Ironbound

Kain sat in the cage, his eyes scanning the camp. Torik was already awake, pacing near the fire with his usual calm menace. The bandits gave him a wide berth, their laughter muted as they went about their tasks.

The captives huddled together, their faces pale and drawn. The boy from the previous day sat with his arm wrapped in a filthy rag, his body trembling with every breath.

The old man leaned toward Kain, his voice low. "He's going to make an example out of someone. Mark my words."

Kain nodded, his jaw tight. He didn't respond, his attention locked on Torik.

Torik's voice rang out suddenly, cutting through the camp like a blade.

"Bring them out," he said, his tone commanding.

The bandits moved quickly, dragging the captives from the cage one by one. Kain was pulled roughly to his feet, his wrists bound as he was shoved into the center of the camp with the others.

Torik stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the line of prisoners.

"This camp has grown... complacent," he said, his voice carrying easily. "Too many weeds. Too much weakness."

He stopped in front of the old man, tilting his head slightly as he studied him. "You've lasted this long. Impressive."

The old man met his gaze without flinching.

Torik smirked and moved on, his eyes landing on Kain.

"And you," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "Always so defiant."

Kain held Torik's gaze, his expression unreadable.

Torik stepped back, spreading his arms. "Today, we test who's worth keeping... and who's not."

Torik gestured toward a cleared area near the edge of the camp. A crude wooden post had been erected, its surface splintered and stained. At its base lay a pile of jagged rocks.

"We'll keep this simple," Torik said, his tone almost cheerful. "Each of you will carry one of these rocks to the post. Easy enough."

The captives exchanged nervous glances. There was no way this was as simple as it seemed.

"But there's a catch," Torik continued, his smile growing. "You'll do it while one of my men motivates you."

At his signal, two bandits stepped forward, their whips uncoiling with a menacing hiss.

The old man let out a low curse under his breath.

The youngest captive, the boy from the day before, was dragged forward. His face was pale, streaked with grime and dried blood, and his wounded arm trembled as the bandits thrust a jagged rock into his hands. It was nearly as large as his torso, its weight causing his thin frame to sag.

"Move," a bandit snarled, cracking a whip across the dirt near the boy's feet.

The boy flinched, his grip tightening on the stone. With small, shaky steps, he stumbled toward the post, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

The first lash came quickly, the whip biting into his back with a sickening crack. The boy cried out, nearly dropping the rock as tears streamed down his face.

Kain stood among the captives, watching in silence. His fists clenched at his sides, the nails digging into his palms.

He hated the sound of the whip, hated the boy's cries.

"Keep going!" another bandit shouted, bringing the whip down again. The boy screamed, his knees buckling as he struggled under the rock's weight.

Kain's jaw tightened. He knew what was coming. He had seen it before.

The boy collapsed a few feet from the post, the rock slipping from his grip and landing with a dull thud. His small body trembled, his face pressed into the dirt as he sobbed.

Torik approached slowly, his boots crunching over the dirt. The boy flinched as the man crouched beside him, gripping his chin and forcing his tear-streaked face upward.

"Failure," Torik said, his voice soft but sharp. "It's a disease. And diseases must be cut out."

The boy whimpered, his wide eyes darting toward the other captives.

Torik straightened, drawing his dagger in one fluid motion. "Someone needs to finish this," he said, turning toward the captives. His gaze settled on Kain.

"You," he said, pointing the blade at him.

Kain stepped forward without hesitation. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were a puppet being dragged toward the stage.

The boy's eyes locked onto his, desperate and pleading.

"Please," the boy whimpered. "Don't..."

Kain's stomach churned as he crouched beside the boy, the dagger cold in his hand. He hated this. Hated the bandits, hated Torik. Hated the boy for being weak.

But survival wasn't about hate. It wasn't about fairness. It was about doing what needed to be done.

"You knew this was coming," Kain muttered, his voice low enough that only the boy could hear.

The boy sobbed, shaking his head. "I didn't... I didn't mean to fail."

Kain's expression hardened. "None of us mean to fail."

The bandits jeered, their voices a cruel chorus around him.

Kain tightened his grip on the dagger, the blade catching the firelight. He thought about the times he had been beaten, the times he had begged for mercy that never came. This boy would've died no matter what Kain did.

Better by his hand than theirs.

Kain drove the blade into the boy's chest, the motion quick and precise. The boy's body jerked, his small hands grasping at Kain's arm before falling limp.

The camp fell silent for a moment, the only sound the crackling of the fire.

Kain rose slowly, the dagger still clenched in his hand. Blood dripped from the blade, pooling on the dirt beneath him.

"Good," Torik said, his voice cold and approving. "You understand what it takes to survive."

The captives were silent as Kain was shoved back into the line. No one looked at him, not the old man, not the young girl.

Kain wiped the blood from his hands onto his tattered shirt, his face blank.

Inside, his mind raced. He hated himself for what he'd done, but he didn't let it show. He couldn't afford to.

Weakness was a death sentence. He wouldn't give them an excuse to pick him next.

The captives sat in the cage. The boy's death hung over them like a dark cloud, his absence a grim reminder of the stakes they faced.

Kain leaned against the bars, his gaze fixed on the campfire.

The young girl sat close to the old man, her eyes red and swollen from crying. She hadn't spoken to Kain since the previous night.

