A Colosseum.
Steven repeated the word in his head as he followed behind the two guards, his footsteps heavy and uneven as he walked barefoot across the cold, rough ground of the narrow passageway. Every step sent a dull ache through the soles of his feet, the stone beneath them jagged and unforgiving, as though the corridor itself despised those forced to walk it.
As he trailed behind the two scruffy guards, Steven made sure to take careful mental notes of his surroundings. He was moving through a long vicinity lined with iron cages, no different from the one he had previously been kept in. Inside them were people—at most two prisoners per cell—watching silently through rusted bars.
Many of them were just like him: skinny, malnourished, their skin clinging to bone as if it might tear apart at any moment. Others, however, looked surprisingly well taken care of, their bodies fuller, eyes sharper, their posture not yet broken. Still, to Steven, everything was beginning to make sense—the place he was in, the suffocating atmosphere that weighed on the air like rot.
This was a prison.
A prison where gladiators—or in their case, prisoners—were kept solely to fight in a Colosseum.
But for what purpose?
Steven frowned inwardly, his thoughts spiraling. Why am I meant to be fighting?
The question barely settled before a translucent system notification materialized before his face, its sudden appearance making his steps falter.
{Would you like to integrate the memories of Rat into yours}
Steven pondered the option for a brief moment. He had no idea what the consequences would be, no clear understanding of what kind of damage—or benefit—this integration could bring. But if he accepted, he would surely gain clarity about where he was and why he had been dragged into this hell, instead of drowning in endless second guesses.
After a short deliberation, he decided to accept.
Another message immediately appeared.
{Note: This might affect your usual personality}
Steven froze mid-step.
He took his time considering the warning, his thoughts sharpening. Affect my personality how? The uncertainty gnawed at him, far more unsettling than physical pain. He had no idea how severe this effect could be, or if it would cost him something irreversible.
Still, he exhaled slowly.
Even if it meant a few psychological fractures, it was better than being blindsided by more surprises from the Fallen Realm. Ignorance here was far more fatal.
He accepted.
In the very next second, it was as though all strength was violently ripped from his body. Steven staggered, his legs giving way beneath him as he collapsed face-first onto the stone floor. His body slammed down with a brutal thud, like something being shut off and restarted all at once.
The guards ahead halted and turned around, their faces etched with exhaustion and irritation.
"You stupid brat!" one of them spat, his voice dripping with spite. "Who gave you the audacity to take leisure on our watch?!"
Without waiting for a response, the guard drove his boot into Steven's gut. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, forcing a harsh gasp as he rolled onto his side, clutching his stomach.
Still, he didn't rise.
That only worsened their mood.
The second guard approached and stomped down hard on Steven's head, his heel grinding briefly against his skull.
"Come on," the man muttered mockingly. "You have to at least be good entertainment. Don't tell me you're calling it quits already."
He left his foot pressing against Steven's head for a moment longer before stepping back. Both guards stared down at the boy as he weakly struggled, their eyes filled with pure disgust. This time, they didn't strike him again. They simply waited.
Slowly, Steven pushed himself up, ignoring the sharp pain radiating through his body. When he finally stood, his head instinctively bowed toward the ground, his posture empty and hollow.
Then he spoke.
"That fucking hurts, you bastard."
The guards frowned.
"Oh? Angry, are we, Rat?" one of them sneered. "That's the kind of fire we need for your performance today."
He grabbed Steven by the hair and shoved him forward, forcing him to move ahead of them.
Steven didn't resist. In his current condition, even one guard was beyond him—let alone two. Instead, he followed along, steadying his breathing as he walked.
Inside his mind, he searched for what had changed.
The first thing he noticed was the weight. His thoughts felt heavier, denser. When he thought of this place now, it carried meaning—symbolism—as though it were a long-lost home clawing its way back into him.
Without a doubt, this was Rat's influence.
{You have successfully integrated with The Prisoner Rat}
{Memories have been triggered}
{Name of vicinity: The Depths of Hell}
{Description: The poor, wretched insects of society have been given only one use—entertainment. There is no other reason for the poor to live but to amuse the rich. For that reason, immortality will only be awarded to those that serve the gods well.}
Steven sank deeper into thought as the description settled in his mind.
It made sense now.
With Rat's consciousness bleeding into his own, understanding came naturally. These people were the poorest of their era—discarded, forgotten, starved. Some had failed to make ends meet. Others had nothing left to live for. Many were orphaned. Some had been driven mad by hunger, forced to eat one another just to survive—just like the crazed old man who had tried to devour Steven.
These were the unwanted.
Still, even if they were the lowest fraction of society, why were they here? Why were they treated worse than animals, forced to fight to entertain others who were no different from them at their core?
And even then, their condition only worsened.
If they were entertainment, shouldn't they at least be fed properly? Paid? Given passable accommodations?
But no.
None of that existed here.
It was as if they had been conditioned—brainwashed—into accepting their fate as dogs.
Steven tried digging deeper into Rat's memories, searching for answers, even fragments.
There were none, the memories remained vague, incomplete. At this His jaw tightened.
This world was truly macabre.
Of all the realms he could have awakened in, it had to be this one—and not even as a powerful figure, but as a poverty-stricken youth who had committed suicide by hanging, promising an undead old man he could feast on his corpse afterward.
Twisted.
Grimly so.
Steven came to an abrupt stop as he reached the end of the tunnel. A massive metallic wall loomed before him, its surface slick and stained, the stench of blood and rotting flesh seeping through the seams and assaulting his senses.
Only then did he realize he had already left the prison depths.
Instinctively, he turned toward the side of the chamber where a large shack stood, constructed from polished wood. Inside it were rows upon rows of weapons—some freshly cleaned and gleaming, others still bearing dried blood and scraps of flesh.
The sight filled him with a gnawing dread that felt disturbingly nostalgic.
They weren't master-crafted weapons, but they were more than sufficient to end a life quickly.
Steven glanced back at the guards. The same men who had tormented him earlier now stood motionless, eyes locked on the metal wall as if awaiting a signal.
His attention returned to the shack.
He approached it, his stomach tightening, and began scanning its contents.
First, he chose armor—a light chest plate and a pair of gauntlets. He strapped them on carefully, making sure each fastening was secure. He resisted the urge to equip more. Heavy armor would slow him down.
Agility had always been his strength.
He moved to the weapons next.
Swords. Spears. Bows. Halberds. Flails. Maces. Even stranger, more twisted choices lay among them.
After a moment of searching, his hand stopped.
Daggers.
He picked up a pair, tested their balance, then sheathed them and strapped them to his waist. Satisfied, he stepped back into the center of the passage, facing the iron door.
"Prisoner ready!" the two guards shouted in unison.
Gruuck! Gruuck!
The metallic wall trembled violently, a low green shimmer spreading across its surface as it slowly reeled upward. Light from the arena beyond crept toward Steven's feet, pushing the darkness away and ushering him forward into whatever awaited him next.
//Author's note//
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