Audren and Woody moved down the pale corridor, murals sliding past like slow, painted memories. Audren glanced up at the vaulted ceiling and snorted. "Crazy how we never saw this crap before."
Woody shuffled beside her, painted joints creaking. "W-Well, most likely they used cloaking magic or something to hide its presence and appearance."
Audren's grin was sharp. "Good thing nothing can hide from Patras' dream eyes."
Rows of knights in Kalhalla's red-and-white plate lined the hallway; their helms were tucked under bowed arms and their knees hit the stone in a chorus the moment Audren passed. The click of armor filled the air.
"Stand the hell up," Audren snapped, one hand lifting her scepter as if to punctuate the order. "I hate when people bow to me."
'It's gross.'
The knights did not move. One of them, younger, his jaw tight, said quietly, "Your grace—standing is dishonorable while the queen walks among us."
Audren rolled her eyes and took two steps ahead, murmuring silently to herself, "Hmph. I'm not even queen yet."
Woody whispered, "H-How do you think you're gonna get a meeting with Myrrvindraal if they ban other races besides beast-kin? They eat humans that even step in or are around their borders!"
She kept walking, voice casual and dangerous. "I'll go alone and stomp on them if need be. Doesn't matter if Myrrvindraal are racist bastards, we'll walk in like we own the place. They know how strong my magic is; trying to fight me in the middle of their kingdom won't go well for them. Especially with my title, they'll hesitate despite their traditions. I know they've heard of me. Either way, I'll blast that prison to hell to get our summon. Talking first cuts down the chance of more enemies later."
Woody's painted face went even more stiff than it already was. "H-How e-exactly will you convince a bunch of cannibals to work with you?"
Audren's grin widened, teeth bright. "Don't worry. I got it handled. Just be on standby."
"And what about the council?"
"They won't know a thing. And I won't tell them until this is successful. No matter what the laws of Kalhalla are, it still pisses me off that I'm seen as irresponsible and ignorant. Maybe I am, but that doesn't mean I like the feeling. They make it SUPER obvious that I don't know anything. Would you like it if you sat in a room full of old people and you felt like you were walking on glass? Like you don't belong? Like you're too dumb?"
"I-I guess not…"
"Right."
They passed through a busy wing where clerks and stewards hurried with petition scrolls. Soldiers peered in from an armory alcove. The palace thrummed like a living thing.
Woody shuffled a step closer, voice small. "A-And if things go w-wrong?"
Audren's laugh was brittle. "Ugh, such a fucking worry stick, aren't you? If anything goes wrong, or if they try to kick my ass first, I'll have precautions. We won't make an enemy out of Myrrvindraal, if they force our hand, I'll wipe their kingdom off the map. Stroheim is a nest of necromancers and cursed-artifact junkies. They're relentless; they'll die and come back as many times as it takes until they land a brutal blow. We don't want that and a bunch of racist, cannibal beast-people on our heels. We move fast, hit hard. It'll take us a few hours to reach the border. And I'll speak with everyone first. I've got a plan."
Her steps slowed; the hallway's light caught the edge of her scepter and painted her profile in bright streaks. She thought without moving her lips, 'They expect me to be this great queen, right? I'm always bitching about not being in control. I'll control this, with or without the council's say.'
A steward hurried past, dropping a stack of rolls; a pageboy trailed after with news for the armory captain. Somewhere down a side corridor an apprentice laughed too loud, the sound bright and careless. Audren's mouth curled at the sound like a promise.
"Okay, then. No worries." Woody said, voice thin but steady. "I'll be—uh—standing by."
Audren flung him a look that was serious. "Don't get in the way. You're more useful alive than decorative. Only jump in when you feel like it. I don't think you're dumb if Patras made you."
They walked on, the palace opening before them like a map of obligations and danger. The corridors swallowed their footsteps, and the city outside waited — loud, hungry, and already weaving plans of its own.
….
The prison was a cathedral of rot and iron. Damp air hung thick with mildew and the faint metallic sting of blood, torchlight leaking through lattices of rusted bars, illuminating hundreds of prisoners drifting like ghosts through their daily misery. The chamber stretched far beyond what the eye could drink in—a cathedral-sized dungeon of stacked cells, stairways of chained steel, and dripping stone arches. Chains hung from the ceiling like dead vines, and every neck bore the same curse: a black iron collar carved with golden runes that glimmered faintly whenever someone spoke too loud or moved too suddenly.
