Monster... he really is just a monster," one of the boys whispered, his voice cracking as he finally gave a name to the horror they were all witnessing. The word hung in the stale, damp air of the mines like a death sentence.
"You're a fucking monster! You're not even human!" Emma shouted, her voice trembling with a primal, bone-deep fear. She backed away, her hands shaking, as if the very air around Keruim had turned toxic.
Keruim thought of only three words: I'm not human. He didn't scream them yet. He said it quietly, a soft confession that carried further than any shout in the oppressive silence of the tunnels. Every prisoner heard him. Every heart skipped a beat.
"Yes, you're a fucking monster!" a boy with green hair shouted, his face contorted in a mask of defensive hatred. but it could compare to the boy below him.
Keruim looked up, his gaze locking onto the faces of his attempted killers. His eyes weren't filled with rage; they held a depth of loneliness so vast it made the crowd flinch, as if looking into a grave that would never be filled. "I'm not human... that's a good thing. Humans can't survive in a shit world like this!"
His voice began to rise, a jagged, manic sound. Saliva flew from his mouth as he turned his gaze on the crowd. "Look around you! Do you think any of us are human anymore? We've been stripped, beaten, and buried alive. Monsters... monsters! That's it! We need to become monsters! Humans are insects. Our lives are like twigs—one step, one crack, and the flame is extinguished!"
The crowd watched in paralyzed shock—the ones who had tried to kill him, the ones who watched his bones pierce through his own flesh, and the ones who had turned their backs on his screams, choosing their own survival over a child's life.
"Humans can't kill their loved ones to survive!" Keruim roared, his fingers twitching before they began to claw at his own cheeks. "Humans make bonds that can be broken just like their lives! Humans have emotions that hold them down! Fear... pain... agony... loneliness! HUMANS ARE WEAK! The weak have no right to live. The weak become slaves! THE WEAK BECOME PAWNS! THE WEAK HAVE NO RIGHTS!" he said in a speed his watchers almost couldnt comprehend what he was saying, but they did.
The force of his words seemed to shake his very frame. He slammed his knees into the sand, the impact thudding through the floor of the cavern. Everyone bore witness as he began to carve a smile into his own face with his fingernails.
"Humans are weak... I must not be!" he screeched. He was fighting through a pain ten times worse than any nightmare. He ripped and peeled his own flesh over and over. As his unnatural healing factor knit the skin back together instantly, he simply dug deeper, his nails scraping against the bone of his jaw. Tears streamed down his face—not from sadness, but from the sheer, unadulterated agony of a body that refused to stay broken.
"SEE THIS?"
The crowd looked away, some retching, unable to bear the sight of a twelve-year-old dismantling his own face.
"LOOK AT ME! MONSTER IS WHAT YOU CALL ME! MONSTER IS WHAT I SHALL BECOME!"
Their eyes grew heavy with a new kind of horror. He was a child who barely reached their hips, yet there he was, using his bare nails to tear at his face until the madness took hold. To some, he could have been a son; to others, a grandson. But in the end, they felt only fear as they watched the bloody smile ignite.
"Hahahahaha! WATCH ME!" he shouted
Rip. Slit. Split. "I'M A MONSTER!"
He looked up, and before his face could even heal, they saw it. Through the ribbons of red, they saw the stark white of his skull. Into that bone, he had carved a smile that looked like a devil's mask. The people around him were frozen.
"He's completely insane... Emma, we should get away," someone hissed, their survival instinct finally kicking in.
"Yeah... yeah, we should."
They began to retreat, their eyes never leaving him, terrified he would spring forward and kill them all the moment they turned away.
Huff... huff... huff.
Keruim panted, the air burning in his lungs. Why does it feel like everything hurts three times more? I hate this. These emotions... they are chains. Every time I try to find the key, they yank me back down. They keep telling me I'm human. I'm a slave to everyone but myself.
He touched his cheek, feeling the wetness of the healing tissue. My face... it's already closed. How can I even be human when I heal like this? But why do I still feel the pain? The fire in my fingertips... the ache in the muscles I tore away... the throb in my very skull.
Why will I always be surrounded by pain? I have to intake it all. I have to for my family. They can't see me unhappy. I will be the savior.
His fingers searched the grit of the floor until they found the cold iron of his pickaxe. I have to continue.
Ignoring the hundreds of eyes on him, he stood and struck the orb. Clang. Clang. Clang. He worked with a rhythmic, terrifying focus until the gazes of the others finally drifted away. While he swung, his own words echoed in his mind: "The weak have no rights."
Rights. Weak, I will carve my path into this world. I will not be a slave to these shackles.
"CAGES!" the orc overseer yelled, the sound echoing like a whip crack through the mines.
"I will not be weak," Keruim muttered. As he started to walk back to his cage toward, his eyes caught a dark container on the ground. It was filled with a shimmering, liquid. Without hesitation, he scooped it up, hiding it beneath his rags, careful not to let a single drop touch his skin.
Inside the cage, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of unwashed bodies and fear. He saw them immediately: the Veteran and the man with the eyepatch. Keruim's stomach let out a hollow growl. He hadn't eaten for days because of them—the people who had monopolized the food and treated him like a dog.
He walked to his corner, resting his head on his knees like a dog resting his head on its paws. He sat there for hours, a statue of meat and bone, until the last of the whispers died down and the mines went silent.
Then, his eyes opened. They were darker than the abyss. He stood, gripping the container hidden behind his back.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He walked toward the two men who had broken his spirit. He had once trusted them. They were his light in the dark. He stood over the Veteran, his eyes reflecting an ocean of madness. He thought of his mother being torn apart. He thought of his sister's terrified face. He thought of the little girl choked to death by someone who could have been her father.
The memories spiraled, faster and faster, until the world was nothing but red. He tilted the container. The moment the liquid touched the Veteran's skin, it began to hiss and sizzle.
"AHHHHH! HELP! WHAT THE FUCK?"
The Veteran bolted upright, his screams tearing through the silence. He looked up into those dark, mad eyes. The liquid was melting his legs, turning muscle and bone into a grey, bubbling soup. He was being unmade.
Keruim made sure he didn't miss a single drop. He watched the man beg, just like Keruim had begged for a scrap of meat. He watched the man cry, just like Keruim had cried when he was beaten.
But Keruim didn't cry now. He smiled. He watched the hope vanish as the man's legs melted into slime. The Veteran had no hands left to crawl with, no legs left to run with. Keruim didn't want him to die—not yet. He wanted him to live as a torso, a living buffet for the goblins. he wanted him to suffer for as long as he could.
He dropped the empty container into the mess of melting slimy flesh.
"Please... kill me... please..." the man whimpered.
"No, no, no," Keruim whispered, his voice as cold as the stone around them. "I won't be your savior."