Chapter 2 Day One

[Kaelan's POV]

I woke in a world of pain.

Not just one source of pain. My entire body was screaming.

The back of my skull felt like it had been cracked open with a hammer, my mouth tasted of rust, and my stomach churned with empty acid. My wrists had long gone numb from being suspended, my shoulders cramping in waves of agony. My toes could barely brush the ground, and even drawing breath felt like tearing at broken ribs, making me shake with pain.

The air was thick enough to gag on—damp mold, old blood, and that bitter, metallic stench of wolfsbane poison clogged my nostrils, pressing against my chest until I could barely breathe.

I opened my eyes to a stone wall.

The surface was covered in blackened claw marks, deep and shallow gouges scattered like the final struggles of someone driven mad. As if a person had been trapped here, pushed beyond breaking, until they couldn't even scream anymore—only scrape stone with their fingernails, inch by desperate inch.

The chains suddenly rattled.

A moment later, someone grabbed my chin, forcing my head up.

"Awake?"

The man's face pressed close enough that I could smell the sour wine on his breath. Last night's drink still stained his beard, meat scraps caught between his teeth. Keys hung from his chest, jangling with every movement. His hand was rough as sandpaper scraping across my face, thumb pressing hard as he examined me like livestock.

"Purebred Omega from Wolfsbane." He grinned, a nauseating expression that split from his mouth to his eyes—too cold to be a smile, more like a wolf appraising bloody meat. "Orders are to keep you breathing."

He paused, thumb slowly wiping across the fresh cut at the corner of my mouth, smearing blood like paint. "But as long as you don't die—we can play however we want."

I tried to turn my head away.

The next instant, his hand cracked back across my face.

Smack.

The sound exploded between the stone walls. My ears immediately rang with sharp whining, half my face burned like fire, and fresh blood immediately flooded my mouth.

"Still got some fight in you." He stared at me, smiling even more disgustingly, fingers sliding slowly down my neck to stop at the edge of my nape, deliberately kneading. "Too bad. Down here, attitude is the cheapest thing there is."

I jerked away violently.

The chains immediately bit into my wrists, grinding through skin and flesh until I saw black spots.

But he seemed delighted by my struggle, turning to shout toward the door: "Bring the medicine! She's too alert."

Someone responded from outside.

Soon a rusted iron tray was carried in. A syringe lay on the plate, filled with murky yellow liquid that looked like sewage, nauseating to even glance at.

My stomach clenched tight.

"No—"

He didn't give me a chance to dodge, palm clamping down on my nape as the needle plunged in.

The moment wolfsbane poison entered my bloodstream, my entire body arched.

Not cold.

Numb. A numbness that exploded thunderously from inside my bones.

Like countless fine needles drilling frantically along my spine into my limbs, crawling inch by inch, brutally tearing apart every muscle before nailing them back together with ice-cold spikes. That constantly burning spot on my neck suddenly went dead, like someone had stomped it out.

Amaris.

I called for her in my mind.

No response.

In that instant, something more terrifying than pain suddenly gripped my throat.

Empty. The little wolf who should have always been with me felt like she'd been pushed underwater by the drug. Sinking down. Invisible, untouchable, not even a struggle left. I couldn't feel her—only my chattering teeth, my legs growing weak, too weak to support my body.

The warden pressed close to my ear, voice low and sticky with nauseating amusement: "Yes, that's how it should be. Be good. Little beasts should be this obedient."

I suddenly turned my head and bit down hard.

Blood exploded in my mouth, hot and salty, rushing down my throat.

"Fuck!" He screamed, and the next second his fist slammed into my stomach.

That blow nearly punched straight through me. My vision went black, all the acid in my stomach came rushing up, choking me until I shook all over while barely able to bend. The chains rattled with my movements, my shoulders wrenched until they felt ready to dislocate. But I still stared at him, blood covering my mouth and dripping down my chin. I didn't spit it out, wouldn't let go.

He shook his bleeding hand, face growing darker and more frightening.

"Fine." He stared at me, nodding slowly, voice turning cold. "I love breaking types like you."

He grabbed my hair and slammed my head against the wall.

The moment my temple hit stone, white light exploded before my eyes. My ears rang as warm blood slowly crept down from my temple, sliding along my face into my neck. I couldn't breathe, only heard him methodically unbuckling his belt, heard the soft click of the buckle, heard the two guards beside him snickering, heard my own ragged breathing growing more chaotic and broken.

I didn't cry.

I bit down hard until my tongue bled and my mouth filled with the taste of blood, but I wouldn't make a sound of pleading.

Footsteps suddenly echoed from outside.

"Warden." Someone stopped at the door, voice tight. "The batch downstairs is rioting. One's missing."

He cursed under his breath, movements halting as he rebuckled his belt. Before leaving, he patted my face like examining something for slaughter.

"Wait for me, purebred."

The iron door slammed shut with a bang that made the walls seem to tremble.

