The carmine-haired man stood poised, his sword tip still dripping, breathing evenly despite the sudden violence. His dark pink eyes swept over the twitching, severed giant's arm on the floor before returning to Hillel, who remained frozen, struggling to comprehend the room of corpses and his impossible portal escape.
The man's gaze was unwavering. He raised his sword slightly, the point hovering in Hillel's direction. In that moment, Hillel recognized the assessing look in those eyes—the evaluation of a potential threat, the thought of whether killing this unexpected variable would be the best solution.
Hillel couldn't speak, every instinct screaming that this man, despite having just saved him from the giant, posed a lot of danger. As the man's gaze lingered, taking in Hillel's condition—the dirt, the blood from scraped hands, the wide, terrified eyes, the confusion flowing off from him—something shifted in his expression. The readiness eased, though just barely. With an almost imperceptible sigh, he lowered the sword without sheathing it. Apparently, Hillel didn't warrant killing at the moment.
Before Hillel could exhale in relief, new sounds echoed from a dark stone hallway leading into the chamber—the clanging of armored footsteps growing louder, accompanied by shouts.
The man's brief respite vanished, replaced by frustration.
"Good grief," he muttered, glancing toward the hallway before returning his attention to Hillel. "Always something." His eyes locked with Hillel's, voice dropping low. "Quickly. Are you a member of the Golden Dawn?"
The name meant nothing. Like everything before waking in the coffin, it registered as a complete blank. Hillel shook his head mutely, confusion and fear transparent on his face.
The man seemed to recognize Hillel's genuine ignorance and gave a curt nod.
"Right. Didn't think so." He stepped back toward the center of the room, positioning himself between Hillel and the approaching noise. "New plan. Stay behind me. When they come in—and they will come in—wait until they move to attack. The very second they do, grab my arm—this one," he indicated his free, non-sword arm, "grab it tight, and close your eyes. Understand?"
Hillel's mind reeled, but the certainty in the man's voice and the rapidly escalating noise from the hall left no room for questions. He nodded nervously, his heart hammering against his ribs.
The wait proved mercifully short.
A group of figures burst from the hallway's darkness, clad in dark, skin-tight armor with smooth, featureless masks obscuring their faces. Each wielded a long, gleaming sword that caught the flickering torchlight. They didn't pause to assess; they moved with unnatural speed, gliding across the stone floor like shadows, swords raised to strike the carmine-haired man.
"Now!" the man commanded.
Just as the first masked guard lunged with sword arcing downward, Hillel surged forward, his fumbling fingers barely closing around the man's offered forearm. He squeezed his eyes shut.
The expected clash of steel and screams—none materialized. Instead, there came a dizzying sensation of displacement, a brief feeling of falling through nothingness, followed by jarring impact.
He landed hard on his hands and knees, breath knocked from his lungs. The cold stone had vanished, replaced by damp, loamy earth fragrant with pine needles and wet leaves. Opening his eyes, he found himself in a forest clearing dimming with twilight. Nearby stood a small, dilapidated wooden shack. The organ farm, stone chamber, and masked guards had vanished entirely.
The carmine-haired man was already standing, brushing himself off nonchalantly, his sword now sheathed. Without acknowledging Hillel, he strode directly to the shack and disappeared inside.
Hillel watched from his position on hands and knees, bewildered. He'd barely registered the man entering when a low whump erupted from within, immediately followed by a deafening BOOM. The shack's roof exploded upward in a shower of splintered wood and debris. Flames licked briefly from the windows.
Yet even as the explosion tore through the structure, Hillel spotted the man standing calmly several feet from the doorway, entirely unscathed, observing his handiwork. How had he moved so quickly? Teleportation seemed the only explanation.
With groans and loud creaks, the flaming remnants collapsed inward, not just onto the ground but down into a gaping, smoke-filled hole that had opened where the shack's foundation had been resting.