The rumor went that anyone who dared cast a spell while bound by one would die screaming as the collar grew spikes inward, feeding on their blood until silence was restored.
Ragged brown furs hung off the prisoners' backs, reeking of sweat and old rain, and across the hall patrolled Stroheim knights in serrated armor of black and brown, each plate lined with cursed etchings, their blades and shields grafted with demonic bones that pulsed faintly under the torchlight.
The air cracked suddenly with a scream, one prisoner, trembling with rage during an argument, lifted his hand to conjure a spark. The runes on his collar flared golden; spikes burst outward and inward all at once. The man's throat shredded open in a wet explosion, blood splattering against the walls, and his body hit the floor twitching.
The hall fell silent, save for the hiss of torches. Two knights marched over, hooked their gauntlets under the corpse's arms, and dragged him away, boots scraping through the puddle he left.
A few prisoners near the wall murmured among themselves.
"Well that sucks."
"I always wanted to see how the collars work."
"You didn't see the guy this morning?"
"I was too busy crying to myself, thank you. I just wanna get outta here."
In another corner, by the dripping wall where chains dangled like ornaments, a smaller group spoke quietly.
"This is one of those times I wish that brain would come and get us."
"Tch. Stroheim would love that thing ruling over them again. I heard there were idiots who tried singing to it until their heads popped."
"Let me guess, they kept doing it? Stroheim's insane. Still trying to summon godly favor like back in the wars."
"Yeah."
"Hey, look at the brat over there. Instantly went to talk the ear off that other kid. That wanna-be brave kid. Chess was his name?"
Their gazes slid toward Cainan, speaking animatedly with a heavyset man named Chess, whose curly black hair and jittery dark blue eyes and freckles gave him the look of someone who hadn't known sleep in years.
"So wait," Chess said, wide-eyed, "you're telling me some galaxy man threw you through a magic portal and you landed here unconscious, and when you woke up, bam, collar and all?"
"Yes!" Cainan threw his hands up. "Finally! You're catching on. I've had enough of being locked up my whole life—even back in my old world. Not staying long in this shithole. Might have to use you as a hostage or something. You don't mind, do you? Great."
Chess waved his hands frantically. "Wait! Of course I mind! I don't deserve that type of treatment! I don't fight! I'm not a warrior! I'm not anything!"
Cainan tilted his head, squinting. "Then why are you in here? Aren't you dangerous?"
Chess lowered his voice. "No. Stroheim sends their Primarchs across the continent to kidnap people. This prison's got four floors. Each one holds stronger prisoners than the last; the worst of us are at the bottom."
"Dangerous warriors, huh?" Cainan grinned. "Then this so-called Primarch must be one hell of a guy. Nobody dares mess with him?"
"No one," Chess said. "They're some of the strongest magic users alive. They forge cursed artifacts through rituals and merge with them for power. Even if Kalhalla or another kingdom destroyed their capital, Stroheim would be ready for war again the next day."
Cainan gasped in exaggerated disbelief. "Impossible!"
"It's true," Chess muttered. "They know how the Brain operates, how strong it is. Like everyone else does. They think, one day, it'll consume everything. The Brain and its Seraphs will control reality itself."
Cainan blinked. "What the hell's a Seraph? I'm new here."
"Since you claimed you earlier that you've seen the brain, and if you've seen the Brain and lived," Chess replied, "but there's usually these red humanoids—"
"Oh yeah," Cainan interrupted, snapping his fingers. "Those creepy things with halos and wings and eyes everywhere. Got it."
Chess nodded. "And since King Bastion of Kalhalla claimed he would destroy it with the Rune of Death, his sealing during the last battle changed everything. No one knows how he got sealed, maybe that's the cost of using the Rune of Death, maybe the king of Stroheim did it, no one knows. The mysteries of this world since the brain came is endless."
"Who's the king of Stroheim?"
"His identity and name is yet to be revealed."
Cainan frowned. "Yet to be revealed? He didn't show up when Bastarddon was there?"
