Chapter 8: Krann And Muzz Encore

  Muzz writhed in the center of the chamber, breath shuddering through broken rage as he glared up at Raian, who sat watching him with quiet contempt.

  “The fuck—who would I know?!” Muzz thrashed weakly, blood pooling beneath his limbs. His voice cracked, panic bleeding through the bluster.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he barked again—louder now, almost desperate.

  Krann, vision blurring and breath ragged, snapped at the larger tom.

  “Shut up, Muzz!”

  One trembling hand gripped the blade pinned through his thigh, as if holding onto pain was the only thing keeping him conscious.

  Raian inhaled slowly.

  When he spoke, his voice was soft—like wind crossing a graveyard at midnight.

  “It is not vengeance… if you do not know who delivers it.”

  Silence followed.

  Heavy. Oppressive.

  The chamber darkened around them, lit only by the flickering lantern glow reflecting in the eyes of the two toms sprawled across the stone.

  Their pupils widened.

  Then tightened. Fear adjusting to realization.

  “Fuck—fuck—fuck—fuck…” Muzz pounded a fist weakly against the stone. “It hurts… goddamn it…” His voice cracked, rage barely masking panic as he glared at Raian.

  Raian’s eyes remained cold.

  “One cat,” he said slowly. “One chance.” A low growl rolled from his chest.

  “Nesk.”

  BAM! Muzz slammed his fist against the floor again.

  “If you’re looking for Nesk, then why the hell are you doing this?!” He tried to push himself up—but his palm slipped in his own blood. He collapsed back down, breath shuddering as strength drained from him.

  “MUZZ—SHUT UP!” Krann barked again, voice strained but sharp.

  Raian glanced down at his right hand, blood seeping steadily between his fingers as he held pressure against his wound.

  “Urgh…” He rose. Slowly. Unsteadily.

  Step by step, he moved toward Muzz.

  The larger tom lay on his back, chest heaving, trying to summon defiance.

  “What?” Muzz spat. “Come here, you little—” He didn’t finish.

  Raian stood over him.

  “You made my sister cry all night,” he said quietly. Then he reached down and seized Muzz’s shredded left leg.

  “What—what are you—”

  Raian twisted. Hard.

  The nearly severed limb torqued unnaturally under his grip.

  Muscle screamed. Bone strained.

  Muzz’s body convulsed as pain detonated through him.

  “AAARRRGGGHHH!!!”

  The howl tore through the chamber—raw, animal, stripped of pride.

  Raian did not loosen his grip.

  “FUCK! It’s going to snap—it’s going to snap!” Muzz screamed, staring at his mangled leg twisting in Raian’s hold.

  Raian leaned closer.

  “Nesk.” He twisted again. “WHERE IS HE?!”

  Another explosion of agony ripped from Muzz’s throat. His breathing collapsed into broken gasps. Raian’s grip tightened—

  then loosened, just slightly.

  “I don’t know… I really don’t know…” Muzz rasped, voice trembling, pride dissolving into desperation.

  Across the chamber, Krann strained against the blade pinning his thigh. Veins bulged beneath aging fur as he tried to wrench the steel free—but it would not yield.

  Raian swayed. The exertion. The blood loss. The room tilted.

  For a moment—Mika’s face surfaced in his mind.

  Tears on her fur. Hands trembling. Her silence behind a locked door.

  “You scarred my sister’s face,” Raian said quietly.

  His claws slid free. Blood-coated.

  He stepped forward—slowly, deliberately—toward Muzz’s sweat-drenched face.

  Raian dropped his knees onto Muzz’s massive torso, pinning him with surprising control. The larger tom’s arms flailed weakly but found no leverage.

  “Wait—wait—”

  Slash. Claws raked across Muzz’s left cheek.

  Blood sprayed. Again. And again.

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  Fur tore free in clumps. Skin split under repeated strikes.

  Muzz howled—but his strength was gone. “Stop—stop—”

  Raian did not respond.

  When he finally withdrew his hands, they were slick with red.

  Muzz’s face—was no longer whole.

  Flesh hung ragged. One cheek torn open, exposing teeth through shredded muscle. Blood poured down his jaw, pooling beneath his head. The massive enforcer who had roared moments before—now lay broken and unrecognizable. Breathing. Barely.

  And Raian remained kneeling above him.

  His vision pulsed—closing in, pulling away. The chamber seemed to breathe in and out around him.

  His head grew heavy. He pressed his palm against his temple, steadying himself.

  Across the blood-slick stone, Krann whispered through clenched teeth.

  “Are you… that little girl’s brother?” The words came fractured, carried on ragged breath.

  Raian’s fur bristled instantly. His head snapped toward the old tom.

  “Bingo.”

  The single word fell without heat—without triumph. Only confirmation.

  Krann’s body trembled. Not from pain. From realization.

  Step.Step.Step. Wet footsteps echoed through the chamber, each one darkened by blood.

  The air was thick now—painted in iron and consequence.

  Krann forced his eyes upward—and froze.

  Raian’s gaze had changed. No longer sapphire. It burned gold—ringed by a narrowing eclipse of black.

  His heart pounded violently against his ribs.

  Raian stopped with his shadow falling over him. He crouched. Leaned close.

  “Do you want to live?”

  Krann’s throat worked. A small, trembling nod.

