Kael was taken to the colosseum by Vlad after he had fainted due to the constant pain. The colosseum was a gigantic building, its walls painted red—not by design, but by the countless layers of blood that had seeped into its stones. Blood of slaves, thrown into its pit to die for the amusement of aristocrats who drank and laughed high above.
The gates groaned as they opened, chains rattling with a weight that seemed to echo Kael's own despair. He stirred awake, his body aching as though every nerve had been branded. The roar of the crowd was deafening, a thousand hungry voices calling not for victory, but for carnage.
Vlad's grip was like iron on his shoulder, dragging him forward. "This is where you'll prove your worth," Vlad muttered, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of cruelty and curiosity. "Or die like the rest."
Kael's legs trembled as he stepped into the sand-stained arena. The ground was damp, the stench of iron and decay rising from it. Across the pit, a gate creaked open. From its darkness came not another slave, but a beast massive, snarling, its eyes burning with bloodlust. The crowd erupted, stomping, shouting, demanding a spectacle.
Kael clenched his fists, his mind a storm. He wasn't chosen, he wasn't a warrior, he wasn't even supposed to be here. And yet he had no choice but to survive.
And so began another hell.
Kael was given nothing, although if he had been given anything, the outcome would not have changed. The beast snarling ran toward him, His horn glazing as if seeping energy from the air, and then that beast drilled that horn straight into Kael's chest.
Kael coughed up blood, enriching the ground, and was then lifted up in the air by the monster, whose horn was still stuck between his ribcage.
Kael's vision blurred. His limbs convulsed, not from will, but from the poison coursing through his veins. He couldn't even scream properly; his throat rattled with the bubbling of blood.
With a savage twist of its neck, the beast flung Kael off its horn. His body slammed into the crimson-soaked dirt with a bone-snapping thud. Before he could even draw a breath, the beast stomped down, claws tearing across his shoulder and chest, carving deep trenches of flesh.
The audience roared, drunk on the carnage.
The monster's jaws clamped down next, teeth piercing Kael's arm. With a violent jerk, it tore a chunk of flesh clean away, blood spraying like a fountain. Kael's body convulsed again, pain roaring through his nerves. His fingers twitched helplessly against the earth, nails clawing into the dirt as though trying to crawl away.
But the beast wasn't going to relent. It tried again to chew Kael's head off but failed by a mark
Cracks followed the ground, with a thud.
Before he could even crawl, the monster charged again, its claws gritting through Kael's stomach. He tried to lift his hand, he tried to crawl, but his fingers had become useless due to the constant fertility, it provided the ground.
The beast stomped on his leg, snapping it like dry wood and started to chew it.
THE CHEERS KEPT GOING LOUDER LOUDER AND LOUDER.
MORE FRENZIED.
AND THAT WAS WHEN KAEL UNDERSTOOD, THEY WERE THE MONSTERS. NOT THE BEAST. THE PEOPLE. THOSE CHEERING, LAUGHING, DROOLING ARISTOCRATS IN HUMAN SKIN.
Kael coughed, blood bubbling from his lips, he tried to move whatever was left of his body but failed miserably when the beast jumped only his only left arm which was crushed badly.
The creature raised its other hand and slammed it down, over and over, each strike rattling his body like a ragdoll. His cheek split open, teeth scattered across the ground with each blow. His crushed arm was separated due to the constant brawl.
There was no rhythm to the violence, no pattern. Just raw, mindless brutality. The beast dragged him up by his hair, dangling him like a broken doll, before slamming his skull into the ground again and again until the earth turned dark with his blood.
His vision dimmed. Sounds grew distant. All that remained was pain endless, merciless pain.
Finally, as if bored, the monster hurled him toward the edge of the arena. His limp body crashed into the cold stone barrier before collapsing into the sand, unmoving. Blood pooled beneath him, seeping into the dirt as the nobles roared with laughter.
To them, it wasn't a warrior who had been beaten it was entertainment.
The corpse spasmed once, then fell still. No name was spoken, no record etched. He had never been a man in their eyes, just property, bred for entertainment.
Two guards entered without pause, wielding long iron hooks. They did not bother lifting him; they pierced his ribs and dragged his body, or whatever was left of across the arena floor like butchered meat. Sand clung to torn flesh, streaks of blood painting the ground until workers came with fresh shovelfuls, burying the trail as if erasing his existence.
Beyond the gates, the alley reeked of rot. Piles of discarded bodies already waited war slaves broken, stripped, and left nameless. He was flung atop them with a hollow crash, no he's only torso that was left was thrown, as though he were no more than firewood.
Flies swarmed instantly. Dogs circled, tearing at exposed skin before the carts arrived. By dusk, the heap would be hauled away, burned in bulk like rubbish.
No graves. No rites. No one to remember.
In war, a slave's worth ended the moment his body hit the dirt.
**
"See, Vlad, you failed again. This one also died."
**
The corpses were not buried, only piled like garbage until the stench faded into the air. Children grew up stepping over bones as if they were nothing more than broken twigs. Screams had long stopped mattering—no one came when you cried, no one cared when you begged. In this world, life held no value, and death was just another way to be forgotten.
But this was not his story.The boy who died on the tracks was never our protagonist he was just one of countless nameless souls swallowed by the Crimson Kingdom's cruelty. His end served no glory, no meaning, only a reminder of what that land truly was.
Our story begins far away, in a nation where despair had not yet poisoned every breath, where hope still flickered, however faint.
****
And that's how we wrap up our prologue.
****
AUTHOR'S NOTE:The real story begins now. I know you probably have a few questions, so let me clear things up:
Why start with Kael if he's not the protagonist?Because his tragedy lays the foundation for the world I'm building. His story matters for what's coming next.
Will the gore continue?Not immediately. First, I'll introduce our true MC. But don't relax too much, the brutality will return, and when it does, it'll cut deeper. (Don't worry, I'm not actually a sadist… or am I? 😏)
How dark will this get?The cruelty won't vanish, but the tone will shift for now. Later, you'll see why this world isn't as forgiving as it might first seem.