From Cursed Scum to Supreme Sovereign

The Beast Unleashed

“Fang,” Kael whispered, his voice drowned by the restless murmur rolling through the crowd. He knelt beside the pup’s broken body, black fire flickering around his trembling hands as they brushed matted fur.

A faint sound answered him—a whimper, so fragile it might have been imagined. One amber eye cracked open, dull with pain yet fixed on Kael with stubborn will.

Relief cut through Kael like cool water on fevered skin. “Alive,” he breathed. “Stay with me. Please.”

Fang’s tail shifted once before stilling again. Barely breathing, but breathing.

In the corner of Kael’s sight, symbols flickered—shards of meaning forming words etched into the air:

[PAIN ENDURED → STRENGTH +1]

Simple, yet undeniable. Somewhere deep inside, Kael understood… every lash, every bruise, every year lived beneath contempt had not broken him. They had tempered him for this moment.

The beast roared.

It lunged with raw violence, abandoning caution. Eight feet of corruption and muscle hurled forward, jaws gaping wide enough to crush him whole.

But Kael was no longer the helpless thing who had once cowered beneath its weight.

He moved—faster than broken ribs should allow. Stone split where claws struck, shards exploding outward.

“Impossible,” someone breathed.

“The cursed one moves like—” another voice faltered, unwilling to finish.

Kael’s hand found a shard of marble, jagged and sharp, where the beast’s fury had torn the arena floor. It sat perfectly in his grip, crude yet deadly. Black fire curled along its edge, claiming it.

The beast wheeled, red eyes wild. It expected easy prey. Instead, it faced something that refused to die, something stronger for every wound endured.

Kael’s voice was low, steady. “Come, then.”

The monster obliged. It leapt, claws outstretched, jaws yawning wide.

This time, Kael did not retreat. He stepped into its charge, thrusting the shard upward. Stone pierced flesh with a sickening crunch, driving deep into the beast’s eye.

The roar that followed shook the heavens. Pain, yes—but also shock. And the first glimmer of fear.

Gasps rippled through the stands.

“By the Light,” Lord Garrett whispered, knuckles white on his chair. “It bleeds.”

Lady Morwyn lowered her fan, her face pale. “The smell—it carries even here.”

The beast thrashed, trying to tear Kael free, but he clung on. Black fire surged from his hands, searing through the stone until the weapon burned with unnatural brilliance.

Then came the sound that made Kael’s heart stutter.

A bark.

Weak, unsteady, but defiant.

Fang had risen, swaying on trembling legs. Blood matted his fur, yet his eyes glowed with that same reckless loyalty that had driven him to leap into the arena.

“No,” Kael called hoarsely. “Stay down—”

But Fang was already airborne. Small jaws closed on the beast’s throat, tearing at its windpipe with desperate fury.

The monster’s howl broke into a choking gurgle.

“Magnificent,” Aelric murmured from his throne, his tone unreadable.

Kael struck again. With Fang’s bite anchoring the beast, he drove the shard deeper, twisting until something vital snapped beneath the stone.

The monster’s strength bled away. Roars dwindled into broken gasps, then silence. With a final shudder, its hulking body crashed against the arena floor, blood spreading like spilled wine across sacred marble.

The beast did not rise again.

The square fell silent. Thousands of voices, once united in cruel delight, now held their breath. A boy marked for death since birth had fallen into a nightmare with nothing but stone, fire, and the loyalty of a wounded hound.

Kael stood over the carcass, chest heaving, shadowfire wreathing him like a crown of night. Fang limped to his side, trembling yet unbowed.

No cheers rose.

The silence thickened, heavy as a storm held in waiting. In the noble rows, lords and ladies sat motionless, their faces pale. Among the commons, merchants and craftsmen clutched talismans, whispering prayers to absent gods.

Then High Hierophant Malrick stepped forward.

His pale eyes burned—not merely with anger, but with fury sharpened by fear. The crystal staff in his hands blazed with harsh light, its radiance warping the air.

“This is no triumph,” he thundered, his voice magnified until the stones themselves seemed to speak. “This proves what I have long foreseen.”

He leveled the staff at Kael, its glow searing across the boy’s bloodstained form.

“The wretch is demon-touched!” Malrick’s words split the silence like a blade. “No mortal could channel such darkness. No blessed blood could bear such fire!”

Cries spread through the stands.

“Demon-spawn!”

“Kill it before it corrupts us all!”

The crystal flared brighter, light harsh as judgment.

“Let the world know what stands revealed this day,” Malrick declared, his voice rising above the crowd’s panic. “This creature is no child of man—it is the herald of shadow, the key to damnation itself!”

The Mark on Kael’s chest throbbed in answer, fire spilling outward until the air rippled around him.

And in that instant, as the crowd’s terror locked upon him, Kael understood the truth.

Defeating the beast had not freed him.

It had chained him to something far worse.

They would not only hate him for what he was.

Now, they would fear what he was becoming.