[Grand Celebration Square – Ironhold City]
It wasn't a banquet… it was "fodder." In the center of the city, long wooden tables stretched for hundreds of meters, piled high with mounds of roasted meat, fermented fungal fruits, and jars of wine that poured without end. Thousands of dwarves gathered—men, women, the elderly, and children. There was no order. There was only noise, screaming, hysterical laughter, and the stench of sweat mixed with the smell of roasting fat and spit.
And me? I was the "entertainment" for this party. I didn't sit on a chair. I sat in the mud, beneath the King's high platform, shackled by a short chain to a wooden post—exactly like a pariah guard dog. They threw me a broken wooden bowl containing scraps of bone and moldy flour.
"Look at the rat!" a drunken soldier shouted, staggering toward me with a roasted pig's leg in his hand. He kicked the bowl, scattering the meager food into the mud. "He says he survived while Borjan died! Ha!" The soldier laughed and spat a piece of chewed meat onto my face. "Borjan died to protect scum like you? What a disgrace!"
I slowly wiped the chewed food from my cheek. I didn't get angry. I looked at him with empty eyes. "Yes, sir… it is a disgrace," I said in a low, submissive voice.
"Mommy! Mommy! I want to hit him!" A small child, no older than ten, dressed in fine silk clothes, ran toward me. He held a small stick. "Go ahead, sweetheart," the mother smiled—a plump woman adorned with jewels. "Teach him some manners. Teach him that we are the masters." The child began to beat me over the head and shoulders with the stick. "Die! Die, you outsider! You ugly thing!" The blows were weak, but the "humiliation" was heavy. The mother laughed and clapped. Passersby stopped to watch the "bravery" of the child beating the chained monster.
I didn't move. I let the child vent his psychological complexes on me. Internally, I was counting the minutes.
[System: Rage Index: Stable. Psychological analysis of target: Scum.]
[The King's Speech]
The discordant sound of trumpets rose. King Gorath stood on his high platform, overlooking the banquet. He wore a robe encrusted with gemstones, and in his hand… the Core. He waved it in the air like a toy.
"My great people!" the King bellowed, his voice echoing across the square. The crowd fell silent, their eyes fixed on the blue light. "Look! We have triumphed over nature!" "This stone… is our ticket to paradise!" "Tomorrow… we shall flip gravity. We shall all ascend to the surface, and we shall rule the worlds above us! We shall live in caves no longer!"
Hysterical cheers shook the city. "Long live Gorath! Long live the King!"
Then the King looked down to where I sat in the mud. He laughed mockingly and pointed a ring-covered finger at me. "And let us also remember… the sacrifice of our brave leader, Borjan!" He raised his glass in a toast to Borjan. "He died along with twelve soldiers… so that we might live!" "They were brave fools… weren't they?" The King whispered the last sentence to his advisors, and they burst into laughter. To them, Borjan wasn't a hero. He was a "tool" that had been consumed and reached its expiration date.
I looked at the cup the King raised. I remembered the moment Borjan ran toward the giant. I remembered his final scream, his rage, and his desire for revenge against this King. Borjan was a killer, a bigot, and filthy… yes. But in his final moments, he possessed a shred of the "honor" that these thousands of revelers lacked. He was the only one who possessed a spine in a city of mollusks.
"I pity you, Borjan…" I whispered to myself as one of the drunks poured wine over my head in a mocking "baptism." "You died for these people."
[The Peak of Filth]
Hours passed. The banquet transformed from a celebration into an orgy of chaos. Soldiers began to vomit in the streets. Women danced madly, trampling on food. Fights broke out in every corner. The false veneer of civilization fell away. Their true nature emerged. They weren't a civilized society; they were parasites living underground, eating, breeding, and hating.
A group of guards arrived. They unchained me from the post. "The King wants you to dance!" one of them cackled, pushing me into the center of a ring of fire. "Dance, slave! Dance like you ran from the giants!" They threw stones at my feet to make me jump. I jumped. And I danced. I pretended to stumble and fall to make them laugh more. "Haha! Look at him! He's truly a monkey!"
I smiled at them—a wide, idiotic, obedient smile. No one noticed the cold blue glint deep in my eyes. No one noticed that while I danced, I was scanning the city's exits… and observing the rocky sky.
[The Final Calm]
"Night" fell (or what they called night by turning off the large bioluminescent fungi). The banquet ended. Drunken bodies littered the streets. No one returned home. They slept on their tables, in the mud, and amidst pools of vomit and wine. The city turned into a graveyard of the living sleepers. Snoring rose from everywhere, and the wind whistled through the empty alleys.
They didn't shackle me this time. They thought I was completely "broken." They thought I was a coward who wouldn't dare escape into the desolate wilderness. They left me tossed beside an empty wine barrel.
I waited until snoring was the only sound. I stood up. I brushed the dust and mud from my torn clothes. The idiotic smile vanished. The slouch disappeared. My body straightened, and the cold majesty returned to my features. I looked at the sleepers around me. I saw the child who hit me sleeping in his mother's arms. I saw the guard who kicked me snoring with his mouth open. "Sleep well…" I said coldly. "Enjoy your dreams… because you won't wake up from them."
[The Mountain and the Timer]
I left the city with the silence of a shadow. The guards at the gates were asleep as well, their weapons tossed beside them. Discipline had collapsed due to excessive joy. I climbed the rocky mountain overlooking Ironhold City. It was a high mountain, its peak nearly touching the fungal clouds. The only place that revealed the "ceiling of the world" clearly.
I sat on the edge of a protruding rock. Below me, the city looked like a patch of dim lights, quiet and peaceful. And above me… the black rocky ceiling stretched to infinity. That ceiling that carried oceans, mountains, or other worlds above it that we knew nothing about.
I placed my hands behind my head and stretched back in relaxation, looking up. "System," I whispered.
A transparent blue screen appeared before me, floating in the cold night air. The numbers were counting down in a threatening red.
[System Alert: "Skyfall" Protocol] [Status: Active] [Time remaining until total collapse:] [05:00:00]
Five hours. Only five hours separated this "calm" from "annihilation." In the morning, when King Gorath wakes up to fulfill his dream… he will find that his dream is his final nightmare.
I imagined the scene. I imagined the King's face as he sees the ceiling cracking. I imagined the screams of the crowds that were laughing at me just a moment ago. I imagined the Core exploding in his hand instead of lifting him.
I felt a strange satisfaction. Not a venting of spite… but something deeper. A feeling that the "scales" had been balanced. A filthy world needs a flood to clean it. And I had turned on the tap.
I closed my glowing blue eye, and a small, genuine, terrifying smile formed on my face.
"Goodnight, you pigs of Ironhold…" I whispered to the wind, my voice mixing with the countdown.
"The morning…" I suddenly opened my eye, the timer reflecting in my pupil. "…will be very enjoyable."