned and sprinted toward the thick trees on the opposite side of the approaching group. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the guard catch up to the woman—he threw her to the ground and began brutally kicking her. At that very moment, the guard started shouting in a language unfamiliar to Tre, one that didn't resemble any he had ever heard.
Amid the guard's furious shouts, the air was split by the agonized cries of the woman. Soon, her screams were joined by others from the doomed, further stoking the guard's rage.
Tre ran with all his might, trying to block out the horror unfolding behind him among the dense trees. He was getting closer to safety, but he knew the open area he ran through left him exposed and easily seen by those pursuing him. He had only about a hundred meters left when he suddenly heard the barking of dogs. He turned to check, unsure if he was imagining it. Unfortunately, his luck had run out. The guard had finished kicking the unfortunate woman, and as soon as he realized what was happening, he called for his comrades. They didn't come alone—they brought hunting dogs along. Big, snarling hounds, frothing at the mouth, charged after him.
Tre had always prided himself on his running ability, often jogging in the evenings to stay fit and relieve stress, but he had no chance of outrunning these furious mutts. In just thirty seconds, the three hundred meters he had managed to cover were completely negated by the dogs. He could almost feel their jaws clamping down on his ankles and saliva dripping on his shoes. Though, in a twisted way, that prospect seemed preferable to having a dog's bite choke him. That thought spurred him on, and he pushed himself even harder.
He finally reached the forest. There, he was no longer visible to the pursuing humans, but that did little to protect him from the crazed dogs still in hot pursuit. Moreover, he was no longer running on flat ground; he had to push his way through dense trees, carefully dodging protruding roots. He knew that the dogs wouldn't struggle as much in such terrain as he did. Glancing behind, he saw the dogs right on his heels. Desperate, he searched for a tree to climb, and luckily one suitable tree was only two meters away. He dashed toward it and began a frantic climb, scraping his face and ripping his sweater in the process—but he didn't care. His mind raced, trying to decide his next move.
Within seconds, two dogs reached the tree he had just climbed, and with savage fury, they leapt at him, snapping their jaws. Tre knew he had to do something; these dogs were not his only threat. He could hear voices shouting in a language he didn't understand—he guessed they were the guards. With difficulty, he tore off a branch that looked sharp and heavy enough to serve as a weapon, and with precision he struck one dog in the eye, driving the branch into its skull. The dog stared at him one last time in shock before collapsing from the blow, releasing the branch from his grip. Its companion, however, wasn't deterred—it kept snarling and snapping at Tre's face.
"Soon, you'll get your just deserts, you filthy scum!" Tre hissed furiously.
He glanced around, grabbed another branch, and, recalling the position that had helped him fend off the first dog, lunged again with all his might. This time, however, the branch only injured the dog's eye; the creature shook its head furiously, dodging a fatal blow. The wound only enraged it further, and with double the fury it began leaping at the tree.
"Third time's a charm," Tre thought, steeling himself as he prepared to launch his makeshift spear once more. This time he succeeded in knocking the creature down; it fell beside its companion, as limp as its fallen mate.
"That's how it's done," Tre murmured, then began climbing down from the tree.
While descending, he suddenly felt something cold around his neck.
"Not so fast," a voice in broken Italian said.
In the heat of the struggle, as the chaos of dogs and chasing men blurred his thoughts, Tre suddenly realized that the chase hadn't subsided at all.
"Only one. There's only one," he thought, steeling himself to attack the man who had now positioned himself directly in front of him with a malicious grin.
The man said something in a language Tre didn't understand and laughed.
"What do you want from me?" Tre asked in Italian, hoping to distract him. He wasn't wrong.
"Nice kid! Heh-heh, you sure know how to swing a pickaxe, young and strong, heh-heh," the man replied.
Tre stepped aside to discard the sword that had hung around his neck all this time. Then he lunged at the staggering man, grabbed him by the head, and slammed it against the trunk of a nearby tree. The stumbling of animals around them only added force to his blow, as the man tripped and hit harder.
Bleeding, the man slumped and collapsed among the dead dogs. It was hard to tell if he had lost consciousness or was already dead. Tre drew the sword from his hand and swung it at the fallen man, intending to ensure he wouldn't survive his fatal blow—but at the last moment, he hesitated. This was a man; even in this state, his upbringing and values forbade him from finishing the job.
Stepping away, Tre frantically scanned for another escape route. To his shock, he realized he was not alone. In the small clearing between the trees, he spotted at least eight other figures. He was surrounded.
"Eight? That's too many… I can't take them all, and each one is armed," he thought.
The previously motionless figures suddenly started moving toward him. He saw eight well-built men, dressed like the guard from before, dragging prisoners with swords drawn, all aimed at him.
"Come with us," said the oldest of them, this time in English, his tone cold and merciless.
Tre understood it was over. "This is the end. They've got me," he thought, feeling every step drag him deeper into their trap.