  Raian’s fangs showed—not in a grin, but in something sharper.

  “Was it only you?” His voice lowered. “Or is there a plot against my sister… and my family?”

  With a trembling finger, Krann pointed toward a wooden desk in the corner of the chamber.

  Raian followed the gesture. Candles. Stacks of papers. Wax drippings hardened along the edges. He glanced back at Krann.

  “In the drawer…” the old tom rasped. “Top right.”

  Raian pulled it open. Inside—a rolled letter rested against the inner wall. With blood-streaked fingers, he lifted it carefully and unrolled the parchment. His eyes traced each line. Slowly. Deliberately.

  When he lowered the page—a low growl vibrated from deep within his chest.

  The message was simple. Direct. Cruel.

  Krann.

  Tonight, a young she-cat will pass through the alley at the specified hour.

  Take her. Do as you please.

  When you are finished, confine her in the Maw Pits.

  Await further instruction.

  —Rokkan.

  The name at the bottom burned hotter than the wound in his abdomen.

  Raian’s hands curled into fists. The parchment crumpled slightly under the pressure.

  He rolled it back up—and slipped it inside his cloak.

  Step. Step. Step. His bare feet moved across the blood-slick stone, silent despite the carnage—pads hardened by forest soil and years beneath the canopy.

  Only the faint, wet sound of skin against stone followed him as he returned to Krann. The old tom had not looked away once.

  “So…” Krann swallowed, voice shaking despite himself. “You’ve got your proof, haven’t you?” His eyes flickered with desperate calculation. “You’ll let me go… won’t you?”

  Raian stood over him. His face shadowed. Unreadable.

  Then—He lowered himself onto Krann’s chest.

  The sudden weight forced a gasp from the old tom.

  “What—what are you doing?” Disbelief fractured his voice.

  Raian’s hands rose slowly. They took hold of Krann’s muzzle.

  Firm. Controlled.

  His knee pressed down against the old tom’s throat, pinning him to the blood-slick stone.

  “I forgive you,” Raian whispered. For a heartbeat—there was silence. Then his grip tightened.

  Krann’s eyes widened as his jaws were forced open—farther than bone wished to allow. “Wha—wait—” The words came broken, strangled by panic.

  Raian’s arms flexed. Tendons strained. A low growl vibrated in his chest.

  Crack. The sound was wet. Sharp.

  Upper jaw wrenched violently to one side—lower jaw to the other.

  Ligaments tore. Bone gave.

  Krann’s body convulsed once—then went slack.

  “Now… you need not ask for my forgiveness.”

  His voice lowered.

  “For the debt has been paid—in the name of Clan Sein’ei.”

  His strength finally abandoned him.

  He collapsed forward—his body falling across Krann’s ruined face.

  The chamber fell silent.

  Only the lantern flame trembled.

  Raian’s eyes burned. The chamber blurred—heat rising from the stone as if the earth itself exhaled steam into his vision.

  “I…” He dropped to one knee. “I have to go home…” He bowed forward, one palm pressed against the floor. “I cannot fall here.”

  His legs shook as he forced himself upright. Then—a violent jolt tore through his abdomen.

  “Urgh—!” The wound on his right side pulsed, hot and merciless. His body buckled again, and he clutched the torn flesh as fresh blood slid between his fingers. But his eyes still burned. Step. One step. Then another.

  The world around him seemed veiled in thin smoke, as though reality itself were thinning at the edges. His palm rose to shield his eyes. He lowered his head, allowing the hood of his cloak to fall forward and shadow his face once more.

  And he walked.

  Slow. Unsteady. Toward the exit.

  When he reached the outer chamber—the one where the two guards had fallen—

  they were awake. Dazed. Slumped against broken wood and scattered debris.

  They looked up—and froze. Their fur stood on end. Tails bristled rigid. Before them stood the cat who had struck them down. Now drenched in blood. Wounded. Silent. Walking out of their boss’s vault alone.

  Neither guard moved. Neither spoke.

  Instinct told them what their minds had not yet dared to accept.

  Something had ended inside that room.

  And whatever had walked in—was not the same as what walked out.

  Raian looked at the two guards. The golden radiance in his eyes carried more weight than any blade.

  “Move.” The command was low—but absolute.

  They could not see his face beneath the hood. Only two burning orbs of gold staring into them. Their bodies locked in place.

  Then, slowly—instinct overriding fear—they stepped aside. Raian walked past them.

  Out into the arena of the Ring. Dozens of eyes turned toward him. No one moved. Not because they chose not to—but because they couldn’t.

  The aura emanating from the blood-drenched shadow with golden eyes pressed against their spines like the presence of a greater predator.

  Silence spread outward in ripples. Then a whisper.

  “A tiger…”

  The word slithered through the crowd. It trembled from one ear to another. And the crowd parted. No one blocked his path. No one dared.

  He climbed the stone steps of the Maw Pits. With each step, the torchlight faded—and moonlight reclaimed him. Cool night air replaced the suffocating iron stench of blood. The scent of earth and wind washed over him like absolution.

  When he reached the top—his vision fractured. The world dissolved into smoke and white haze. The golden fire in his eyes flickered. Everything blurred.

  His breathing turned shallow.

  “Mother…”

  One step.

  “Mika…”

  His hand reached forward—grasping at nothing but air.

  Darkness swallowed him whole.