Kael awoke in a cold, damp cell, his wrists bound by rusted manacles that bit into his flesh. The stench of blood, sweat, and excrement clung to the air, thick enough to choke on. Around him, instruments of torment lined the walls—rusted blades, blood-stained pincers, and jagged hooks glinting in the eerie glow of flickering light orbs embedded in the ceiling.
Across the room, a hunched figure sat sharpening an array of knives, his laughter a high-pitched, squealing sound—like a rat caught in a trap. The man was grotesquely rotund, his back twisted into a permanent hunch, one arm replaced by a crude metal claw, the other grafted with something unnaturally sinewy. His skin was pockmarked with black splotches, his face a nightmare of asymmetry—one bulging, crimson eye dwarfing the other, his incisors elongated into yellowed fangs that jutted past his lips.
"Finally awake," the creature rasped, his voice a nails-on-stone screech. "Master very mad. He not like thieves who take his things, you know?" He turned, revealing a stubby tail that twitched behind him—a beastman, warped and malformed. In his metal claw, a scalpel glinted, catching the dim light.
"But me happy," he giggled, licking his cracked lips. "Mean me get new toy."
Kael's breath hitched. His clothes had been stripped away, tossed in a filthy heap beside his only possession—the strange crystal he always carried. He yanked against the chains, but they held fast, the iron biting deeper with every desperate twist.
"Not yet, Gaston."
A new voice. Smooth. Amused.
Kael's head snapped toward the shadows—and his blood turned to ice.
Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, was the same man who had broken him hours before. Not a fight. A slaughter. The memory sent tremors through Kael's body, his muscles locking in primal terror. The man smirked at the reaction.
"You've got guts, kid," he drawled. "Trying to steal from nobility? Bold. Stupid, but bold." He chuckled, stepping forward. "Shame we'll have to cut those guts out soon."
"Who… who are you?" Kael croaked.
"Doesn't matter," the man—Sven—shrugged. "Just know you picked the worst damn night to rob that mansion." He tilted his head, listening. "Baron's on his way. He'll decide your fate. Though…" A cruel grin split his face. "You fought well for a non-Awakened. Maybe if you'd had a spark of power, you'd have stood a chance."
Footsteps echoed down the stairwell. Voices.
"Ah. Speak of the devil."
The cell door groaned open, and in waddled a man drowning in opulence—gold chains clinking around his neck, rings squeezing his sausage-like fingers, his silk robes straining over a swollen belly. The Baron stood at a pitiful 5'3", his jowly face twisted in smug disdain as he surveyed Kael like a bug under his boot.
"GASTON!"the Baron barked."Open this door at once! I want to see the fool who dared cross me!"
The beastman scrambled to obey, bowing so low his nose nearly scraped the floor. "MASTER!" he squealed in reverence.
Sven stepped forward, arms crossed. "Here's your thief. Now, about my payment…"
"Yes, yes, the contract," the Baron waved a dismissive hand. "You'll get your coin, Sven." Then his piggish eyes locked onto Kael, narrowing with venomous delight.
"Can't believe that rat Feng was right," the Baron sneered. "The Tigers thought they could steal from me? After my mercy? And they send a powerless whelp?" He let out a wet laugh. "Sven, after this, exterminate them. I'll pay extra."
Kael's stomach dropped.
Feng Yuan. That backstabbing bastard. He'd been working with the Baron all along. This wasn't a job—it was a death sentence. A setup from the start.
For a fleeting moment, he considered confessing Feng's betrayal—but no. The Baron would never believe him over his own informant. He was trapped. Doomed.
"And what do we do with this one?" Sven asked, grinning.
The Baron's lips curled into a sadistic smile. "Torture him, Gaston. Make it slow. Make it scream."
Gaston's giggle was the last thing Kael heard before the scalpel flashed toward him.