The hate, the fire within me burns and tells me one thing, like I have an unfinished task that needs to be attended to. A million voices whisper into my ear, their breaths hot, ancient, angry. They all have a demand, a simple request that I must follow to satisfy every generation that came before. They have one command for me.

  Wake up.

  My body moves to the side. Just in time to roll away from the Atirar’s next attack. Chucking a fistful of snow at the brute face to disorientate him. He thrashes his head around, trying to get the debris out of their eyes, while I move back to keep my distance from them.

  My sword and my shield are out of reach. I need to close the gap, I need to push myself to butcher the bastard! I pull the syringe out from my belt and inject it into my neck. My mouth froths, my heart pounding in my ears. Blood seeps through the gaps of my lips as my jaw locks down and cracks one tooth.

  I reach for my quiver and place three bolts between my fingers while grabbing my spare dagger with my other hand. The brute rubs the snow off them; their bloodlusted eyes lock onto me. Now we are even!

  With a roar, we sprint towards each other. They raise their right arm in the hopes of skewering me, but the creature is slow. I duck under them to punch the bolts into their armpit. Gir’ad whimpers in pain, flailing around in an attempt to hit me. Only for me to roll away to a safe distance.

  They apply pressure to slow down the bleeding, snot, and steam burst out of their nose as I grab another pair of bolts. Taunting the bastard, my eagerness to fight once more.

  With a growl, he charges towards me, and before he gets too close, I kick some snow onto their face so I can jump to the side. They must’ve anticipated me doing that. As they drive their spike from under me and into my armour and narrowly misses the underside of my chin. Only scratching my stomach and chest, though the wound is still deep and painful. The brute picks me up from the ground and raises me above his head like some sort of display.

  Seeing what he plans to do, I drop my weapons to catch the second spike as it narrowly misses my neck. I catch the spike, causing three of my fingers to snap and blow off my hand. I groan, using all of my strength to push back the spike while hoping what remains of my left hand doesn’t fall apart and give way.

  Gir’ad struggles to push their spike into me, snarling in frustration as I hold my ground. ‘Why don’t you obey? Why won’t you be a part of the Empire? A kle’van, bow and follow the path the world made for them!?’

  His words spark a great, deeper anger in me, their venom that causes my only good eye to stare down the buffoon. Allowing me to see what sort of creature he is. A slave, a weapon to an Empire that despised him. Like them, he undermines me and my will to get my revenge. I will not let him stop me! They dare use them against me, I will show them why I am king!

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  With a single kick, I break his left antler off. The creature wails as blood seeps out, giving me time to unlatch and remove the chestplate to escape his grasp.

  I only have a small time frame before they can recover. But I will use it to make them suffer. Seeing an opening, I rip their nose ring out and cast it aside. Gasping from shock, both of my hands reach in to pry his mouth open. With all my might, I unhinge and tear the creature’s lower jaw clean off. Their blood splattering all over my face and armour.

  Gir’ad falls onto his back, his tongue waving around chaotically. His helm slips off his head without any additional support. That is what I like to see, the fear in their eyes. The horror of a brutal death.

  Grabbing the horned helmet, I beat the creature’s mangled face relentlessly. Its spike pierces their flesh, their blood gushing out in streams and dying my fur crimson. Over and over again, I keep pounding away and dismantling the soft meat inside its skull. Every time his body twitches, I hit harder and start from the beginning until I grow bored with playing with the corpse.

  I turn to see my army still fighting the remaining Atirar forces; they are losing on their own. Breaking apart my battle line like it is nothing, making a mockery of my Dogs while they fight valiantly. But this battle is already over, their leader is dead, and I am the last one standing.

  Standing on the corpse of a giant, I pick up the broken-off antler of their ruler and raise it above my head.

  ‘Victory! Victory!’ I shout over and over at the Atirar. Announcing the death of their leader. Some notice me, even if I cannot make out their features, and I know they are afraid. A king of slaves, a nobody from the mines, managed to slaughter their champion. They see me, the real horror of this island and ruler of a new Empire.

  Some shout in a strange language. ‘Kor’ra! Kor’ra!’ They yell while they break off from the fight to run away; some need to fight their way out. Others die in the attempt. May the retreating bastards return to the pits of hell they came from.

  Seeing that the battle is now over, my Dogs cheer. Raising their weapons in the air, others embracing one another in celebrating glee. Even Jackle celebrates with them, luckily for him, to come out of this unharmed.

  This is what they throw at us? This is what the Cinari have left under their sleeves? Good! My next target will be one of their cities. I will make the world know of my victory, I will parade the bodies of their monsters while I mock them for trying to stop me!

  I won this day, and I will win more in the future. I will promise their kind, and any other species that dares to be loyal to the Cinari, they will know no rest and shall know fear. For I know no defeat and have no equal.