Chess sighed, rubbing his forehead. "His name's Bastion, not Bastarddon. People respect him; Bastion led thousands of knights against kingdoms who wanted the Rune of Death to win the Wars faster and to claim the shards of runes. If someone mastered it, or had a full rune, they could wipe entire nations in a blink. But Bastion never abused it, he used it only to defend, not destroy—"
"You think I care about some old man?" Cainan cut him off. "I don't. Stop humping his legacy so hard. Anyway, once I'm king of Kalhalla, I'll deal with these pests myself. Piece of cake. I just wanted to know who the king of Stroheim was so I can get rid of him later, good to have some intel on him instead of none at all."
Chess stared at him. A few prisoners nearby began to smirk, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.
"What?" Cainan said, eyes narrowing. "Why are they laughing?"
"You?" one prisoner snorted. "Become King of Kalhalla?"
"Haha! You don't look that strong, kid."
"You'd have to marry Queen Audren. She hates everyone."
"A random buck wanting to be king? Just turn my collar on now."
"And you've got girl hair!"
Cainan scoffed loudly, jumping up on the stone. "Damn all of you! I'll be king and have all the riches and glory once I get out of here, watch! I'll make all of you rub my horse's ass cheeks for one gold a day!"
The crowd blinked.
"…That's not bad."
"One gold a day? I'd do that."
"Sign me up to this fantasy job! Want me to wank the horse too?" one cackled.
Cainan shouted, "No! You're not supposed to enjoy it!"
Chess stared at Cainan, thinking, 'He doesn't even know how money works here… is he really not from this world?'
Then the laughter ebbed way like ocean water. The crowd shifted as a wall of muscle approached, a group of hulking inmates, each scarred and tattooed, and at their head a giant bald man with a bushy beard and red markings carved across his face. His eyes burned like furnace coals, and even the loudmouths stepped aside when his shadow fell across them. He stopped in front of Cainan, voice low and rumbling.
"Hey, buck," he said, cracking his knuckles. "You're in my seat."
Cainan tilted his head at the mountain of a man standing over him, unfazed. "If it's yours," he said flatly, "why aren't you sitting in it? That means it's mine."
The crowd went quiet. He stood and began inspecting the stone with exaggerated curiosity—kneeling, tapping the surface, even peering underneath as if searching for buried treasure. "Hm," he muttered. "I don't see your name on it either. So fuck off."
The bald, tattooed prisoner's brow twitched. "You got a smart mouth on you, kid. Especially for being on the third floor of this dump."
"You seem real comfortable here to be talking like that," Cainan replied, crossing his arms.
The man grinned, teeth yellow and chipped. "Primarch Valor lets the strong do whatever they want. Hunt beasts for him outside, come back alive, maybe he promotes you to the bottom floor. If he likes you, you join Stroheim and become a Primarch. If not, you die."
Cainan smirked. "And you're okay with that? Geez, what's wrong with you people? First, we got this chubby guy over here worshiping some dead king of Kalhalla, and now you're wagging your tail to be someone's pet weapon. I hate that."
His grin faltered for a second. The words slipped out raw, he hated being used, trained, and pushed to kill, the echo of his parents' faces flickering across his mind like scars reopening. He clenched his jaw, shaking it off.
The prisoner shrugged. "What choice do we got? Once they got you, you're done. Whatever life you had before, it's gone. You accept it, or you break. No one's gonna find us in this shithole, it's cloaked.
The room went still. Some nodded in bitter agreement, others looked away, unwilling to face the truth.
The man's eyes narrowed. "I could get rid of you right here. Earn some favor with Valor before my next Hunt. What if what you say is the truth? Gotta be something with it, right? Kalhalla is in need of a king, and you say you came from somewhere else earlier, so you may be telling the truth. Don't worry, I was listening. The only way to survive this, is to go along with it. don't plan to die here. I won't!"
Cainan's eyes sharpened.
'So that's what it's called. The Hunt.' He thought, watching the crowd's reaction. 'This Valor guy makes prisoners hunt beasts out in the world and proving strength in here to earn a place in Stroheim's army. Another cult of broken fools worshiping their captor.'
He felt the pit in his chest churn.
'I won't accept any of it. I'm done being used. Every time I stay still, bad luck catches me. So I keep moving, keep running, keep fighting…anything to outrun the next collapse.'
