“What is Fortis, my dear Fig?”

  “Fortis Den? He's a man who loves attention and does everything to get it! Complete opposite of me…”

  “I… don't mean to ask about Den…”

  “Well… Fortis is the Strongest… that's what Fortis Den is… the strongest man I know.”

  “So then why aren't you ‘Fortis’ Fig?”

  “Do you think I'm really that strong?”

  “Why do you doubt your strength Fig? You are far more capable than you give yourself credit for.”

  “I'm not strong… not at all…”

  “You should give yourself more credit. The strong love to surround themselves with more of the same. Is that not why Fortis Den keeps you around him!”

  “...”

  “Well? Do you not agree?”

  “I'm just his eyes and his ears… that's all I am…”

  …

  Hidden deep within the Catilan Bastille, a Fortress used by the church to hold dangerous individuals who pose to threaten their rule or way of life, was Fortis Den, the Strongest Man. There were always at least two guards around his cell at all times and no windows in his room. Aside from the one entrance, there was no other way for anyone to get in or out. Fortis Den himself had all four of his limbs chained, his legs to the ground and his arm chained to the roof, and another chain coming from the wall behind that wrapped around his waist. As well as all this security, they also had plugs in his ears and a black bag over his head. Laughing and cackling filled the halls outside as the warden accompanied by an esteemed member of the church, Lucra Valdeer, came to visit their beloved Prisoner. Fortis Den did not react to the clanging and rattles as the prison door opened and the duo walked in. Den's two guests were complete opposites from each other; while the Warden was serious and silent, Lucra was loud and flippant.

  “So this, this is the self proclaimed strongest?” Lucra cackled to himself, “Well if, if you're the strongest, I'd quiver when I'd meet the weakest! Hahahaha!” Lucra's laughter quickly changed to a groan when Den did not respond or even react to Lucra. Lucra furrowed his eyebrows and scowled as he grabbed Den's covered head, “You, you think you can ignore me! The church instituted me to your trial, I hold your keys to life and death! I, I am not a man to be ignored!”

  “Lord Valdeer,” the warden addressed his guest while maintaining his calm and respectable posture, “The Prisoner has earplugs and cannot hear anything you say to him…”

  The brash church member turned slightly red as he quickly straightened himself, “Well, well remove them so that he can hear what I have to say!”

  The Warden grit his teeth before taking a calming breath and complying with the command of the church member. He lifted the black bag from Den's head and for the first time in fifteen days, Den saw light. Shortly after his eyes began to readjust, he was given back his sense of hearing as well. You'd think that would be a beautiful thing, but his first experience with it was the insufferable cackling of Lucra Valdeer.

  “So you're the self-proclaimed strongest?” Lucra repeated with a full grin over his face, “If, if you're the strongest, I quiver to…”

  “I am the strongest!” Den interrupted with a smile and a cocky laugh of his own. Lucra's grin turned into another scowl and his fists clenched tight.

  “I was speaking, you lowly pest!” Lucra exclaimed, “I hold your keys of life and…”

  “Who exactly are you people?” Den nonchalantly interrupted Lucra again.

  “I'm speaking!” The ignored man exclaimed again, fuming red, “I am…”

  “This is Lord Lucra Valdeer,” the Warden calmly explained to Den, “He is the judge that is to try you.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Lucra glared at the warden before quickly averting his stinging gaze. He obtusely cleared his throat before speaking further, “That, that is correct. I am from the church to…”

  “What!” Den exclaimed in confusion, “This guy is a Judge? Why is he so puny?”

  The church member began to shake his arms in place as his voice scratched, “Don't ignore me!”

  The Warden gazed at Lucra before turning his attention to Den, “It would be in your best interest for you to listen to what Lord Valdeer has to say.”

  Before the prisoner could respond, the room was immediately silenced as Lucra punched Den in the face. Unfazed, Den simply responded, “Why would I listen to a weakling?”

