Cursed Heir System: Revenge Against the Gods

Alan glanced at the tunnel path where the slaves had rushed toward the source of the scream.

Intrigued, he strode forward, casually carrying his pickaxe on his shoulder. As he walked deeper into the tunnel where expansion work was underway, he saw the scene.

At the tunnel's edge, a pile of rock debris had buried a slave, completely covering them. There was no guarantee of survival—only a motionless hand protruded from the rubble. The other slaves stood in a loose circle, their faces hollow with resignation, tools dangling at their sides. No one moved to help. No one dared.

"Poor guy," Moriko said, standing beside him, her golden eyes fixed on the body. "That's the thirtieth death this month alone."

Alan nodded. He had witnessed countless collapses and dangers in the mines. The owners cared little for the slaves' safety, choosing them over contract laborers to avoid scrutiny over precautions. In the Parheller mines, greed always wins over safety.

But Alan's eyes shifted to the tunnel's edge, the cause of this chaos.

A newly opened cave had appeared, a rugged cavern with odd, uneven edges, as if the earth had split apart. Such unexpected caverns were common in the mines, occasionally revealing empty chambers or, rarely, heavy deposits of gravion.

Something felt wrong with this cavern. Its darkness seemed to absorb light itself, and an inexplicable pull drew Alan toward it, as if it were beckoning him to step closer and enter.

Without realizing, he took a step forward.

"What the hell is happening here?" A familiar voice snapped him out of his trance. Every slave turned, fear flashing across their faces.

Standing at the back was the mine's overseer, Dakel, flanked by a few guards. Dakel was a short man with a bald head, his oily face tight with frustration as he glared at the slaves who had stopped working over the minor incident.

Alan's eyes were fixed on Dakel's right hand, where the control ring fit tightly around his finger.

Back to work in five seconds! Or else…" he growled, extending his hand. One of the guards immediately handed him the coiled whip used for punishments.

Everyone tensed, knowing Dakel's cruelty. He wouldn't hesitate to kill the weak or even children if they didn't work properly. Panic erupted, and the slaves scrambled to resume their tasks, grabbing their tools.

Alan also returned to his post, brushing past the fat overseer, cursing him inside his mind, 'Fat bastard.'

Dakel stomped toward the debris. "Useless fucking bastard," he cursed, kicking the dead slave's hand in a fit of anger.

He turned to the new cavern opening and ordered the guards to clear the debris. They nodded at his command.

He approached the cavern, peering inside, but the darkness was so absolute that he couldn't see more than a few feet ahead, even his lantern's light died a few feet in. His voice echoed loudly through the vast, deep chamber.

Stepping back, he muttered, "Too deep. Send a request to the Duke for raiders."

"Yes, sir," the supervisor nodded obediently.

Alan was at the crowd's edge, his eyes fixed on the dark cave entrance.

Flashes, visions, raced through his mind as he stared. A flickering golden flame. A figure in shadow, covered in ash. He heard an elderly, icy voice whispering words he couldn't understand.

The pickaxe almost slipped from his shoulder as he froze, his breath catching. The pull intensified, pushing him in the direction of the cave.

"Get moving, grey-hair!" He was startled back by Moriko's piercing whisper. Her black cat ears twitched nervously as she rushed past, nudging his arm. "Are you trying to whip us both?"

Alan blinked as he pushed his feet to move, the visions fading.

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In these mines, where night and morning blurred indistinguishably, slaves stood in lines clutching dented bowls for their rations.

Alan sat against the wall, a dented tin plate in one hand and a hard loaf of bread in the other, leaning against the chilly rock. The rusty slave collar itched at his neck.

The stew tasted like watery mud.

Someone spilled extra stew onto his plate. Alan glanced up to see Moriko, her golden eyes glinting in the torchlight.

Her tail curled against the stone as she sat silently beside him and began to eat. She'd given him her portion, honoring the deal they'd made three years ago when she first arrived at the mines. He'd protect her in exchange for extra food, keeping him stronger than the others.

As he ate, Alan glanced at the other slaves in the distance. Three men, their faces scarred and hardened, likely fresh captives from some raid, stood huddled near the ration line were staring at Moriko, their eyes lingering on her body where her tattered cloth barely covered her.

Moriko ate, unaware of their gazes.

Alan recognized the lust in their eyes, it's a common sight here, where many male slaves preyed on defenseless female slaves to vent their pent-up desires.

"I'm off to sleep, meow," she said suddenly, standing and stretching. Her slender frame arched, and her yawn revealed sharp canines.

"Already?" Alan asked, glancing up.

She nodded, rubbing her eyes. "Sleep's the only escape we get here." She turned toward the sleeping quarters.

"Hope I see the sun again someday," she mumbled, her voice trailing into a wistful whisper as she walked away.

Moriko hurried through the narrow tunnel toward the sleeping quarters, far from the rations area. Her ears twitched at the sound of footsteps trailing behind. Glancing back, she saw three slaves following at a distance. Thinking they were headed to sleep, she kept walking, her pace steady.