He smirked. "Go ahead then. Earn your spot to jack off Valor. Maybe you can let your friends watch."
A few inmates snorted, backing away as the big man cracked his knuckles. "You really think you can take all of us?"
Before Cainan could answer, Chess stumbled forward. "G-Guys, we don't need to—"
The bald prisoner swung his arm like a hammer. The backhand crashed into Chess's jaw, sending him flying into the wall with a sickening thud. Blood smeared across the stone.
Chess groaned, pushing himself up on trembling legs, coughing red.
'Cainan was the only one who ever talked to me,' he thought. 'Even if he dumped all his shit on me. No one else cared that I was here. I can't let him die. I won't have anyone to talk to.'
He staggered forward, fists raised. "Fight me if you wanna fight so bad!"
The tattooed man scoffed. "What? I won't get merit fighting you."
"That's probably why I'm in here," Chess said through a shaky grin. "Defending people over and over, getting beat down for it. I kept taking risks to stop being scared of everything. I still suck at it, but I'm trying. I'm not a fighter, but I try to be. So I'm taking another risk now. I won't let you pick on someone smaller, it's unfair!"
The big man turned to his ally. "Shut him up. People that brave and stupid at the same time get used as eager meat shields. I'll deal with braid-boy myself."
The thug lunged. Chess ducked instinctively, his fist snapping upward and catching the man in the face. Bone cracked; the brute crashed against the wall as the prisoners gasped.
Another came swinging, his punch sank into Chess's gut like a hammer, folding him over. The next instant, Chess's head was grabbed and smashed into the floor, blood pooling under his cheek. He lay there dazed, thinking, 'Even when I fight back, I always end up here… but at least I tried.'
The leader turned back to Cainan. "Now then, I—"
A wet rip cut through the air. The man froze mid-sentence, eyes wide, neck opening in a red smile. Blood fountained from his throat as Cainan's hand, coated in blood, pulled back sharply. The body dropped. Cainan tore the head free in one brutal twist, red mist spraying across the nearest wall.
He didn't say a word.
Another inmate charged, roaring. Cainan pivoted, ducked under a kick, then hurled the severed head like a mace, bone met skull with a crack that flattened the man instantly. He caught the head mid-rebound, whipping it sideways into another's jaw, shattering teeth and killing him on impact. Blood painted the floor.
A survivor backed up in terror. "No way… no fucking way…"
Cainan's expression stayed dead calm.
The inmate reached behind him, digging in his ass and grimaced, and said. "Shit!" he hissed, twisting his body. "I knew I shouldn't have hid it that deep!" He squealed slightly as he tugged harder, finally pulling out a rusty metal shank slick with fragments of diarrhea. "You bastard!"
The next prisoner lunged with his own blade. Cainan blocked with the severed head, letting the weapon stab straight through it and get lodged in bone. With a vicious yank, he dragged the enemy forward, spun, and whipped a roundhouse into his throat. The man gagged, stumbling, but Cainan's leg hooked behind his neck, slamming him face-first into the stone. His skull split open with a wet crunch.
Silence.
Cainan stood amid the corpses, tossed the ruined head aside, and sat calmly back on the stone. "There. My seat."
Murmurs rippled around him.
"Yeah, I knew it."
"Me too. Those with girl hair are always dangerous."
"Not even that. He opened the throat first so it'd tear clean. That's no rookie."
Chess staggered to his feet, eyes wide. "I said all that for nothing… I thought you were weak."
Cainan shrugged. "Nah."
Chess covered his face, groaning. "I can't believe I said all that. How embarrassing."
"Relax," Cainan said, smirking. "You're the only one here with even a fraction of nuts down there."
Chess blinked. "Is that why you saved me? You felt bad for me?"
"I don't save people," Cainan said quietly. "I don't care about anyone. How can I, when I'm still trying to outrun my own shit? I've got no room left. I did it because he was gonna come for me. You can see it in their eyes. I don't think. I just do."
Heavy boots approached. Two Stroheim knights stepped into the light, armor jagged and dark. "Primarch Valor would like to see you both."
Cainan's grin spread slow and sharp. 'Hell yeah. My ticket out.'