The guard dragged Kloric to the side and struck him with the butt of his rifle.

  Pain exploded through his shoulder.

  Kloric collapsed inward, muscles locking as he absorbed it.

  The guard continued hitting him at different angles.

  It heals, kloric told himself.

  I’ve felt a bullet pass through my head. This is nothing.

  He repeated it in his mind, over and over.

  The guard frowned.

  This wasn’t the reaction he wanted.

  Snarling, the guard lifted his boot and drove it hard into Kloric’s stomach.

  The air rushed out of him.

  Kloric folded, clutching his gut as bile burned his throat. The pain was heavier than before—deep, crushing.

  The guard’s expression twisted.

  Then he smiled.

  As if that was the answer he’d been looking for.

  Another kick.

  Then another.

  Kloric finally moved.

  He grabbed the guard’s boot with shaking hands and looked up, blood spilling from his mouth.

  “Don’t forget,” he rasped, spitting red into the dirt, “what your boss said.”

  The guard froze.

  “I’m not supposed to die,” Kloric continued quietly. “Can you bear the consequences?”

  The guard yanked his foot free, face dark with rage.

  He kicked Kloric once more—hard—then dragged his boot across Kloric’s clothes, wiping it clean.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Rot there,” he muttered.

  Then he walked away, leaving Kloric curled in the dirt, breathing shallowly, alive.

  Kloric lay in the dirt, staring at nothing.

  “I’m so tired,” he muttered.

  His body felt heavy—too heavy to move, too heavy to think.

  How am I supposed to deal with the commander?

  He swallowed, throat dry.

  I just want to survive past today…

  His chest tightened.

  And I’m already breaking.

  The thought that followed was quieter. More frightening.

  If it resets again…

  His fingers twitched weakly against the dirt.

  I don’t think I’ll be able to move at all.

  Moments later, the sound of an engine cut through the yard.

  A truck.

  Kloric’s stomach twisted.

  Is that him? he thought. The commander?

  Panic flared—but his body refused to respond.

  He gritted his teeth and dragged himself forward, elbows scraping against the dirt as pain flared through his ribs.

  Every movement sent a dull throb through his body, but he kept going.

  He had to be with the others.

  Even if he couldn’t stand.

  Even if he couldn’t speak.

  He reached the edge of the group and stopped, lying there among them, chest rising and falling shallowly.

  Waiting.

  The truck doors opened.

  A man stepped down.

  He was nothing like the others.

  Where the guards were loud and careless, this man moved with certainty. His presence alone carried weight—crossing him felt less like a risk and more like a death sentence waiting to happen.

  His eyes swept across the yard.

  Guards smoking.

  Prisoners kneeling.

  A flicker of surprise crossed his face—brief, almost imperceptible—but it was there.

  More soldiers stepped out behind him, followed by five new captives, wrists bound, faces hollow.

  The man spoke calmly.

  “Roger.”

  The squad leader stiffened and stepped forward at once.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The commander gestured toward the kneeling prisoners.

  “Why are they still on the ground?”

  Roger swallowed.

  “Sir?”

  “You should’ve taken them to the slave post,” the commander continued evenly.

  “They’ll need rest if they’re to work tomorrow.”

  Roger hesitated. “The… slave post, sir?”

  The commander turned his head slightly.

  “Chello didn’t explain?”

  Chello, cigarette halfway to his lips, froze. He turned sharply.

  “Sir—you didn’t give me any instructions regarding them.”

  The commander looked at him.

  Just looked.

  “They’re captives,” he said. “What else did you think they were for?”

  Silence.

  “Take them in,” the commander said. “I need rest.”

  He began walking away.

  “Make sure they’re awake by four tomorrow morning,” he added.

  “Drills start immediately.”

  He paused.

  “Use the shock collars from headquarters. If any of them move more than ten meters outside the camp perimeter—”

  His voice didn’t change.

  “—they’ll receive a shock strong enough to drop them on the spot.”

  He didn’t look back.

  “Now go.”

  As the commander took a step forward.

  His gaze dropped to the figure lying in the dirt.

  “What’s wrong with this one?” he asked.

  The squad leader straightened at once.

  “He was punished for disobedience, sir.”

  The commander looked down at Kloric.

  For a moment, he said nothing.

  Then he drew his pistol.

  The sound alone made several prisoners flinch.

  He crouched, seized Kloric by the front of his shirt, and hauled him up just enough to meet his eyes.

  “Any further disobedience,” the commander said calmly, “will cost you more than a beating.”

  His tone never rose.

  “You’re lucky,” he continued. “I’m tired.”

  He released Kloric, letting him drop back into the dirt.

  Then the commander straightened and addressed the rest of them.

  “Let this be clear,” he said.

  “If any of you disobey again—break their legs.”

  He paused.

  “Even a cripple is still of use.”

  He holstered his weapon and turned away.

  The order hung in the night air, cold and final.

  Terren froze when the commander drew his gun.

  For a heartbeat, Terren was certain Kloric was going to die right there.

  His chest felt tight, breath locked in his throat.

  But when the commander finished speaking and turned away, relief hit him so hard his knees almost gave out.

  Kloric was still alive.

  The squad leader didn’t waste time.

  “Alright,” he barked. “Round them up. Move them to the slave post.”

  Chains rattled as the guards moved in.

  Terren hurried to Kloric’s side and grabbed the chain at his wrist, pulling Kloric’s arm over his shoulder.

  “Easy,” Terren whispered. “I’ve got you.”

  Kloric sagged, barely conscious.

  Then another prisoner stepped in.

  A brown-haired boy—about Kloric’s age—took hold of the other chain, lifting just enough to keep Kloric from falling.

  It was awkward. Painful.

  But together, they made it work.

  The chains on his hands making it hard but they tried by working together not to trip.

  No orders. No hesitation. Just understanding.

  Slowly, the line began to move.

  Toward the slave post.