Grant felt refreshed, as he pulled over a ragged, teal tunic. It was better then nothing, even if it was worn and tattered. The wash bucket laid to the right corner of the room. it had taken two days to get to his cell, but Grant was thankful none the less. He glanced about as he finished tying the string on his tunic.

The cold interior of the dungeon had not changed, the same echo of the water constantly dropping from the sealing, the cold floors, his straw bed, and bard door, his only exit. He knew it to be locked, and pointless to try and escape. The stone walls made him feel more claustrophobic with every waking hour. His wounds had mostly healed, sour but no longer deathly painful. He had a wicked scare on his shoulder from the ax blade, something that would never heal properly.

Grant took a seat on his bed, as moaning could be heard in the dungeon. As if someone had woken the dead. Grant turned his head towards the echoing noise, it was getting louder. Steel, and Iron plate armor could be heard slamming against the floor. Grant knew the sound all too well, two knights were fighting.

Grant stood up gripping his bars on his cell as two figures brushed by, a sword slashing at his bars. The metal rang an awful sound, but the blade stroke home, decapitating the less armored knight.

The body slid against Grants bars, the keys on his belt falling to the ground. Grant stared at the victorious knight, who seemed to look at him through his armor.

"What is going on!" Grant yelled.

The figure didn't respond, just as if there was a hollow suit of armor. Grant backed away from the bars, as another suit of armor just as responsive followed.

Each figure was fully clad in armor, their faces hidden from view. Grant felt an uneasiness about him. Suddenly screams were heard from another cell, as if being tortured.

The two sets of arm placed their arms on the bars trying to Rio it apart, occasionally thrusting their arms in to grab Grant. The man backed away, until he felt the damp wall against his back. What was this? What was happening?

A liquid started falling from the small one-inch wide barred window Grant had. The black ooze dripping down his shoulder like syrup. He glanced up to find a man with pitch black eyes drooling on him. Grant watched as the creature chewed on the iron bars. The knight slowly backed away as the two sets of armor wailed at his cell's bars in from of him.

Grant looked at the keys by the cell. He needed to get out of here. Grant made a mad dash, snatching up the prison keys as each figure of arms slashed at his last known position. Their sword sliding throughout the bars hitting the stone floor. Grant took his opportunity, slamming his bare feet against the flat of the blade, curving the blade out of form. Small blood droplets were seen from his foot, he hadn't made the perfect strike. Cutting his flesh in the steel.

Grant looked at his foot, it was barely a scratch and it stung like a paper cut. He glanced at the suits of armor. They walked tactically back, just wait for Grant to open the door. Grant could stay here, they would a eventually get in or he would starve to death but he could go out to just be bled like a big. Right now, Grant rather die trying, the only advantage he had was his speed, which was not much. He swung the iron bar door open and instantly two long swords came directly at him. Grant leaped back, the blades missing him only by a hair. The suits of armor rushed into the cell, waving the swords to the side. Grant fell to the ground, not strikes missing. He rolled forward out of the cell grabbing the dead soldier's sword.

Grant gripped the blade in his hand until the edge was adjusted to his strike. The two swords came striking at Grant. He caught each strike with the flat of his blade. Grant took his strike, lashing back at the clumsy soldiers. The sword slashed against their solid plate armor, doing little more than pushing them away.

Grant quickly slammed the cell door, shoving the key into the lock. Grant twisted the key, locking both soldiers in the cell. He pulled the key out running up the stairs as they both shook fiercely at the cell door.

Grant stopped, looking at the dead men lain across the floor. Armor on the floor in a complete mess. Swords abd weapons just as much a mess. The room was small, and was used as a entrance and a break room for the knights. The door was closed shut, but signs of an attack where everywhere. Had the Spanish won the war? Grant wondered, the only thing wrong was that he was fighting knights in English armor, the threat looked closer to home. Grant couldn't think about that. He had to make sure Elizabeth was safe, Rick as well.

Grant glanced around the room, mixing and matching armor until it fit him. His armor was mixed and matched, being somewhat impractical, but it was better then nothing, until he could find his own armor set.

It felt awkward wearing oversized or undersized armor, but it was what had. Grant looked at the swords, strapping a hand-and-a-half sword to his back. He tied a long sword around his wast, and picked up a shield. He searched for arrows and a bow, but couldn't find a thing. After he had scavenged what he could, he starred at the door leading out the prison. He knew it would only be worse once he opened the door. The proof of the dead bodies in the prison proved that.

Grant hesitated as he placed his hand on the door nob. It was for Elizabeth, Grant had rarely been scared in his life, this was one if those moments. The door swung open, mist rising from the streets in the early morning, the lights if the city all out. Dead men, women, and children littered every step Grant took. The church bells rang, letting Grant know it was Ten-o'clock. But where was the sun, Grant wondered, staring at the hollow sky.

Suddenly yelling and clashing of steel was heard. Grant looked towards the direction the sound was coming from.