The sun loomed above like a cruel god, casting down its blistering gaze on the damned below. Heat shimmered from the cracked, sun-bleached earth as if the very air wished to escape. Everywhere, slaves moved like ghosts — thin, broken bodies shackled at the ankles and wrists, burdened by monstrous slabs of stone.
Nullen stumbled forward under the weight of his load, sweat blinding him, the chain at his ankles dragging and biting into his flesh. The stone weighed at least a hundred and twenty pounds — jagged, sharp, and unbalanced. Each step jostled his bones. Each breath stung like swallowing embers. The skin at his shoulders had long since peeled and cracked.
He was just one among hundreds in this moving graveyard of men and women — some barely past childhood, others dragging their dying breath like it was a sin to still live.
When he finally reached the drop zone, he let go. The stone thudded against others, and dust exploded into the air, coating his already grimy skin. He dropped to his knees, the shackles clinking as they pulled tight.
"Break. Five minutes," a guard barked, voice like rusted iron.
Nullen collapsed where he stood, gasping. He hadn't eaten in over a day. His lips were parched, cracked open and dry. His stomach felt like it was digesting itself. The taste of iron lingered in his mouth — from blood or metal, he didn't know.
But something kept him alert.
He wasn't like the others—not entirely. Something pulled at the back of his mind. Not a memory, but an itch behind his eyes, like trying to remember a dream just out of reach.
And then he saw it.
Floating in the far distance, just visible over a rise in the rocky land, was a ruin that hovered above the earth. A castle — its walls broken, its towers jagged like bone. It hovered above the horizon, casting a faint shadow over the wastes. Spires twisted into the sky like frozen screams.
It was familiar.
He stared.
A voice beside him croaked, "Beautiful, ain't it?"
Nullen turned. An older man sat beside him, hunched and withered, eyes sunk deep into his skull. Greying, dirty hair clung to his scalp. His voice rasped like paper torn in the wind.
Nullen asked quietly, "What is that place?"
The man coughed violently, then spat into the dirt. "Old fortress. Some say it was built for war. Before your time. Before mine. They say a king once ruled from there, though he could defy the gods."
A chill slithered down Nullen's spine. That word again. King.
He stood up slowly, eyes locked on the distant floating ruin.
"Where are you going?" the man asked, voice thick with fear.
But Nullen didn't respond. The castle called to him. It wasn't a voice. It wasn't a memory. It was something deeper — like gravity in his soul.
Slaves next to him groaned as the chain tugged. Bound to Nullen, they followed unwillingly. Their steps were slow, wary. The air around them felt heavier, as though the castle was pressing down even from a distance.
They didn't get far.
"HEY! You fucking, shit-eating bastard!"
A voice cracked across the valley like thunder.
Nullen froze. The slaves stopped. The chains pulled taut.
A guard stomped toward them — massive, armor-clad, his skin inked with tribal brands and his face twisted into a sneer of contempt. His eyes gleamed with cruelty, and a wooden club with iron nails hung from his belt.
"You dumb pigs think you get to wander off?!" the guard shouted, spittle flying.
Nullen instinctively bowed his head. It felt like muscle memory — obedience drilled into this body. But some part of him flared in protest.
The guard grabbed Nullen by the chains and yanked hard, sending him sprawling into the dust.
"You lookin' for a reason to die early, slave?" the guard snarled.
He raised the whip and brought it down.
Crack.
It lashed across Nullen's back. Blood beaded instantly.
Crack. Another blow. Then a third. Nullen's body jerked slightly, but he didn't cry out.
He didn't even feel it.
There was no pain.
The guard paused, confused. "You deaf or dead?"
Another whip. This time across his face.
Still nothing.
Nullen slowly raised his eyes, breathing heavily, expression unreadable.
"What the… What the hell are you?"
The guard growled, stepping back, unnerved.
"Get the Watchers! Tell the Lower Gods we need Jack the Grinder. NOW!"
The slaves gasped in unison. Some whispered prayers. Others began to weep.
"J-Jack…?" Nullen muttered.
He didn't get an answer.
Only a distant boom, followed by another. Then a third.
The Earth began to quake.
From the western pass, a shadow emerged — larger than any creature Nullen had ever seen.
Jack the Grinder.
It was not a beast. It was not a machine. It was something else.
It had the head of an armored elephant, but its tusks were serrated like swords. Its body, scaled and plated, shimmered with volcanic heat, parts of it glowing with internal fire. Its back was covered in bone ridges, spines of metal and ash. Its legs cracked the earth beneath each step.
The very wind around it seemed to burn.
It roared — a horrible, bone-rattling sound. Flames spewed from its mouth. Its eyes were pits of molten gold.
Nullen stared.
"Move," someone whispered in terror.
But he couldn't.
The thing stormed toward him.
The guard grinned now. "You'll scream, freak. One way or another."
Jack roared and lunged.
The world tilted.
Its foot came crashing down. The size of a boulder. The force of a mountain.
Nullen raised his hand — not in defense, but reflex.
BOOM.
The impact struck.
The ground cracked. A shockwave tore outward. Rocks flew. Dust erupted.
And when it settled—
Nullen stood. Half-buried. His chains snapped. His rags were torn.
But alive.
Untouched.
He looked at his hand — it was bleeding. But whole. His ribs weren't broken. His skull hadn't been caved in. The dust around him seemed to avoid his skin, as though even the earth wasn't sure he belonged to it.
Jack growled, reared back, and brought its foot down again.
BOOM.
Still, Nullen survived.
The third stomp. Then the fourth.
And still… nothing.
Nullen collapsed to a knee, gasping, but alive.
The guard stepped back. "What… what ARE you?"
Around them, the slaves began to rise.
One began to clap. Slowly. Cautiously.
Another joined.
Then more.
Soon, dozens of shackled slaves were applauding.
Not out of joy. But out of awe. Of disbelief.
A whisper passed through them.
"...He can't die."
"...He lived through Jack."
"...He's not just a slave…"
The guard cursed and turned to flee.
Nullen rose.
The fire in Jack's mouth faded.
Its gaze locked with his, not in rage.
But in confusion.
Even the beast could sense something wasn't right.
Nullen looked back at the floating castle. Its spires shimmered like memories lost in time.