  Lucra trembled as his eyes turned more and more red and angry mumbles escaped his mouth. The Warden glanced at Lucra again before turning to the door, “I will leave you to your business, Lord Valdeer…”

  The Warden walked out as Lucra resumed his beating on Den. After each brutal punch, the prisoner quickly went silent as Lucra's chaotic cackling filled the cell once more. In between beatings, Lucra called out, “Well… the so-called strongest went really quiet, really fast! Hahaha! What happened to all that talk? I guess you really were just a…”

  “Finally he left,” Den said to himself unaffected by Lucra's attacks and completely ignoring him, “He's the only one in this Bastille that is anywhere close to me in strength. I would still beat him, but I'd need to be more careful about it.”

  Lucra screamed once again before grabbing Den's head and pulling him closer so that Lucra could look him in the eye, “You still ignore me even after everything I've said. You must be a very different kind of fool to do something like…”

  Den's eyes shot forward, meeting Lucra's for the first time, “Were you speaking this whole time!” He exclaimed as a mocking laugh escaped his grin.

  Lucra screamed again before punching Den again, except this punch didn't hit his face. The Judge turned pale as his fist got caught by Den's hand. Shortly after blocking the attack, the chain holding Den's arm to the roof fell to the ground with a loud ‘thump’ quickly followed by another… and another… and another.

  Den was free.

  …

  In the bottom floor of the Bastille, the Warden crashed into his quarters while rubbing his temples. His room was spacious and largely empty with only a red desk in the corner and a musket lying against it. There was a large rack of wines against the wall opposite the desk with a large red sofa beside it and a small counter beside that, facing the door. The Warden grabbed a wine glass from the counter and poured him a glass of fine red wine before crashing into the sofa. A few drops of wine escaped his glass onto the sofa, but the Warden didn't mind. That was the reason why he preferred his sofa to be red after all. After a short moment of silence to himself a fair woman with clear skin and long blonde hair strutted into the Warden's quarters. The woman had unblemished skin and bow-shaped lips, blood red from lipstick, and a sharp hourglass figure robed in a luxurious slender gown.

  “Drinking on the job, Jean Pierre?” she asked after sitting beside him, “You must be a very different kind of annoyed today.”

  “Of course I am!” The Warden exclaimed after taking another chug of his drink, “ It's always such a pain when those egotistical, pietistic aristocrats come into my Bastille and do whatever the hell they want!”

  The woman leaned over him, pulling the wine glass closer to her, and took a sip of the Warden's drink, “If the church hears you say that, you'd be in big trouble JP.”

  Jean Pierre handed her his glass, while taking a generous glance at the supple lines hidden behind the gown of his feminine drinking partner before quickly averting his gaze. Turning his attention away from her, he stood up and got a second glass for himself. He rolled his eyes while pouring himself more wine, “Do you think the church scares me, Marie? I am the Warden of the largest Bastille in Veris. Without me, heinous criminals like Fortis Den would be walking the streets!”

  “Oh how dedicated you are! Jean Pierre!” The woman in red chuckled as spilled some of her wine, coating the sofa with another layer of red, “How would Veris function without your leadership and expertise!”

  “Don't flatter me, Woman,” Jean Pierre sighed as he replaced his wine glass with the Half empty wine bottle, “You have never been one to humour others like that. Why are you here?”

  “I am here for him…”

  The tired Warden suddenly froze in place. Quickly sobered up, he placed the wine bottle down as he glanced at his female guest with accusatory eyes, “Why are you looking for Fortis Den…?”

  As the Warden coldy queried, the building shook after a large explosion took place on one of the upper floors.

  “It seems I was too late,” Marie humoured, her smirk unflinching.

  JP remained in place, unmoving, as if he was locked into a staring match with the sly woman before eventually relenting to the chaos of the floors above.

  “This is not over, Marie,” Jean Pierre warned before stealing another sip from the bottle of the earthy wine before forcing the door open into the main corridor. He paced out of his quarters as hordes of guards flooded up the staircase. It was absolutely chaotic as water, or what seemed like water, streamed down the staircase. The building shook again and after a few quick glances at the rabble trying to get to upper floors, JP shook his head at the incompetence of his men and sprinted out of the Bastille to witness the gaping hole peering out from between the clouds at the top of his Bastille. The sky was lit by flames as some flaming debris crashed to the ground. The Warden dropped his head and shut his eyes.

  JP massaged his temples and sighed out, “I really need a drink!”