Chapter 2: The Meat Grinder
Chapter 2: The Meat Grinder
Alex was dragged down to the tunnels. The first thing he noticed was the strong stench of piss and the smell of rotting flesh. He really didn’t want to find out where the latter came from. The air down here was thick, heavy with the moisture of the underground and the salt of a thousand men’s sweat.
He had a splitting migraine. It felt like he was struck in the head with a sledgehammer to the temple. Every step the guards took, dragging his limp body across the uneven stone, sent a fresh wave of agony through his skull. His vision blurred, the orange glow of the wall torches stretching into long, jagged lines of fire.
He wheezed as he tried to draw in air. Every breath was like torture. It felt like his lungs were being squeezed by iron bands. His ribs groaned with every movement, a sharp, stabbing reminder of the giant’s punch.
He coughed and hacked. He felt something at the back of his throat, mixed with his blood and saliva. It felt like grounded gravel.
’Sand?’ he thought, as he spat out a thick, red glob onto the dirt floor.
His eyes began to adjust to the limited light within the tunnels. He wasn’t in a hospital or a room. He was in a cage.
He was being dragged through the dungeon area. He saw men of different sizes and shapes, mostly muscular, covered in nothing but scars and loincloths. Most of them were bound to chains by their ankles and wrists, while the rest were just locked up in cellars. They looked like animals, eyes hollow and dark, watching him pass with a mix of pity and cold indifference.
"W- where are you taking me to?" Alex asked. But no response came.
The guards dragged him past that area and made a turn. They kept walking until they reached another area with better lighting. There, the smell shifted. It no longer just smelled like waste and death; it smelled like herbs, medicine, and burnt flesh.
He saw and heard men who looked like they could bench press a car scream and cry in agony. Some had missing limbs, while others had bones sticking out of their skin. The sight of that made Alex feel a shudder in his spine. This wasn’t a doctor’s office. It was a butcher shop for humans. ’Jesus Christ. What hell hole is this?’
They walked until the end of that passage and made another turn. Finally, they reached the end of the passage, where Alex saw a bulky, middle‑aged man sitting behind a desk full of parchments. The man was scribbling something on a paper when they arrived.
"Sir Ignatius." The guards saluted.
The man gave a quick glance in their direction before returning to what he was doing. "What is this?" His deep voice reverberated against the stone walls.
"The winner of the second bout, sir," one of the guards said.
"So?" Ignatius asked, without even sparing a second look. He seemed more interested in the ink on his page than the bloody boy in front of him.
"Brutus the giant was part of the fighters for that bout, sir," the second guard answered.
Ignatius paused his scribbling for a second. He threw another glance in their direction, then continued writing. "And Brutus?" He already knew the answer, but wanted to hear them say it anyway.
"Dead, sir." The guards responded, avoiding eye contact.
Ignatius finally stopped writing. He dropped the quill in his hand, looked up, and started scanning the scrawny‑looking lad that had been dragged to his office. Alex could barely keep his eyes open. His white hair was matted with gore, his pale skin covered in bruises the color of overripe plums.
Alex could feel his skin crawl under Ignatius’s scrutiny. He gulped, wondering what his fate would be. This man looked like he decided who lived and who died with a single stroke of his pen.
"Interesting," Ignatius finally said, half‑amused. He leaned back, his eyes tracing the lean muscle on Alex’s frame. "Take him to Gaius. He looks like he might drop dead any moment."
He waved his hand and returned to his writing. The guards saluted, then dragged Alex back through the passage they’d come from.
Soon they reached the medic area they had passed on the way to Ignatius’s office. The screams were louder now, more desperate.
"Gaius!" the guards called out.
"One second," an old man with a red‑hot machete in hand answered.
Gaius was in the middle of amputating the leg of a man who looked like he’d been dragged through hell. The man was crying and screaming, but it was all muffled by the gag in his mouth. He looked like he would have choke‑slammed Gaius on the spot if it weren’t for the hefty men holding him down.
Alex felt his stomach churn at the sight of all that blood and the sound of sizzling human flesh as the hot metal met the wound. The smell was sweet and sickly, making his head spin even faster.
’What kind of hellish nightmare is this?’ Alex yelled internally, still trying to understand how he ended up here. One minute he was in his apartment, the next he was watching a man get his leg hacked off with a kitchen tool.
"Will you quit your whining!" Gaius yelled at the newly amputee, who was still screaming through the leather gag. "You’ll be just fine."
Gaius wrapped the stump with bandages and gave it a little tap, as if he were finishing a piece of furniture. Then he turned his attention to Alex and the guards.
"You look like shit," Gaius said, wiping his bloody hands on a rag that was already soaked through.
"Don’t we all?" Alex tried to joke, but the pain in his chest made him groan.
"Ha! He’s got humor." Gaius stepped closer, his eyes sharp and observant. "I like this one."
"Lanista Ignatius ordered for his treatment," one of the guards conveyed.
"Aha! Lay him here, lay him here." Gaius pointed at an empty woven bed.
The guards helped Alex lie down. The straw was stiff and poked into his back, but it was better than being dragged. Once he was settled, the guards returned to their posts.
"Here, have this." Gaius handed Alex a cup containing a black, murky concoction that smelled like death. It looked like oil mixed with swamp water.
"What the hell is this?" Alex managed to ask through the pain.
"What will patch you up from the inside." Gaius reached for a bowl of thick, grey ointment. "Now hurry and drink up while I prepare the bandages."
Alex closed his eyes and swallowed. It tasted like bitter charcoal and old wine. It burned his throat, but as it hit his stomach, a strange, heavy warmth began to spread through his limbs.
