Nyko was thrown into a dark room so black it felt like the world had ended.
Cold stone.
No light.
No sound but his own shaking breath.
He wasn't even an adult—just a teen.
His brother was smaller still.
And now… they were gone.
Taken.
Nyko curled up on the floor, clawing at the darkness around him.
He was confused, terrified, and helpless.
What did I do wrong? Why us? Why now?
Minutes became hours.
Hours felt like days.
In that pitch-black box, his thoughts echoed so loud they scraped at his sanity.
The fear pressed in on him until he could barely breathe.
Then—
CLACK.
The door swung open.
Blinding light stabbed into his eyes like needles.
He screamed and covered his face.
Rough hands grabbed him.
Cold chains clamped around his wrists again.
The guards dragged him out, ignoring his trembling legs.
He was hauled through a tunnel… then pushed out into—
An arena.
A ring of cheering catfolk sat around the edges, scteaming with excitement, drinking, eating.
As if this were a festival.
As if suffering was a show.
At the top of the wooden platform, a younger Tornak stood—broad, muscular, fur groomed, wearing a cruel, eager grin.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Tornak shouted.
"Your gracious host—me—brings you a new kind of entertainment!
Two rats enter the ring… only one leaves alive!"
The crowd erupted in delighted screams.
Nyko's blood turned to ice.
Before he could understand anything—
A second door creaked open.
A weak, bruised, tiny ratfolk boy was shoved into the pit.
He stumbled, fell, then lifted his head—
Nyko felt his heart collapse.
"R–Rob…" he whispered.
His little brother.
Covered in bruises.
Crying.
Terrified.
Nyko ran toward him and grabbed him, holding him tight as if trying to shield him from the world.
The arena went silent.
The crowd didn't expect hugging.
Tornak's voice boomed, irritated, "What are you doing!? This is a fight! Let the blood spill!"
Nyko turned, trembling, staring at the catlord.
"T-that's my brother," he begged. "Please… we're not fighters… please let us go… spare him… please…"
Tornak grinned, fangs gleaming.
"So you won't fight? That's fine."
He lifted a hand casually.
"Then I'll just kill your parents instead."
A third door opened.
Two guards dragged Nyko's mother and father inside—chained, frail, panicked.
They struggled toward their sons despite the shackles.
"NYKO! ROB!"
"Please, don't hurt them! Please!!"
They begged. They sobbed.
Tornak didn't even look at them.
His eyes were fixed on Nyko alone.
"Boy," Tornak said with a cold smile,
"Either you kill your brother, or I kill your parents.
Those are your choices."
Nyko's mind shattered.
When had the world become this cruel?
But deep down he knew—it was always like this.
He just never faced it directly.
His won relatives, neighbours were beaten to death for missing quotas.
He saw it.
He ignored it.
Because it wasn't him.
Now it was.
Even if he screamed for help those weak pathetic beings won't come to help him, they'll just ignore him, just like how he ignored them once.
He hugged his trembling brother tighter, squeezing his eyes shut.
He wished it was a nightmare.
But nightmares end.
This didn't.
Tornak gave a small nod.
The guards raised their spears.
"NO—!"
SHHHK.
The spears pierced his parents cleanly.
Their bodies collapsed with a heavy thud.
Nyko's entire world fell apart, but he refused to open his eyes, refused to see—
A foot suddenly slammed into the brothers' bodies, kicking them apart and scraping their skin raw on the dirt floor.
Nyko gasped and finally opened his eyes—
And saw hell.
His parents were dead.
Blood pooling.
Eyes open.
Mouths frozen in silent screams.
Tornak stood over Rob with one foot lifted.
"Please—please no—DON'T!" Nyko cried.
Tornak smiled.
Then—
CRUNCH.
He stomped.
Rob's small body broke under the weight.
Nyko watched his little brother die.
Something inside him snapped.
A scream tore out of his throat—wordless, animal, soaked in grief and madness—as he lunged at Tornak.
He punched, clawed, attacked with everything he had.
Tornak barely blinked.
With lazy amusement, Tornak caught Nyko by the throat and lifted him up with one hand, as if the boy weighed nothing. Nyko dangled helplessly, his small feet kicking at the air
Nyko's voice trembled, but the words were clear, feral, torn straight from a breaking soul:
"I'll kill you."
The young lord did not enjoy defiance—least of all from something he considered beneath livestock. He tightened his grip.
Bones strained. Something cracked. Hot blood dripped from the corner of Nyko's mouth, trailing down his chin. His vision swam, his eyelids growing heavy. He wanted to keep looking at Tornak—to burn that face into his mind forever—but his body was giving out.
Tornak watched the light dim in the boy's eyes and scoffed.
"Already dead. Boring."
Nyko's consciousness finally slipped, and with that, Tornak lost interest. He flung the limp body across the arena floor as though discarding trash.
"Feed them to the beasts," he ordered, turning away