Jake had watched enough magical films in his world to know one thing: once you were branded a slave, your fate was as good as sealed. If he wanted to live he'd need a plan. Fast.
Before his mind could form one, the heavy footfalls of a guard broke the silence. The man approached the cage, a sinister gleam in his eyes. "Time for some entertainment," he muttered coldly.
Without hesitation, he yanked one of the adults from the huddled group. Jake now realized, with growing horror, that both captives appeared male at first glance—but starvation had eroded their bodies, concealing any obvious features. Now, he could see the truth. The one being dragged was a woman.
She didn't resist. Her face wore a hollow expression, eyes void of any spark—broken. Two guards flanked her and led her into the nearby thicket. Then came the sounds: rustling leaves, muffled cries, then moaning. Not the kind born of pleasure. The guards' cruel laughter followed, floating through the trees like poison.
When they returned, the woman limped. One guard slapped her ass hard as she reentered the cage. Her body flinched, but her eyes remained lifeless.
Night deepened. Later, the guards tossed scraps into the cage. "Dinner," one jeered. The food hit the ground with a wet slap. It was meat—strange-smelling, chewy, and wild. Still, Jake had tasted raw human flesh before, so in comparison, this was tolerable.
His hunger dulled, but his mind stayed sharp. Escape. Escape. Escape. The thought circled endlessly.
The guards were brutal, and Jake's body still reeled from hunger and captivity. He knew a wrong move could get him killed, but hopelessness had never deterred him before. He'd broken out of maximum security prisons. This? This was just another cage.
And when faced with hopelessness, there was only one thing a true survivor could do—create opportunity.
"May I take a piss, please?" Jake asked, his voice clear.
Four sets of eyes turned toward him—fellow slaves, all looking as though he'd uttered a forbidden spell. In this world, a slave wasn't even a person. Even ants were granted more dignity. One could avoid stepping an ant but a slave? Beaten for No reason. No one spoke unless ordered. Asking for anything was practically treason.
A guard strolled over, smirking as he studied Jake.
"Well," he sneered, "might be one of the last leaks you ever take in that sorry condition. Why not?"
He laughed, then unlatched the cage and yanked Jake out.
For the first time since arriving in this hellish world, Jake felt the earth beneath his boots. His heart drummed—not from fear, but anticipation. He was shackled at the waist, but his arms and legs were free. They walked into the thicket, darkness swallowing them whole.
The guard stopped and pointed to a tree. "There. Make it quick."
Jake approached, scanning the ground with desperate eyes.
Then he saw it.
Embedded in the bark of the tree, half-covered by moss, was a shard of rusted metal. Jagged. Sharp. Perfect. He slid it free without a sound and tucked it under his armpit, hidden beneath his ragged shirt.
He relieved himself—actually peed. No reason to raise suspicion.
As he returned to the cage, the metal pressed against his skin like a promise.
Tonight, he had a weapon.
And Jake never needed anything more.
...
..
.
Morning crept in like a reluctant guest, cold and pale, with a sky the color of damp parchment. The trees were thin and tall, draped in vines that coiled like serpents, their twisted limbs blotting out most of the sun. Birds chirped once and fell silent, as if the forest itself held its breath.
The slave wagon rattled on, creaking with every rut in the dirt path. Inside, the prisoners stirred in stiff silence. Jake sat with his right hand inside his ragged shirt, fingers curled around the makeshift dagger. He had wrapped a strip of his trousers around the handle—rough fabric to give him grip. Crude, but functional. It wouldn't last long in a real fight, but one well-placed strike didn't need to last.
One chance. That's all he needed.
He kept his face blank, his eyes half-lidded with boredom. Inwardly, his mind was moving at a speed he hadn't felt in years. This wasn't prison. This wasn't the well-monitored, camera-drenched institutions of Earth. This was chaos.
The morning dragged on with the rhythm of hooves and the wheeze of wheels. The road narrowed, hugging the slope of a forested ridge. Moss crept over exposed roots. Strange birds with forked tails flitted above. Even the trees here felt different.
Jake watched everything.
The number of guards, four. Two rode up front. Two flanked the rear. They talked little, cursed often, and occasionally glanced back at the prisoners with eyes full of contempt.
When the sun hit its peak, they halted in a shallow clearing near a narrow stream. A rough barked order later, the cage was doused with cold water from a skin, the only "mercy" offered. The guards sat to eat—thick, greasy meat slabs pulled from iron pots, steam rising like ghosts.
His stomach clenched in protest.
Then, the nearby thicket moved.
One of the horses neighed and stomped. The guards looked up, hands drifting to their weapons.
Then they came.
Six of them. Green-skinned, wiry, and hunched like broken children. Their eyes glowed a sickly yellow. Teeth like needles. They wore patchwork armor stitched from leather, bark, and bones. Each carried jagged blades or crude spears tipped with obsidian shards.
Jake blinked.
He'd seen fantasy movies, sure. Even read about them in a few books during his time. But these weren't cartoon villains. These things stank of blood and rotted meat. One was missing half its jaw. Another had six fingers. They hissed and gurgled in a language Jake didn't understand, yet the intent was unmistakable.
The first goblin leapt at a guard—and was immediately cleaved in half. The blade sang, and black blood sprayed the ground.
Jake's eyes narrowed.
The other guards sprang into motion. One muttered a word, and fire erupted from his hand, engulfing a goblin in a torrent of flames. Another barked an incantation, and jagged spikes of earth shot up, impaling two more creatures mid-charge.
Jake's breath caught—not in fear, but wonder.
Magic.
Real magic. Not tricks. Not illusions.
Then no sooner than it had begun it was over.
Six goblins. Dead. One guard lay twitching, his throat ripped open, blood bubbling from his mouth as his life fled him.
Jake sat perfectly still.
He let the moment settle.
Then smiled.
'Three guards now.' He thought. Indeed the heavens were on his side!