From Cursed Scum to Supreme Sovereign

Fang, the Stray Pup

The corrupted beast hit the ground like a falling boulder, the shock rattling loose dust from the temple walls. Once it had been a man… bones and breath, dreams maybe… but now the flesh had been twisted into something monstrous.

Eight feet of muscle knotted wrong, jaw stretched wide enough to bite through stone. Yellowed fangs jutted crooked from blackened gums, and its eyes burned red. Not mindless. Worse. It remembered.

It paced the ring, slow and deliberate, the way a wolf toys with a rabbit that’s already bleeding out. Each step clicked claw against stone. Foam slid from its mouth and hissed where it spattered the sacred floor.

Kael staggered back, the chains at his wrists dragging like anchors. His ribs screamed with every breath, the bruises from the morning’s beating swelling hotter than fire. The Eclipse Mark seared under his shirt, but whatever power it promised stayed sealed, locked as uselessly as his shackles.

“Come on!” a man from the stands shouted. “End it already!”

“Don’t draw it out!” another jeered. “We’ve coin riding on this.”

But the beast wasn’t rushing. It had lived too long in darkness, too long gnawing on its own hate. This moment was everything… it would taste him slowly.

A growl rolled from its chest, low and endless, thunder at a distance. Kael’s mind slipped away with it, back through memory…

***

Three months earlier

In the slums of Eryndor, when the alleys had drowned in rain. Water mixed with rot turned the streets into black rivers that carried refuse and worse. Kael pressed his back against a wall crumbling from mildew, waiting for the storm to pass, watching merchants hurry with cloaks pulled tight, faces set against the stench of poverty they pretended not to see.

That was when he heard it. A whimper. Small. Fragile enough that he almost thought the storm was playing tricks.

He moved toward it, drawn by sound more than choice, until he found the narrow gap between two rotting buildings. Something shifted there in the filth. He crouched, ignoring the hunger gnawing at his gut and the cold biting through the holes in his shirt.

A pup lay curled against the wall, ribs jutting sharply beneath fur matted into clumps. One eye was swollen shut, fresh bruises were on its flank, and flies circled wounds left open. It should’ve been dead already, but its chest still moved, shallow and stubborn.

“Away from that, cursed one!” Marta, the baker’s wife, had spotted him across the lane. Her voice cut sharper than the rain. “Leave it… the diseased thing’ll rot your hands.”

Her husband leaned out, flour dusting his arms. “It’s bad enough you darken our streets. Don’t go spreading corruption with vermin.”

“Filth draws filth,” Old Henrik muttered from his cobbler’s stool, shaking his head like Kael had confirmed some prophecy.

Kael barely looked at them. Because the pup had turned its good eye to him. Amber, even in the gray rain. It didn’t shrink. Didn’t judge. Just… saw him. As if it knew what it meant to be unwanted.

Kael dug into his pocket, fingers brushing the crust of bread he’d hoarded from yesterday, hard enough to crack teeth. His only meal. He broke it in half anyway. “Here,” he whispered, sliding it forward. “You need it more.”

The pup dragged itself forward, its tongue rasping warm across Kael’s bruised knuckles. No hesitation. Just trust, handed over freely to someone who’d never been trusted with anything.

Kael stared at the little tooth poking over its lip. “Fang,” he said. “That’s your name.”

Its tail flicked once, a pathetic attempt at wagging, but it was enough.

Henrik barked a laugh. “Look at him. Talking to beasts like they’re kin.”

“Perfect match,” Marta spat. “Two cursed things together.”

Kael ignored them all. Because for the first time in his life, something needed him. And that mattered more than hunger, more than shame.

***

The roar snapped him back to the present. The beast’s eyes narrowed, its circling ended. Enough waiting.

“I won’t abandon you,” Kael muttered, barely audible. He didn’t know if the words belonged to Fang or to himself. Maybe both.

Something shifted in his stance. He straightened, ribs screaming, chains pulling, but still. The crowd caught the change, a ripple of silence cutting through their jeers.

The monster lunged.

Its claws ripped the air where his head had been a breath before. Kael threw himself sideways, chains shrieking, his body hitting stone hard enough to scrape his knees raw.

“Look at him run!” someone shouted from the noble tier. “Like a rat cornered!”

“Dance, mongrel!” another laughed, and the crowd joined, voices twisting into poison.

The beast spun fast, faster than its size should allow. This time it didn’t slash. It lowered its shoulder and rammed.

The impact slammed Kael into the arena wall. The stone cracked with the force. Something in his chest snapped wetly. He couldn’t hear it, but he felt the break echo through his body.

Blood filled his mouth, thick, metallic. The world tilted gray at the edges.

“First blood!” a noble cheered. “At last!”

“End it!” another voice crowed. “Finish the wretch!”

The beast loomed over him, saliva dripping from its fangs, each drop burning with a hiss against the floor. It had toyed long enough. Time to tear.

From the temple steps came the sound of deliberate clapping. Slow. Mocking.

High Hierophant Malrick’s voice slithered across the hushed arena. “Magnificent. Corruption calls to corruption. See how evil answers its master’s summons.” His pale eyes gleamed, savoring the spectacle.

The beast lifted one claw, talons catching torchlight, glinting like knives. It hovered just above Kael’s throat.

“Any last words, cursed one?” Malrick’s lips curled like he already knew the answer.

Kael tried. Only a cough came, wet and choking, blood spilling hot down his chin.

The crowd surged forward in their seats, breathless, hungry.

“Do it!”

“Spill his filth!”

“Let the stones drink his blood!”

The claw fell.

And just as death stooped toward him, the sound cut through everything… the crowd, the beast, the pounding in Kael’s head.

A bark. Thin, desperate. But familiar enough to crack his chest wider than any blow.

Kael turned his head, disbelieving. There, at the arena’s edge, stood Fang. A scarred, ragged pup who should’ve been locked out, beaten away. Somehow, he’d slipped the guards. Hackles raised, teeth bared, amber eyes lit with a fury far too big for his body.

“No…” Kael forced the word out, each syllable tearing his ribs. “Back. Get back.”

But Fang didn’t move. He planted himself, defiance trembling through his little frame. And then, with every ounce of breath he had, he raised his head and howled.

Not the whimper of a half-dead stray. Not a pup’s cry. This was wild, old, older than the temple stones themselves. It carried through the arena, eerie and sharp, threading through every vein.

The beast’s claw froze, hanging mid-strike. Its red eyes flickered.

The crowd went silent, stunned.

And in the dark place behind Kael’s eyes, something ancient stirred awake.