But then, her sensitive ears caught rushing footsteps. Before she could turn, a chained hand clamped over her mouth, gripping her face tightly.

"Mff—" she gasped, clawing at the hands on her neck, but the three men dragged her toward another tunnel usually empty at this hour.

The hand slipped, and Moriko bit down hard, her sharp teeth sinking into flesh. The man screamed.

"Leave me, you filthy bastards!" she snarled, slashing with her partially transformed claw across his fave. He caught her wrist and slapped her hard, sending her crashing to the ground, head spinning.

"Fucking bitch!" he spat. "You'll pay for that."

Tears stung her eyes as she curled up, tail lashing in fear. Another man tore her cloth apart, exposing her skin. "Pretty thing like you shouldn't fight," he sneered, pinning her down.

"Please… stop…" she sobbed. "Someone help…"

"No one's coming, kitty," another laughed. "Just take it."

As he leaned closer to her face, A leg swung through the air, smashing into his jaw with a sickening crunch. The man flew backward, his skull slamming against the tunnel wall with a wet crack.

Moriko's tear-blurred eyes turned to her rescuer. Alan stood there, his blue eyes blazing with cold rage.

"Is your dick *that* hard?" Alan said softly, raising his chained hands.

The man scrambled up and swung his fist at Alan. Alan dodged, looping his chains around the man's neck and yanking tight. "Let's see how hard your neck is," he hissed, driving his knee into the man's spine. The man clawed at the chains, face purpling, until Alan twisted hard. A crack echoed as the man's neck snapped.

The other two slaves froze, then bolted down the tunnel, their footsteps fading.

"Motherfucking cowards!" Alan shouted, chest heaving.

He turned to Moriko, curled up and sobbing, arms shielding her bare chest. "You okay?" he asked bluntly, kneeling nearby but keeping his distance, scanning her for injuries.

Assaults were common in the mines. Victims often died, and survivors were ignored. If a slave got pregnant, Dekel would kill her in a rage. That's why Moriko had struck her deal with Alan for protection.

Her sobs quieted, but she trembled, tears mixing with dirt on her face. "I… I tried to fight," she whispered. "I couldn't… I couldn't stop them…"

Alan, uninterested in her story, nodded toward the dead body. "Take his shirt. Wear it."

With shaky hands, she pulled on the dead man's shirt, oversized on her small frame, covering her skin.

"Go to the sleeping quarters," Alan said urgently. "Now."

"What?" she stammered.

"Move!" he barked. Moriko scrambled up, running toward the quarters.

He had killed many slaves here, mostly when they attacked him for food, and he did so without remorse. That's why most didn't dare approach Moriko, who stayed close to him. This slave was new and had mistaken her for an easy target.

Alan grinned with grim satisfaction.

Then came footsteps. Uneven. Heavy.

Dakel Chorev emerged from the dark, lantern light flickering off his bald scalp.

His eyes locked onto the corpse, then onto Alan who's grinning.

"You filthy, murdering rat!" Dakel roared, fury shaking his voice.

"You think you can kill my property and walk away?" he sneered as he pointed the control ring to him. A burning pain surged through Alan's slave collar, burning his veins. He let out a gasp, trembling as his knees buckled and he fell to the cold floor.

His breath came in short gasps as his vision became blurry.

Dekel stepped closer, slamming his boot into Alan's jaw. Blood sprayed as Alan's head snapped into the wall with a thud.

"You're worth ten of that scum, and you cost me a worker?" Dekel roared. "I'll carve the price out of your hide!"

He kicked Alan's ribs, stomach, and face, blood splattering the floor. "Cursed wretch!" Dekel spat, stomping Alan's hand, grinding the bones.

Knowing better than to provoke Dekel's fury, the guards stood back and smiled at the slave's suffering.

Kicks, stomps, and snarled curses continued interminably as the punishment dragged on. Alan's collar jolted with another ring tap. A broken groan escaped his bloodied lips as his body trembled.

Finally, Dekel stepped back, panting. "Chain him to the wall," he ordered. "Let him rot all night. Maybe he'll learn his place."

The guards dragged Alan to the tunnel wall, chaining his wrists to a rusted iron ring on the wall. Blood dripped from his split lip, but he didn't scream or plead. Pain was nothing new to him.

Dekel spat near Alan's feet. "Keep pushing me, kid, and I'll bury you myself." The guards' boots echoed as they followed him out.

Blood trickled from Alan's nose, each breath stabbing his ribs. Time crawled. His eyes closed, pain radiating through him.

He was stirred by a tug on his leg. With blurry vision and swollen eyes, he opened them to see Moriko kneeling next to him and pulling him toward the sleeping quarters by holding onto his ankle.

"Grey-hair, don't make a sound," she muttered.

With a sigh, Alan lowered his head and allowed her to drag him across the uneven stone.