In the depths of a devastated wasteland, there stood a kingdom built upon the ashes of what was once a forest teeming with life.
Thousands of adjectives could be used to describe the Empire of the Pale Faces.
Brutal, ruthless, malicious, bloodthirsty… and hundreds more… But none would be enough; none could even come close to the truth.
Yet, within the bowels of that empire which laid waste to civilizations and consumed everything in its path, there lived a certain tribe of orcs.
They bore no axes; they sought no blood, nor did they wish to harm. They possessed only massive pickaxes and warm smiles, capable of replacing the light of a sun they would likely never know…
It was a tribe that, even enslaved under the yoke of the Pale Faces, found happiness in the smallest of things: in their friends, in their family.
And in such a tribe, a certain orc had the blessing of being born. His name: Thul-Grom (The Silent One).
He was named so by his mother because at birth, unlike others of his kind, his cries did not echo through the cave…
Thul-Grom was special, though not in a good way.
Timid and small. His childish grunts never rumbled against the mine walls, and unlike other orc children—aggressive and impetuous by nature—Thul-Grom remained quiet and insecure. Always by his mother's side. Always with his eyes on the ground.
Even so, this did not bother the tribe. They never bullied him; his parents and siblings never looked down on him, and the rest of the members never once belittled him.
Even being weak, even under the lashes and abuse of the goblins, in his home, with his tribe, there was always warmth.
Until that cursed day when… for the first time… Thul-Grom saw the sun.
...…..
Thul-Grom was too young to understand what was happening back then.
Concepts like "depleted mine" and "new utility" were as foreign to him as immortality is to a mortal.
But he could feel it: his mother's trembling hands, the cautious growls of the adults, and the embrace of his sisters, who held on tighter than usual.
And so, amidst uncertainty, fear, screams, and whips, they were finally led out of the mine. Out of their home.
...…..
The coliseum was the visual representation of everything the Empire of the Pale Faces stood for.
The defiled ruins of what was once a glorious civilization, now corrupted and distorted into a symbol of decadence.
There, where the cheers of the goblins mingled with the foul stench of alcohol, blood, and decomposing bodies.
Thul-Grom, like many others, arrived for the first time as a spectator. But unlike the rest, the spectacle he witnessed that day, from behind solid metal bars and shackled alongside his siblings and friends…
Was the massacre of his own tribe.
...…
Thul-Grom remembered that day with clarity. For days, months, years… he remembered every detail with precision.
He remembered the forced smiles his relatives and neighbors sent them from the center of the coliseum—grimaces that tried, and failed, to be reassuring. Smiles that sought, even until the very last second, to provide a shred of comfort to their precious sons and daughters.
He remembered the vicious cheers of countless goblins, frantic with the anticipation of what was to come.
And, of course, he remembered them. In a preferential area, with the best view and every comfort, the rulers of that decadent kingdom smiled with unconcealed contempt.
Though they were essentially goblins like the others, they had peculiar traits that set them apart.
Paler, almost ashen skin, with fewer wrinkles and imperfections. An upright and firm posture, but above all, expressions that showed the deepest disgust for every living being in sight. Even for the rest of their own kind.
But even among those prominent beings, there was one in particular.
Seated on a throne of bones and rags, draped in garments that were once majestic, pieces of gold that had lost their luster, and a crown that somehow retained the majesty of a bygone glory.
The King of the Pale Faces watched with the most vicious smile of all… Not at the goblins, nor even at the adults in the center of the arena…
That rotten, soulless king was looking at them: at the children crying out for their parents, at the little ones clinging to each other and trembling.
And then, Thul-Grom understood: from the beginning, they were the true entertainment… Their fun.
[Gratejta!] — the decadent king finally ordered, and the gates swung open.
"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"
The creature that emerged from the depths of the dungeon—where hope itself went to die—was, to Thul-Grom, nothing less than the incarnation of misfortune.
He remembered every strike of its claws against the ruined floor, every heart-wrenching scream of his elders when their bodies were struck by claws as thick as greatswords.
Every crunch of bone as they were caught by a jaw filled with rows of teeth as large as an adult orc's forearm.
