The monster carried Marco through a rats nest of twisting and forking tunnels. He tried to memorise which way he had come, so if he found a way out he could escape, but it was impossible. Finally he just resorted to attacking the fist again. The monster didn't even seem to notice.

They came to a jolting halt after walking for what felt like half an hour, outside an incredibly dingy pair of double doors. Flames hung in brass brackets on either side of them, and the doors themselves were thick, heavy metal. There were no windows in them, not even barred ones.

With it's free hand, the monster pulled open one of the doors. It groaned in protest and had to be almost dragged along the ground to get enough room between the two doors for the monster to throw Marco into the dungeon.

He landed heavily and skidded along the stone floor, hitting the wall behind him. Groaning, he got to his feet and sprinted to the doors, just as they were slammed shut in his face. Darkness engulfed him and he heard an ominous clunking of a lock and key clicking shut.

Marco stared around, his eyes wide but seeing nothing. The pitch of the blackness pressed on his eyes. He couldn't even see his own hand in front of his face. He began running his hands carefully over the walls, trying to gauge what the dungeon held and how big it was.

After a while Marco sat down, dejected. All he had received from his investigations was a deep cut on his palm from a jagged rock and the knowledge that the tiny dungeon held absolutely nothing. No food, no water, no blankets or straw, not even chains or shackles to keep him entertainmed.

Marco sighed and wondered how long he had until he died of thirst. He hoped he was killed before this happened, because if someone came to the dungeon planning on executing him, he might have a chance to escape, or at least the chance to fight back. Here, he could do and see nothing. He was starting to feel a little uneasy as he knew that if he wasn't truly alone in here, he wouldn't know about it until something touched him.

Shuddering, he brought his knees up to his chest and hugged them, trying to make himself as small as possible. It was really cold in the stone dungeon. He missed his red hoodie and began to rub his arms with his hands, but then he could feel blood from his cut wiped over his skin and he stopped.

He wished he had some form of light. Even a pin prick would do to reassure him. But there was none. Marco remained sat hunched, hugging his knees and with his chin on his chest, shivering, for five whole hours. He didn't move, not even to stretch his legs. He just sat. He didn't fall asleep- in fact, he was addament to stay alert in case someone entered. But no one did.

Was this Toffee's grand scheme of his execution? Leave him to rot in a tiny, pitch black dungeon? Marco scoffed. Who was he kidding? The lizard had probably already forgotten about him. He might as well leave him to starve here. He had bigger fish to fry, Marco supposed. Killing off a pesky human was too easy when neglecting them for a couple of weeks would have the same effect.

Marco sighed deeply and his stomach rumbled. He had no way to know how long he'd been in here, no way to know what time of day it was. He tried to keep his tears at bay and held onto the only hope he had: unless Toffee had been lying, (which would not surprise Marco,) Star was safe and unhurt, and despite what happened to him, that was what really mattered.