The Monster's Translator

The Curse of Babel Ears

Atlas stands frozen in the center of the Knight Academy arena, his training sword trembling as a trapped Slime whimpers at his feet while the crowd roars for blood.

"Strike down the abomination, Vane!" General Kael’s voice booms from the high tribunal, drenched in absolute contempt and echoing off the cold stone walls. "Prove your loyalty to the Aethel Empire, or share its wretched fate!"

Surrounding the arena, thousands of spectators rise from their seats, waving imperial banners and screaming for a gruesome execution. To them, the shimmering blue creature curled up on the bloodstained dirt is a mindless parasite, a vile threat born only to slaughter humanity. But to Atlas Vane, standing there with slender limbs clad in a torn cadet uniform and his sharp silver-rimmed eyes wide with horror, the arena sounds entirely different.

The Slime is not hissing threats of violence. It is weeping.

"Please... it hurts so much," the creature's voice vibrates directly inside Atlas’s skull, a high-pitched, fragile resonance that feels like shattering glass against his sanity. "Mommy... where is Mommy? Why are they so loud? I just wanted to taste the sweet rain..."

Atlas’s breath hitches. His knuckles turn white around the hilt of his training sword. Every fiber of his being screams against the injustice of it. He wants to survive this graduation examination more than anything, to wash away years of humiliation and graduate with his class, but not like this. Not by murdering an innocent, terrified infant whose true voice only the cursed 'Babel Ears' gene allows him to hear.

Across the arena, Lyra Ignis stands rigidly at attention, her athletic frame poised, fiery red hair tied back in a pristine ponytail. Her razor-sharp imperial blade rests at her side, catching the harsh afternoon sunlight. She glares at Atlas with fierce, disciplined eyes, her jaw clenched tight.

"What is he waiting for?" Lyra mutters under her breath, her internal loyalties warring bitterly with the unsettling hesitation she sees in her former rival's face. "Just swing the blade, Atlas. End it."

"Deliver the blow, Cadet Vane!" General Kael roars again, his scarred face twisting into a cruel, impatient snarl as he rests his heavy hand upon his decorated brass chest plate. "One more second of hesitation, and you will be branded a traitor to the crown!"

The stakes could not be higher. If Atlas strikes, he murders an innocent creature. If he refuses, he faces immediate execution or total exile into the abyssal depths of Hell Trench. The crowd holds its collective breath, anticipating the glorious spray of monster blood.

Atlas lowers his head. His messy dark hair shadows his eyes. He cannot do it. He cannot live with the screaming chorus of a thousand misunderstood souls if he becomes their executioner today.

Instead of striking, Atlas drops his training sword. It clatters loudly against the stone floor. He throws his head back and screams at the top of his lungs, his voice cutting through the bloodthirsty roar of the stadium.

"It's a baby!" Atlas shrieks, his voice cracking with desperate agony, tears spilling over his eyelashes. "It’s just a baby! It's not roaring for war! It’s crying for its mother! It wants to taste the rain! It doesn't want to hurt anyone!"

Silence falls over the arena like a falling guillotine.

The roaring crowd freezes. The banners stop waving. For three agonizing seconds, the massive amphitheater is utterly dead silent, save for the pathetic, trembling whimpers of the Slime at Atlas's feet.

Up in the high-ranking military tribunal, General Kael slowly rises from his cushioned seat, his face draining of color before flushing with a murderous, apoplectic rage. The tribunal members exchange stunned, horrified glances. A cadet had just publicly accused the holy crusade of murdering children.

"Treason," Kael whispers, his voice trembling with venomous fury as he points a gauntleted finger directly at the boy. "He has been infected by their mind-magic. He is a traitorous beast-lover!"

"No! Listen to them!" Atlas pleads, stepping desperately toward the tribunal, tears streaming down his face. "All of them! The monsters, the dungeons, the dragon—they aren't our enemies! We've been killing them for a thousand years for nothing!"

"Silence!" General Kael's roar shatters the remaining fragile peace of the arena. He draws his heavy broadsword, pointing it toward the center. "Guards! Seize the traitor! Strip him of his rank, strip him of his steel, and cast him into the abyss!"

Before Atlas can utter another word, a dozen heavy-armored elite guards swarm the arena floor. Lyra Ignis watches in stunned horror as they tackle Atlas to the ground, pinning him hard against the dirt. She steps forward instinctively, her hand twitching toward her sword, but Kael’s cold glare pins her in place.

"You want to prove your elite status, Ignis?" Kael barks coldly down at her. "Turn your back and watch how we deal with sympathizers."

Atlas struggles violently, his slender frame fighting against the crushing weight of the armored guards, but he is hopelessly outnumbered. They rip the cadet insignia from his torn uniform, tearing the fabric away. One of the guards kicks his fallen training sword across the dirt, sending it clattering into the shadows.

"You're making a mistake!" Atlas gasps, coughing up dust as they haul him to his feet by his arms. "You're all screaming in the dark!"

"Your execution is commuted to a much more fitting destination, Vane," General Kael sneers, stepping to the edge of the tribunal balcony. "Let Hell Trench teach you how to speak monster."

The guards drag Atlas across the arena floor, ignoring his desperate struggles, and haul him toward the massive iron gate at the far end of the stadium. The gate grinds open, revealing the terrifying, swirling violet fog of Hell Trench—the endless, bottomless abyss where the empire discards its most dangerous anomalies and its most irredeemable criminals.

"May the gods have mercy on your worthless soul," a guard spits in his ear.

With a brutal, coordinated heave, they swing Atlas outward.

Stripped of his rank, his sword, and his dignity, Atlas is violently thrown over the edge into the terrifying abyss of Hell Trench, plunging blindly into the darkness.