---
---
While Alex was downing strange liquids, at that moment, across the Colosseum in Ignatius’s office, a visitor arrived.
A young man in red robes stood before the lanista, flanked by two guards. Ignatius recognized the sigil on the collars of their capes. Two swords crossed over a trident. The mark of a powerful house, one that didn’t usually deal with the filth of the pits.
"My master has sent for you," the young man said, stating it as a fact.
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away. Ignatius sighed, stood up, and followed. He knew better than to keep a man like that waiting.
They stepped out of the tunnels and into the streets of Rome. The sun was setting, but the streets were still bustling. Merchants called for buyers, their voices clashing in the humid air. Children played with wooden swords in the alleys, pretending to be the very men Ignatius kept in cages. A few soldiers patrolled, their armor gleaming in the fading light. It was crowded, but beautiful. The sunset turned the white marble buildings a glowing orange.
Ignatius was escorted onto a chariot with the young man, two guards riding on horses behind them. The ride was bumpy, wheels clattering against cobblestones as they moved away from the slums and toward the hills where the rich lived.
By the time they reached the front of a huge mansion, night had fallen. The house was a masterpiece of stone and sin. A massive, sprawling villa of white marble that seemed to glow under the moonlight. Rows of towering columns lined the front, and the gardens were filled with exotic plants and the sound of running water from hidden fountains. Huge bronze torches were lit every few feet, casting long, dancing shadows across the high walls.
They stepped down from the chariot and made their way to the entrance. Before the huge double doors could be opened, Ignatius could already hear moans and groans of pleasure from inside. Thick, heavy, and echoing into the night air.
When the doors were finally pushed open, the first thing to hit him was the smell of bodily fluids mixing together. The air was hot and humid, reeking of expensive oils, sweat, and spilled wine. The moans and groans were a symphony.
The atrium was a scene of pure decadence. Men and women, naked and half‑naked, were kissing, licking, and indulging in each other on every surface. They draped over silk‑covered couches and tangled together on the cold marble floor. The women were stunning, their skin glistening with oil under the torchlight. Many had let their robes fall to their waists, their bared breasts swaying as they arched their backs in pleasure. One woman, hair like spun gold, leaned back against a pillar, her chest rising and falling rapidly as a man knelt before her, her eyes closed in a daze of lust. It was a display of raw, unashamed hunger.
Ignatius sighed and stepped inside. He had seen it all before, but it never ceased to amaze him how much the elite could indulge while the rest of the world burned.
---
Meanwhile, back in the Colosseum’s dungeon, Alex lay awake in his cellar.
He’d already been wrapped in bandages around his chest and shoulders. They smelled like balm, with a hint of herb.
The "medicine" had worked, but it left him feeling sluggish and strange. His mind raced, trying to make sense of everything. He remembered going to sleep in his cramped studio apartment after grinding for hours on a video game. He could still smell the old pizza box and hear the hum of his computer fan.
And then – a rumble he felt in his sleep. Then he was in the middle of an ancient Roman Colosseum, fighting the biggest man he’d ever seen.
"What was that?" he asked the silent night. His voice sounded small in the damp stone cell.
"And now I’m in ancient Rome, somehow." He said, folding his arm across his chest. "And I–" The image of the arena flashed before his eyes. He remembered how the sword felt, cutting through the giant’s throat. He felt a lump form in his throat. "That didn’t happen. That did not happen." He shook his head. He felt his speeding heartbeat calm, as he let out a long sigh.
"But... what era is this?" He asked himself. "The late Republic? The time of Marius and Sulla? The Servile Wars?" He muttered, tapping his jaw. "None of it fits quite right. I need more information, if I’m going to survive." He noted.
"And then, there’s you." He said, shifting his focus to the system window at the corner of his vision.
It came into full view, glowing with a soft, golden light that cast no shadows.
"Woah!" Alex exclaimed, startled.
```
The Sands of Fate System
Host: human
Name: Alex Norman
Skill(s): Time dilatation
Level: 1
Status: injured
Points: 0
(➡️Click for more info)
```
"This is some videogame type shit," he said with a chuckle. Absurd. Crazy. But it was the only thing that felt real.
He tried "clicking" on the ’more info’ button in the air, but nothing happened. His finger passed right through the light. "Huh? Why isn’t it working?"
He tried poking, swiping, even grabbing at it. Still nothing. The window just sat there, mocking him.
Frustrated, he focused harder on the "more info" tag, staring at it, willing it to open with his mind. And then – it took him to an extended version of the page.
```
The Sands of Fate System
Host: human
Name: Alex Norman
Skill(s): time dilatation (cooldown: 19:57:26)
Status: injured (Recovery in progress: 1.2% per hour)
Points: 0
➡️ Daily tasks and points rewards ⬅️
```
He mentally clicked the daily tasks button.
```
DAILY TASKS AND POINTS REWARDS:
DAILY TASKS: You get to do tasks every day. Points are rewarded after completion of every task. Failure of tasks could result in point deductions.
POINT REWARDS: Points are rewarded for tasks completed. When accumulated points reach a designated threshold, the system undergoes a level up, and the host can access more system features.
Time until next task: 4:48:32.
```
Alex stared at the countdown. The numbers ticked down steadily, glowing in the dark.
"So I’m basically in a webnovel trope that could kill me," he said, looking at the glaring numbers.
He closed his eyes, but the golden numbers were still burned into his eyelids. He had less than five hours until the world demanded something else from him. He lay there in the dark, listening to the distant sound of the city, wondering if he would even survive the morning.
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