I hung there, unable to catch my breath for a long time. Blood flowed into my eyes, stinging sharply. I gasped for ages before slowly moving my forehead away from the cold, rough wall.

Amaris.

Still no response.

I stared at the opposite wall, chest tightening in waves. Not wanting to cry or scream. Just pain. Dull pain, muffled pain, like something lodged between my ribs, cracking bit by bit, slowly crumbling.

I opened my mouth, voice so hoarse it sounded foreign even to me.

"Are you still there?"

The stone cell was terrifyingly quiet.

No echo.

Only dripping water. Drip. Drip. Once, then again.

I stared at that wall for so long my eyes began to ache, finally hearing another sound.

Thump.

Very soft.

Not like dripping, not like footsteps.

Thump. Thump.

My breathing stopped.

Not an echo.

A heartbeat.

Not mine.

Through this stone wall, on the other side, someone else was alive. My throat suddenly constricted, voice dropping to barely a whisper: "Who are you?"

Only deathly silence answered me.

I waited several breaths, heartbeat pounding against my eardrums. Finally, an extremely soft scraping came from the other side of the wall, like someone else pressing close to the stone. Then came a man's voice, terribly hoarse, as if his throat had long been ground raw with sandpaper.

"Don't speak too loud."

My fingers immediately curled tight, knuckles white.

A living person.

There was actually a living person here.

"Where is this?" I asked immediately, throat painfully dry.

"Underground Ironfang." He paused, like every word scraped blood from his throat. "People who come in don't ask about exits. Because no one has ever left."

I closed my eyes, breathing roughly. The iron shackles ground viciously into my flesh with the movement.

Footsteps suddenly echoed outside again.

I immediately fell silent, even holding my breath. The footsteps dragged past my door, stopping next door. The next second, the dull sound of flesh being beaten exploded heavily, once, then again, so blunt it made your scalp crawl. The person on the other side of the wall also went completely silent, as if even his breath had been cut off.

Only when the corridor fell quiet again, leaving only cold and mold, did I speak quietly: "What's your name?"

This time the silence stretched longer, so long I thought the person wouldn't answer.

I didn't know why, when waiting for a name, I instinctively held my breath.

Maybe just because it was so dark here, so cold, so like a tomb. So dark that even names became the last piece of bone that hadn't been torn away.

A very low intake of breath came from the other side of the wall.

"Ask for names if you survive to get out."

"...The last person Alaric sent here," his voice grew hoarser, like every syllable was caught on blood, "didn't last three days."

I said nothing.

He didn't continue either.

I lowered my head, staring at my trembling hands. My fingertips were already worn raw, blood and grime packed under my nails. I slowly twisted my right hand, forcing myself to scrape at the stone cracks in the wall corner with my index fingernail.

The first scrape split my nail.

The second drove stone dust into the wound, making me gasp sharply as my spine went rigid.

I didn't stop.

Once. Again. Once more.

Lime mixed with blood in clumps. Finally, I managed to scratch crooked letters into the bottom corner of the wall.

Day 1.

The first day.

I stared hard at those words, the suffocating, choking pain in my chest suddenly plummeting down, settling into a solid block of ice.

Good.

Then I'd remember.

Remember this was the first day. Remember this wall. Remember the wolfsbane poison. Remember the warden's face. Remember that when Father sold me, he didn't even blink.

Outside the iron door, a piercing scream suddenly exploded.

Not one person. Several.

I jerked my head up, heart clenching violently.

The next second, the thunderous sound of heavy objects smashing walls roared through the corridor—metallic collisions, beast-like roars, and the tooth-aching crack of breaking bones all poured in at once. The entire dungeon felt like it had been struck by some massive creature, the ceiling shuddering as dust showered down into the mix of blood, mold, and medicine, choking and oppressive.

"Enemy attack! Enem—"

The shriek was cut off halfway, as if someone had crushed the throat.

The next second, thick, metallic blood scent rushed in—fierce, scalding, instantly overwhelming all the dungeon's rotting odors.

The person on the other side of the wall—his breathing scattered.

"Wolves."

This wasn't the kind of disturbance Ironfang wolves would make.

Those sounds were lower, deeper, more coordinated, making bones go numb—like an entire dark forest diving underground, carrying the viciousness to tear everything apart. Boots crushed through the corridor, step by step drawing closer, mixed with the low growls beasts held tight in their throats, chilling the spine.

My heart hammered frantically against my ribs, so fast it felt ready to burst through flesh.

Outside the door, guards were already cursing in panic: "Stop them! Go! Quick—"

BANG!

Like a giant axe cleaving through iron.

The thick iron door before me shuddered violently, the lock splitting open.

The second blow was fiercer.

The entire door was smashed inward, iron fragments exploding past my face, instantly cutting a burning gash.

Light suddenly stabbed through the cracks.

Too bright—blindingly white.

I squinted, seeing only a tall shadow standing outside the door, behind it flowing blood, scattered corpses, an entire corridor torn into hell.

Not Ironfang wolves.

When the third strike fell, the iron door exploded completely.