Seven years.
Seven long, rotting years.
Rey had forgotten the sound of freedom. His name echoed only in screams now—screams born of endless torture, of broken bones and violated dignity. Fifty-two children he had fathered, all killed before they could cry. Each one—a fragment of his will—ripped away by Vladis Mortis himself.
"Human essence is unstable," Vladis had said, licking the blood from his fingers after one such execution. "But yours… yours is eternal."
To keep Rey alive, Vladis had replaced his organs—heart, lungs, liver, even his bones—with corrupted parts from monsters. Flesh that healed quickly but burned like poison. Blood that flowed black and thick. It kept him alive, but not truly living.
He couldn't walk properly. His voice cracked when he spoke. His hands trembled even in stillness.
And yet…
Today something was different.
A whisper passed through the guards' conversation. A rare event. Vladis had left the second realm—gone to Realm Four for a matter of "diplomatic extermination," whatever that meant.
The master was gone.
For the first time in years, the chains felt loose.
With trembling hands, Rey gathered what little strength he had. He had spent months carving tiny cracks into his cuffs with a shard of bone. Now, with no one watching—he struck.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
Crack!
The rusted cuff gave way. Blood poured from his wrist, but he felt nothing. Pain was meaningless now.
Then he heard it.
Snarls. Claws scraping the stone.
Monsters. Loyal pets of Vladis. They were blocking every corridor.
Rey limped forward anyway. Every step screamed, but he didn't stop.
"I won't die here," he growled, dragging one foot. "Not like this. Not as your toy."
But before he could reach the upper floor, a sudden gust tore open a side gate—and three female figures stepped in.
Fianna… and the two other attendants who had tormented him for years.
"REY!" Fianna shouted. Her voice was loud—authoritative. "Go back to your room. He'll kill you if you're caught."
Rey stopped.
He turned, smiled bitterly.
His eyes, once soft and warm, were now hollow pits of fury.
"You…" he said softly. "All of you…"
Fianna froze.
"One day," Rey whispered, dragging his mangled foot backward, "I'll kill you all."
None of them moved.
Then Rey turned, grabbed a nearby curtain, tore it down, and with a flick of a nearby oil lamp—set it ablaze.
Flames erupted. Screams echoed behind him.
And before they could reach him—
He hurled himself out the tall window.
Outside, a foul river flowed—dark red, filled with disease and corruption. The Blood Drain. Once used for executions.
He fell.
Into filth.
Into silence.
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