The Dogs take their precious fucking time while they carry me back to my new cage inside of Marak’s tent. Throwing me inside and closing the door behind. As a parting gift, they spit on me for good measure. Fucking bastards! They are giving me their version of the servant treatment. A humiliating display.

  I groan as my bruised sides rub against the cold iron bars of my cage. I try my best to shift my body to find a more comfortable position, which is nearly impossible in this closed-off space. Even if it is cruel every time they take me out, I at least was given the luxury to stretch my legs.

  Then the King Cunt walks in, placing his gear down while he ignores my presence. For now, that is. Marak is anything but subtle. The brute wants to ask me some stupid questions that any basic idiot will know. Fuck head thinks he is so clever asking these questions, moron doesn’t realise he is asking the wrong ones.

  I struggle to understand how an idiot like him survived for this long. Oh, he can fucking kill alright, but he doesn’t have the brains. No, either it is bullshit luck, or he had someone to help make the plans for him. By the Gods, we are ill-prepared for their invasion, yet surprisingly, we are holding off against them even when they have their new weapon. They fucked up somewhere, that is obvious at least.

  Marak pulls out a sharpening stone and his knife, an ugly piece of shit that looks like it is just a hammered chunk of iron resembling a blade. He scrapes the stone along the blade in my direction, chunks of metal scrap off and hit my skin. Must be an attempt to scare me. Pathetic.

  ‘I want to know about your formations.’

  ‘What about them?’ I mock. The only good thing is that he seems to have calmed down after being duped. ‘They are made up of the finest warriors, and I can bet they are kicking your ass.’

  Marak frowns, annoyed at my response. ‘They’ve changed since the last time we fought. I want to know how they work and why?’

  ‘Aren’t you a dumb mother fucker. You're slow, really slow. We figured the best approach is to use speed against your beastly kind.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Marak calmly says. ‘Because of our mobility, you expect to exploit it for your own benefit?’

  ‘That’s the idea! Dogs like you love your thick armour, oh, how much protection it gives you. The shit is heavy and slows you down. Continue wearing them, and you’ll all die of exhaustion, though I won’t stop you. It’s funny when you do.’

  Marak nods, uncaring of my insults. I need to figure something out to hit at his nerves, something personal.

  ‘We are heading to Rerth, I want to know everything about their defences.’

  I laugh at Marak, the fucker really wants to know, doesn’t he? Okay, I know how to draw this out to give them some time.

  ‘It’s a city like any other, it has walls, guards, and soldiers capable of killing you and everyone that foolishly follows your little tantrum.’

  ‘Do you know the Commander in charge of the city?’

  ‘Fuck if I know, they change Commanders regularly in that city. It is some sort of tradition there.’ I lie, I know the Commander there personally.

  Commander Ross is a good friend and a capable leader. But I know they are not going to handle the Dogs that well if they orchestrate a siege. If I underplay her, hopefully, they will slip up and send a small force to the city to combat the defenders. Giving the ability to mount an effective defence and maybe evacuate the city in time.

  Marak sharpens his blade again with the stone, pondering on my answer. ‘And what is their leadership like?’

  ‘Honestly, a bit of a mess. They are changing Commanders next week, and that usually causes a lot of logistical problems. But boy, it is also a complete cluster fuck when the changeover does happen.’ I hope it is a good enough lie that the brute believes me. It should be good enough that he only sends a small force to the city to be annihilated.

  However, he seems apathetic about the information I gave him. Marak puts his knife back into his holster as he prepares to leave the tent. But I have one thing to say to him.

  ‘You know, going to Rerth only proves us right. The only thing you are proving is that your kind needs to be put in chains. Your anger, that wrath! You can’t control it, and it shows.’

  Marak stops himself from leaving the tent and turns to face me. ‘You know nothing about me.’

  I can’t hide it, but I smirk as a response. ‘Really? I know your lust for battle, your desire for war. Everyone can see it; your soldiers can as well. They can see that their king is a fucking monster willing to burn the world, because they are not happy with their rightful place as being servants.’