Father, siblings, neighbors… One by one, the creature tore them apart, slowly and deliberately, as if enjoying every scream, every desperate and futile attempt to face a beast that tripled the size of any orc.
Agonized screams blended with the cheers of the goblins, the disdainful laughter of the Pale Faces, and the gut-wrenching sobs of the children forced to watch their families being slaughtered.
In that monstrous spectacle where the sight was laden with horror, the sound was the same… if not far more unbearable.
But Thul-Grom made no sound. He did not flinch, he did not tremble, nor did he cower.
He only gripped the bars and watched. Not the scene, but his mother.
From start to finish, he looked at that woman who always cradled him in her arms, who always sheltered his sorrows and protected him from the dark.
There, not fighting, not moving or trembling, that woman looked at him with that warm smile that never wavered.
Over and over, she made the gesture Thul-Grom knew so well.
She touched her chest, traced a small circle, and extended her hand toward Thul-Grom.
"My heart… your heart…"
Even without a single sound… Thul-Grom heard it… loud… and clear… until… finally…. That… goddamn…. Thing….
With a single bite… snatched her away from his reach forever…
In that moment… in that… cursed… place… something in Thul-Grom snapped… And for the first time…
"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"
His name lost all meaning…
............…
---------- Point of View: Astrad ----------
[Tsk…] — I click my teeth in annoyance as my consciousness returns, only to be assaulted by a nasty sensation of numbness.
[I better not find the son of a bitch who ran me over.]
I complain, slowly sitting up in bed while holding my head.
I don't know how long I slept, but I definitely woke up more tired. What kind of scam is this? I demand a refund.
[How are you feeling?] — I hear Louise's familiar voice at my side as I try to focus my dull vision… did I not even notice she was there?
[[…]]
When my gaze returns to her, Louise is staring at me in silence… I think… honestly, I can't focus properly.
I don't think I woke up this bad even back at the hotel. At least nothing hurts. But this numb sensation is pissing me off.
[I'm fine…] — I tried to give the classic answer, but just as my vision started to focus, the first thing I saw with relative clarity was, of course, Louise's furrowed brow. — [Why do you always ask things you already know?] — The rat-boy gives in.
[It's in the genetics, I guess.] — Louise responds with a shrug, her smug face making me want to pinch her.
[What the hell happened to me?] — I ask directly. The last thing I remember is yesterday's party. I can't even blame it on a hangover because the aunt didn't let me drink much.
They better not come at me with some bullshit about losing my memory of the last 10 years, right? No, Louise's sexy ass hasn't aged more than three days.
[You slept for three days.]
[God-fucking-dammit.]
Now I really am Rat-Jesus. I can already imagine the network.
[Ahh…] — I let myself fall back onto the bed. To hell with everything.
[You seemed to be having a pleasant dream.]
[Did I do something?]
[Not much, just swearing to kill everyone and such.]
[The usual, then.]
While we have our casual chat, Louise climbs onto the bed and positions her face in front of mine.
I'd prefer if she positioned it in front of my other head. Although...
[Was it a shitty dream?]
[… A garbage soap opera.] — I answer honestly as Louise strokes my face. Her hair tickles me.
[Nothing worth remembering?]
[Quite the opposite… It reminded me of something important.]
[Oh… What was it?]
[The price of being weak.]
When I answer her, Louise remains silent for a few seconds, but finally moves her face closer with a sympathetic smile.
[Then it was a good dream.]
[Kekeke, a fair and necessary one.]
There I was, the rat-boy, about to receive a good-morning kiss that would definitely lead to his well-deserved morning quickie.
Ahem.
And like some goddamn fifth-rate rom-com, a forced cough comes from the door.
[[Tsk]] — Louise and I immediately put on a sour face.
Someone is definitely getting killed today.
[[[…]]]
Or so we thought, but when we turned our gaze, standing at the door was the aunt with one eyebrow raised.
Gulp.
Caught by the mother-in-law, Louise immediately swallows hard.
[The rat-boy needs a minute… multiplied by 120.]
[Get up.]
God-fucking-dammit.