Slave of Fate

The moment theat name was spoken, the expressions of both No. 1 and the Master darkened.

"I warned you," the Master said, his voice icy, "not to utter his name so carelessly."

No. 1 hesitated before speaking. "Master, I will go and bring that child here myself."

The Master shook his head. "No. It's unnecessary. I'll observe the others as well."

On Rudra's Side

Batch No. 1 stood before Rudra, his face desperate. "Hey, kid... about the negotiation. Have you decided?"

Rudra, with a blank expression, gave a single nod.

After a moment of hesitation, Batch No. 1 stepped closer and handed over his batch. "Now, undo this thing."

Without a word, Rudra walked to the center of the circle. His cold voice carried over the murmuring crowd. "Step outside the circle. All of you."

The people exchanged defiant glances, but Rudra sighed, his patience thinning. "If you want to undo the devices, step outside. Otherwise, stay and live with them."

The crowd fell silent. Hesitating, they eventually moved out of the circle.

Once they had complied, Rudra bit his finger deep enough to draw blood. He began writing strange symbols on the ground, muttering under his breath as he worked.

"What's he doing?" someone whispered. "Is he spilling his blood for some ritual?"

A man with a scholarly air stepped forward, his gentle voice cutting through the murmurs. "Kid, can you tell us what those symbols mean? How do you even know them?"

Rudra, surprised, glanced at the scholar. "You recognize these symbols?"

The scholar shook his head. "Not entirely. I remember fragments—bits of them intrigued me, but I could never make sense of them. Can you explain what they mean?"

Rudra paused, his expression darkening. "Don't try to understand them. Some things aren't meant to be understood. The more you know, the heavier the burden, the greater the sadness."

The scholar tilted his head, intrigued. "Sadness caused by knowledge? You speak as though you've lived through decades of experience. But you're just a child."

Rudra's eyes turned colder. "Sometimes, age doesn't define kindness or cruelty. It's not experience that makes someone cruel; it's understanding."

The scholar smiled faintly. "Understanding cruelty, you say? You seem to know much about it. But the real cruelty begins when you have something precious to protect. It's when you see it taken from you—piece by piece—that you'll understand the true meaning of pain."

Rudra's blank face remained unmoved. "Cruelty means nothing to me. It never has."

The scholar chuckled, though his smile didn't reach his eyes. "Even if your eyes are dead, even if you feel nothing, we're all the same, in some way."

Ignoring him, Rudra returned to his work, his movements deliberate.

"How much longer will this take?" the scholar asked, curiosity mixed with impatience.

"I'm piecing together fragments of a book," Rudra replied flatly.

"What book?"

Rudra stopped writing momentarily. "Do I need to explain everything to you?" He exhaled, his tone sharp. "The writings on these walls—they form a book. If arranged in sequence, they reveal the story of a man called 'The First Heaven.'"

The scholar's expression turned to shock. "The First Heaven? And what does this book say?"

Rudra hesitated, his voice lower. "It holds the method to undo these devices. His life. And… a way to escape this place."

His voice turned cold again. "No. 2, start a countdown from ten."

No. 2 scowled. "Who do you think you are, ordering me around? Show some respect—"

Rudra cut him off. "It's the final step. If you delay, it'll be too late. The Master will return any second."

Before anyone could argue further, a one-armed man shouted, "Do as he says! Start the countdown!"

No. 2 reluctantly began. "Ten… nine… eight…"

Here's an intensified and more detailed version of Rudra's pain from the crawling of the symbols, adding a greater sense of agony and a darker atmosphere:

---

As the countdown continued, the symbols on the circle began to stir. The ground beneath Rudra seemed to come alive, the letters curling and twisting like serpents as they slithered toward him. He could feel them, cold and unnatural, crawling up his legs, wrapping themselves around his skin like burning chains.

The crowd watched in horror as Rudra's face twisted in pain. His eyes widened, a silent scream etched across his features as the letters burrowed into his flesh. The symbols didn't just crawl; they *invaded*, seeping beneath his skin, biting into his bones.

Each movement felt like a thousand needles digging into his body. His legs trembled as he fought to keep himself steady, but the symbols did not relent. They moved up, higher, toward his torso, wrapping around his ribs, and twisting through his muscles. His body felt as if it were being split open, every inch of his skin raw and burning.

Rudra clenched his teeth so hard he could feel them threatening to crack, but the pain... the pain was overwhelming. It was as if the letters themselves were tearing him apart from the inside, and yet, there was nowhere to escape.

With every second that passed, the agony intensified. It felt like his spine was being cracked like a whip, the symbols winding tighter and tighter around his ribs until he could no longer breathe. His chest tightened, air forced from his lungs with each breath, and still, they crawled—*every inch* of him consumed by the horrible sensation.

He could hear his own heartbeat thudding in his ears, but it wasn't enough to drown out the sickening sound of his bones breaking beneath the force of the symbols' crawl. Every movement was excruciating, like an iron claw digging into his very marrow. His muscles spasmed involuntarily, each twitch of his body feeling like he was being pulled apart at the seams.

Rudra's lips were cracked, his skin slick with sweat as his body writhed in agony. His eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to block out the pain, but it only made it worse. "Why couldn't he scream? Why couldn't he fight back? Every nerve in his body screamed in protest, but he held his breath, fighting to keep the desperation at bay. If he screamed now, everything he had done would have been for nothing.