  Marak stomps to my cage, his eyes radiating with fury. ‘Me, a monster? Your kind is contempt with the murder of our children! So proud of their ignorance and absolute arrogance of themselves! I am only mirroring what your kind did to mine, what you have shown to us since the day we came out of our mothers’ wombs. Don’t patronise me, vermin! I can see the rot your species created on this island, the reliance of our labour, the blood of my people. Without us, you are nothing. But without you, we are just cleansing the world of filth!’

  ‘We united the world!’ I spit back. ‘We brought the world to its knees and established peace across all nations. What achievement can your kind say? Nothing! You have nothing to your names because deep down you are nothing but cattle, to be used for the benefit of the Empire and our Gods. When the world died, when dragons went feral! We brought order to the world when no one else could. Your kind, on the other hand, sat on their islands and hid like fucking cowards. Doing nothing but sitting by the beaches and eating coconuts while the world waged war against the dragons that darkened our skies. You were a society of hedonists! Unproductive waste of oxygen! It is why we made you slaves, because left to your own devices, you achieve nothing. You should thank me, because in reality, slavery is a luxury for your kind.’

  Marak glares at me before he kneels to be at my eye level. He holds onto one bar of the cage, as if he is ready to throw my cage around and kill me. Go ahead, make that move. Make my fucking day!

  The Dog King speaks to me in a calm whisper. ‘I should thank you. Because of you, I have an endless pool of soldiers willing to fight for me. Because of you, they are always capable enough to fight like me. For enforcers of peace, your kind has a habit in creating warriors to destroy it.’

  Like that, Marak leaves. Unconcerned with my retaliation or what my response will be. He again leaves me alone in this tent, with nothing but my thoughts and disdain for his wretched species.

  There is nothing more boring than being alone in a cage. To say that in the kindest fucking way possible. But if there is one thing I can take from it, I’m decent at guessing the time. Poorly, but I hope I am accurate enough to give myself a rough idea. The shadow the tent door casts will change and shift every few minutes, and hit certain spots every few hours or so. Right now, the light is hitting the tip of the dagger, which should be 4pm, give or take three hours.

  But what is most awful about the cage is my own thoughts. The memories, the reminders of what I have to do. All of it. I have to wonder, do I have to kill my soldiers? Did I really need to end their lives because I thought they would share secret information? Do I deserve to live?

  Their blood is on my hands; I was their leader, their Commander-in-Arms. Yet I killed them, I killed them all without a second guess or any hesitation. The Dogs are to blame; they put me in the ring to fight. However, it doesn’t resolve my crimes. I had a choice, a fucking choice, and yet I chose to kill my men. This has to be some joke, or some sort of divine tragedy.

  A female Dog walks into the tent with a bowl of food in her hand. Her fur is black, and her armour seems to be made of steel with a white painted strip running along the chestplate. A thin sheet protects only her chest area. It seems not all of them are brutish enough to wear their heavy black bullshit armour.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  ‘Got you something to eat, boiled oatmeal.’ She passes it to me, and like a hungry animal, I snatch it from her hands. The meal is scorching to the touch, yet my fingers eagerly spoon the food into my mouth.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get you a spoon, we ran out.’ She says sincerely.

  ‘Why the fuck do you care?’

  She casually shrugs at my bitter response before sitting down in front of me. ‘People deserve to be treated with some decency.’

  ‘Aint that fucking rich, coming from you.’ I say while I chow down the bland oatmeal.

  ‘Yeah, well… not everything is good for you. I know that.’ She stutters, realising she misspoke. ‘Still, you deserve some comfort at least.’

  The fuck is she trying to do? ‘Cut the act. I’m not buying this hospitality of yours.’

  ‘I don’t blame you, I doubt anyone would be in your position.’ She sighs to herself. ‘So, uh… what’s your name?’

  ‘Vern.’ I sharply reply, it is a name that is forced upon me, and it is a name I will fucking say if I want to stay alive.

  She shakes her head in disagreement. ‘No, your actual name. I want to know.’