Stunned, Hillel pushed himself upright and cautiously approached the smoking pit. As he neared, he detected faint, muffled screams drifting from the darkness below. Were those the guards? Had the man somehow trapped them underground? The thought sent another shiver through him.
The carmine-haired man calmly watched the structure disappear into the earth before turning away as casually as if he'd merely disposed of trash. He ran a hand through his vibrant hair, seemingly unfazed by the violence, teleportation, or the screaming emanating from the pit.
He glanced at Hillel, who continued staring into the hole.
"Name's Ezra," he stated simply, tone neutral, almost bored. He gestured toward Hillel with his chin. "And you are?"
"H-Hillel," he replied, the name feeling foreign on his tongue. It was the first time he'd spoken it aloud.
Ezra raised an eyebrow slightly but didn't comment on the awkward delivery. He nodded toward the pit.
"Well, Hillel, try not to fall in. We were just down there, more or less." His lips curved into a wry, humorless smile. "And now, so is the Golden Dawn."
"Golden Dawn?" Hillel echoed, confused.
"The masked welcoming committee back in the rock room," Ezra clarified dismissively. "Don't worry about them." He paused, his expression tightening. "Well, don't worry yet. They won't stay trapped down there for long. That little trick," he gestured vaguely at the pit, "is just a temporary setback for fanatics like them." He turned decisively. "Which means I need to leave. Now."
Panic flared in Hillel again. He's leaving me alone? In this strange forest after escaping that nightmare farm and witnessing... whatever had just occurred?
"Wait!" he called, scrambling toward Ezra. "Wait, please!"
Ezra stopped and turned back, looking mildly impatient. "Why?"
"Can I... Can I come with you?" Hillel pleaded, despising his desperate tone but seeing no alternative. "I don't know where I am, or what's happening..."
Ezra looked him up and down before shrugging, a hint of dry amusement flickering in his pink eyes.
"I just assumed you would follow me anyway. Where else would you go?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned and set off into the darkening woods at a brisk pace.
Scrambling to keep up, Hillel fell into step behind him. They walked quickly, silence broken only by the crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot. After several minutes, Ezra spoke without looking back.
"So, Hillel," he began, his voice casual but edged, "care to explain what someone like you was doing in that place? The organ farm? And more importantly, how you ended up using that back door?"
Hillel hesitated, then plunged forward, words tumbling out as he attempted to make sense of it himself.
"I don't know why I was there... I just... I woke up. Buried. In a coffin."
Ezra stopped walking abruptly. He remained perfectly still for a long moment, staring blankly ahead into the trees. Hillel nearly collided with him.
Slowly, Ezra turned his head, his gaze distant. "Woke up," he repeated softly, as if testing the words. He then fixed Hillel with a suddenly piercing stare. "Be more specific."
Taking a shaky breath, Hillel recounted his ordeal—the blackness, the confusing memory fragments, the horrifying realization of being buried, the desperate escape, the surge of energy in his arm shattering the lid, emerging into the grotesque field, witnessing the two-headed giants harvesting organs and eyes, fleeing into the farmhouse, and diving through the strange door just as the giant reached for him.
As Hillel spoke, detailing his escape from the coffin and describing the farm, Ezra's composure began to fracture. His typically sharp, controlled eyes widened almost imperceptibly at first, then began to tremble slightly, darting back and forth as if processing something deeply disturbing. By the time Hillel described being saved by Ezra himself, Ezra's face had transformed into a mask of shock.
Then, abruptly, Ezra smiled.
Unlike his previous wry expression, this smile stretched unnaturally wide, displaying his top row of teeth, pressed tightly against his bottom lip. It held only an intensity that seemed disconnected from the shock in his eyes. The sight sent pure fear coursing through Hillel, causing him to stutter mid-sentence, his heart racing.
The smile vanished quickly, as if it had never appeared in the first place.
Ezra stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low command.
"Hillel. You will stay close to me. At all times. No wandering off, no questions asked right now. Understand? No matter what happens, you stick to me like glue." He paused. "Until we meet up with the rest of the gang. Then...you can relax."