Torik's cold gaze swept over the captives. "Yesterday was the beginning," he said.. "Today, we continue."

He gestured toward the clearing where the jagged rocks still laid.

He turned to the bandit leader, his lips curling into a faint smirk. "Bring the next one."

The leader hesitated for a moment before barking an order. Two bandits stepped forward and dragged a captive, a wiry man with sunken cheeks, out of the cage.

The man struggled weakly, his protests falling on deaf ears as he was hauled toward the clearing.

The wiry man was shoved toward the rocks, his arms trembling as he struggled to lift one. His thin frame sagged under the weight, and he staggered toward the post, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

The bandits jeered, their laughter cruel and mocking.

"Faster!" one of them shouted, cracking a whip against the ground.

The man stumbled, the rock slipping from his grip and landing with a heavy thud. He fell to his knees, his chest heaving as he tried to push himself back up.

Torik approached slowly, his expression unreadable. He crouched beside the man, tilting his head.

"You're trying," he said softly, almost kindly. "But that isn't enough."

The man's eyes widened, his hands trembling as Torik drew his dagger.

"No! Please, I can—"

The blade sliced cleanly across the man's throat, cutting off his words. Blood sprayed across the dirt as the man collapsed, his body twitching before going still.

The camp fell silent, the bandits watching with a mix of unease and fascination.

Kain stood motionless among the captives, his expression cold and unreadable. Inside, his mind raced.

Kain's fists clenched at his sides. He hated Torik, hated the way he toyed with life and death like it was a game.

As the man's body was dragged away, Torik turned his gaze back to the captives.

His eyes landed on Kain.

"You," Torik said, pointing. "Step forward."

Kain didn't hesitate. He stepped out of the line, his jaw tight but his expression blank.

"You've proven you can fight," Torik said, circling him slowly. "But fighting isn't enough. Strength isn't just about your fists. It's about your will."

He stopped in front of Kain, his cold smile returning.

"Let's see if yours is as strong as you think."

The captives watched in silence as Torik gestured toward the clearing.

"Take the rock," Torik said. "And don't stop until I say."

Kain stood before the pile of jagged stones, the camp falling eerily silent around him. Each rock was rough and uneven, their edges sharp enough to cut into bare skin.

"Choose one," Torik said, his voice sharp but calm.

Kain didn't hesitate. He crouched down and gripped the largest stone he could manage, its rough surface biting into his palms. It was heavy, heavier than anything he'd been forced to carry before, but he straightened his back, steadying his stance.

Torik's smirk deepened. "Good. Now walk."

The distance to the post felt endless. Kain took his first step, his muscles straining under the stone's weight. Every step sent jolts of pain through his arms and shoulders, but he kept moving, his breaths slow and measured.

The first lash came quickly.

A bandit's whip cracked against Kain's back, the pain sharp and blinding. He stumbled but didn't stop.

"Faster!" the bandit barked, raising the whip again.

The second strike was harder, cutting through his tattered shirt and biting into his skin. Blood seeped from the wound, but Kain gritted his teeth, forcing himself forward.

He didn't cry out.

Torik watched from the sidelines, his arms crossed. His expression was one of detached interest, as though he were watching a particularly dull performance.

The weight of the stone pressed harder with each step, the jagged edges digging into Kain's skin. Blood trickled down his fingers, staining the dirt beneath his feet.

His vision blurred, the edges darkening as his body screamed for relief. But he didn't stop. He couldn't.

Pain was temporary. Failure was permanent.

The bandits' laughter echoed around him, their jeers blending into a cacophony of mockery.

"Look at him!" one shouted. "Like a little mule, dragging his load!"

Another lash cut across his shoulder, the force of it nearly driving him to his knees.

"Keep going," Kain muttered to himself, his voice low and ragged. "Just keep going."

When he finally reached the post, his legs buckled, sending him to his knees. The stone slipped from his grip, landing with a heavy thud at the base of the post.

Kain stood trembling, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. His back burned where the whip had struck, and his hands throbbed from gripping the jagged rock.

Torik stepped closer, his boots crunching on the dirt. He tilted his head, studying Kain like one might inspect a broken tool. For a long moment, he said nothing, letting the silence stretch.

Finally, he smirked. "You didn't fall apart. That's rare. Most would've been crawling by now."

He leaned in just enough that Kain could feel the cold shadow of his presence.

He stepped back without waiting for a response, addressing the bandits instead. "Get him out of my sight."

The bandits dragged Kain back to the cage, their rough hands gripping his arms like iron clamps. His legs barely moved, the strain of carrying the stone leaving his muscles stiff and unresponsive.

When they shoved him through the cage door, he stumbled, catching himself against the bars. The young girl flinched at the sight of him, her wide eyes darting to the blood seeping through his torn shirt.

"You're bleeding," she said softly, her voice wavering.

Kain leaned back against the bars, his breath steadying. "I know."

The old man sat nearby, watching him carefully. For a while, no one spoke.

Finally, the old man let out a long breath, shaking his head. "You're tougher than I thought."

Kain glanced at him, his expression blank. "What else was I supposed to do?"

The old man didn't answer. He didn't need to.

The girl shifted closer to Kain, her small hands wringing the hem of her shirt. "Will they do it again?"

Kain didn't look at her. His gaze stayed fixed on the firelight flickering beyond the bars. "Probably."