  Why? Why does she care to know my name? I suppose I’ll just humour her for now, not like saying it will get me out of here.

  ‘My name is Jon, Jon Kaval.’

  ‘You’re not married?’

  I choke, coughing violently as her question catches me off guard. ‘Why the fuck would you say that?’

  ‘You don’t have a secondary surname. Every Cinari in leadership I know always has a hyphenated surname when they’re married. That’s why I’ve asked.’

  I roll my eyes. ‘You know, we are the only nation in the world that does that. Many would adopt their partner's surname after being wed.’

  She raises a brow, clearly fucking clueless as to what I mean. ‘So, you’re married?’

  ‘No! I am not fucking married.’ I moan after taking a bite out of my meal. Even if it is plain, it hits the right spot. Gods, I miss food. ‘So, what is your name?’

  She smiles, ‘Bell.’

  What a simple name for a simple fucking creature. I can only imagine she got that name because she likes the sound of bells. Such a fucking pity.

  ‘So, can I ask you something, Jon?’

  I glare at her, unsure of her intentions. ‘Why do you care to ask? We are at war.’

  ‘Yes, but we can’t be at war forever. It has to end someday.’

  ‘Yeah, in your defeat and continuous enslavement. Like the rest of your kind bloody deserve.’

  She frowns, yet I don’t see hatred behind those eyes. For some reason, I can see a sense of sadness in her.

  ‘I hope not,’ she softly replies. ‘All I want is for us to be free like you.’

  I scoff, ‘yeah, by enslaving us and slaughtering my people.’

  ‘Not everyone of us wants that. Some of us want to live in harmony.’

  ‘So why fight us?’

  ‘Because you fight back when we want to be free.’

  I want to reply; however, there is no rebuttal. She is correct to an extent. We don’t want to free them, and we shouldn’t.

  ‘So uh,’ Bell stutters. ‘Do you want to answer my question?’

  ‘Sure.’ I roll my eyes while I try to get comfortable in my cage. After this war, I bet the only things they want to learn how to kill, fuck, and anything involving meat.

  ‘How do you grow flowers? Like enough to start your own garden. No, sorry… like how to grow them to make things? Like faces and such.’

  What? Flowers, after this war, she wants to learn how to grow flowers? Nothing relating to building a nation or brutish contraptions to mock our way of life. She wants to learn floristry?

  ‘Why do you care?’ I reply out of curiosity.

  ‘They look pretty, and I want to grow them myself.’

  She comes off as honest; that something as simple as flowers is something she wants to put time and effort into.

  Bell smiles, showing her yellow fangs to me. A hideous way of showing excitement. ‘When I was travelling through the south, I noticed your graves have flowers on them. I always think it is a sweet thing to do, and, well. A lot of my people have died during this war, too.’ Her smile disappears. ‘I want to put flowers on their graves.’

  ‘Why do you want to put flowers on your people’s graves?’

  She pauses, playing with her hands while she thinks of an answer. ‘Because it feels like the right thing to do.’

  It sounds simple, thinking it is the right thing to do. It sounds na?ve, yet also innocent. Like a child believing simple acts of kindness can take you anywhere in life. She seems nice, must be somewhere in her late teens or early twenties. I doubt she even understands the world or the religious reasons for putting flowers on the graves of our loved ones. The Dogs are mimicking us, and they don’t even know or understand why.

  ‘I don’t know anything about floristry.’

  Bell looks down at the floor. ‘Oh.’

  Oh, for the love of the Gods, does she have to do that? ‘Fine! I can try to help. I’ll tell you what I know tomorrow.’

  Bell's bright smile radiates from her face, as if the offer will never happen in her life. ‘Promise?’

  ‘Sure, I promise.’

  She nods to me, taking my dirty dishes off my hands and leaving the tent without saying goodbye. Perhaps she is entrapped in her own excitement that she forgot to announce her exit. Oh well, at least it is a friendly talk even when it is brief. It might be torture, but at least it is a break from what I have to deal with Marak.