While the Horned Guard choked and wallowed, a single soul which had been trying to move a thorned brick by itself turned to look, hands and chest oozing blood. Its formless face wasn't capable of demonstrating much emotion, but the erratic movements, its hunched posture, and the way its back pressed against thorns despite the pain it felt all screamed a horrible terror.

Looking to its left, the spirit saw its fellows in the cage, some cut in half and rolling on the ground. It was a rusty, bladed prison. To the glowing soul's right, the monster coughed and choked, guttural wheezing coming from lopsided jaws as blood and spittle oozed onto the ground. Raising its small, bleeding hands, the form realized it couldn't run. The cage was against a large, stone cliff face, and the tiny soul was trapped between the beast, the cliff, and the razor-bladed stones blocking the way.

Heat, pain, fear.

The spirit felt nothing else since it had been... here. Wherever here was. There was no time to think, no time to understand what was happening. A demon kneeled against the hot stone floor, steaming blood from the spirit's fellows coating its gnarled jaws and bulging stomach. Someone who could think would call this place hell, but for the spirit there weren't thoughts, not like that. The spirit only knew that it was afraid. It was the same fear as a dog that had been beaten and neglected, abused and forced to fight. And the owner was lying on the ground, choking on his own gluttony.

Somewhere deep inside the soft, glowing form of the spirit, something snapped. It would have yelled if it was able, not a battle cry but the pained scream of a wounded animal, fighting for its life. Hunched, 'face' twisted as much as it could, the soul raced across the floor, blood streaming from its chest, back, hands before reaching the stomach of the horned guard, bouncing off of the ground. With the fury of a cornered wolf, the spirit clawed and bit and tore at the two staples within its reach on the stomach of the beast. They were the easiest handholds on the creature, and the form of dead spirits seemed to glow within the fissure the metal held shut. There was no anger, no rage, no bloodlust. Only the cold, hard grip of terror in the spirit's heart of hearts drove it to seize one of the staples, jerking and twisting and pulling with all its might, both feet braced against the rolls of fat bubbling over the Guard's lower garments.

Distantly, the intelligent part of the spirit recognized the other souls were watching, but there was no hope that they would join it. It had no time for hope right now. There was only fear, twisting its heart and forcing it to act, blood and sweat from the beast pouring over the spirit, tears trailing from the small form's wild eyes.