The symbols reached his chest, and with every inch they moved, it felt like the skin on his body was being peeled back. His muscles burned as if they were being slowly roasted over an open fire. The pain was so sharp it was unbearable, but it was the crawling sensation—the way the symbols seemed to burrow deeper into his flesh—that made him want to lose his mind.

The crowd had gone silent, their eyes wide with terror as they watched the torment unfold. Even the Master, who had seen countless horrors, stood frozen, his face twisted with unease. Rudra's body shook violently as the symbols crawled higher, their chilling movements sending waves of torment through every inch of his being.

---

I can't let them see me break.

He pressed his teeth harder against his lips, biting down so hard that blood began to spill from the corners of his mouth. The pain was unrelenting, the pressure on his bones and muscles almost unbearable. His mind began to blur, but still, the symbols crawled—*always crawling, always pulling at him, tearing at him*.

His body felt like it was cracking under the weight of the symbols' presence, the pressure too much to withstand. *This is the price*—he thought faintly—*the price for freedom*.

He could hear the soft rustle of fabric as the Master took a step forward, but the words didn't reach him. The only thing that mattered was the pain, the cold burn of the symbols in his veins, in his muscles, in his very soul.

His legs finally gave out beneath him, and Rudra collapsed onto the ground, his body shaking uncontrollably. The symbols had reached his neck, and the pressure was unbearable. It was like being drowned in a sea of fire, every breath coming slower, more labored. His skin had gone pale, his body covered in sweat as if he had been submerged in boiling water.

But still, the symbols crawled, the last of them creeping toward his throat. He fought to stay conscious, to stay in control, but the pain was too much. A low, guttural sound escaped from deep within him, the closest thing to a scream his body would allow. His hands clawed at the ground beneath him, nails digging into the dirt as he tried to anchor himself, but it was useless.

Then, suddenly, the pain stopped.

A crackling sound filled the air as the glowing symbols began to fade, their grip on him loosening. The feeling of something *crawling* inside his body faded away, leaving him gasping for air. His chest heaved, each breath coming shallow and sharp, but he was still alive.

For a moment, everything around him seemed to blur as Rudra fought to clear his vision. His body was battered, broken, but it was still whole. He had survived.

The crowd stood silent, their eyes fixed on him, stunned by the sight of what had just happened.

Rudra struggled to rise, his limbs weak and trembling, but he stood. His body ached as if it had been through hell and back, but his mind—his mind was as cold and empty as ever.

The Master Arrives

The Master entered the scene, his gaze immediately locking onto the glowing circle. "What's going on here?" he demanded.

No. 1 waved his hand, effortlessly throwing half the crowd aside. As he stepped closer to Rudra, he paused, noticing the symbols.

"Kid, what are you doing in that circle?"

The Master's expression darkened further. "That light… I know it. How is this possible?"

Before anyone could react, the circle cracked with a deafening sound, and the light vanished. Rudra collapsed to his knees, breathing heavily. The glowing symbols remained etched into his skin.

The Master turned to No. 1. "Test him. Don't kill him. I need to confirm something."

No. 1 was suddenly behind Rudra, blade drawn. He swung, but his strike passed through air.

Rudra turned, his voice calm despite his exhaustion. "Are you done?"

The Master's eyes narrowed. "You… you activated that circle. Do you even know the consequences of your actions?"

Rudra stared blankly. "I did what was necessary. I read the writings of the First Heaven. I followed his instructions."

"You learned that language in one night Memorized the sequence in mere hours?" the Master muttered, astonished. "You… may surpass even me."

"Kid," the Master said, his tone deadly, "what do you call your actions? Do you understand the weight of what you've done?"

Rudra was silent for a moment, then replied coldly, "They would call it brutality. Cruelty. To me, it's survival. Nothing more."

The Master's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Cruel words for a child."

---

Rudra's voice was a cold whisper, but it cut through the air with the weight of someone who had seen too much. His words, though simple, carried a sharp bitterness that echoed in the silence.

*"So tell me, what's the difference? If someone kills a dangerous being, they are called a hero, praised for ridding the world of evil. But if that same person kills an innocent one, for the sake of another, they are branded a murderer. The blood spilled from a harmful being and a harmless one is the same—* *yet society chooses to glorify one and demonize the other. Why? Why is one life considered valuable and the other disposable?

Rudra's eyes, cold and empty, locked onto his interlocutor. His voice hardened, a bitter edge creeping into his tone.

The truth is, blood was never beautiful to begin with. Society has twisted its meaning, manipulated it to suit their own needs. They call it beautiful when it flows for a cause they deem worthy, but they forget—it's all the same. Whether it's spilled in a battle or in silence, it's still just blood. And I've never belonged to a society that pretends it means anything more than that."*

He paused, his words lingering in the air like a dark truth no one wanted to face. The silence was deafening, filled only by the weight of his gaze.

The Master's unease deepened. "You speak as though you've rejected the very idea of humanity."

Rudra's voice was quiet, but ice-cold. "Humanity never mattered to me.

The Master's expression hardened. "And what will you do with this freedom?"

Rudra's gaze burned with quiet determination. "Whatever I must."