Chapter 62 ‒ The Beast Within
Chapter 62 ‒ The Beast Within
Tyler sat in the empty stands, his eyes staring blankly at the arena below. His fingers unconsciously curled and uncurled around the hilt of his sword as though trying to grasp something solid in the swirl of emotions clouding his mind. He had heard from the Collector that, since all other competitors had forfeited, they would proceed directly to the finals. His opponent would be Kragg the Fallen.
It didn’t surprise him. Who would want to face Kragg in his 100th match, a battle surely to be brutal and symbolic? But Tyler wasn’t afraid of the fight itself. It was the thought of what he might become after. In his last match, he had almost lost control completely. The cheers from the audience had drowned out his better judgment, and for a moment, he had truly wanted to kill Velin. It terrified him, not only because he had nearly broken his own vow, but because it felt so natural.
What scared him most was that it wasn’t just the audience pushing him to violence — it was as if there were two voices inside his mind: one urging him to kill, the other desperately holding him back. Which voice was truly his own? Could he even trust himself anymore? Was he turning into a monster, a mindless beast that thrived on bloodshed?
He thought of Milo. Of how Milo had always feared Tyler’s growing hunger for strength. Milo’s words echoed faintly: “You’re not the same when you fight… you’re not you.”
Now Tyler saw what Milo meant. The more he fought, the more he levelled up, the more he absorbed abilities from those he killed — he was changing. Evolving, maybe, but into what? If he kept going, would there be anything left of the human Milo once knew? The thought gnawed at him, deeper than any wound.
---
Meanwhile, above in the manager’s office, the sly rat hybrid placed a heavy ledger and pouches of coins onto Drellic Wane’s ornate desk.
“Manager Wane, I’ve finished collecting the final bets. The ratio is… astonishing.”
Drellic leaned back, a sly smile curling across his lips. “Astonishing, you say? Let me hear it.”
The Collector swallowed, shifting nervously. “The ratio of people betting on [Player] versus against him is now four to one.”
Drellic’s eyes gleamed. “Four to one… Ah, they’re so predictable, these simple-minded fools. They always love a rising star, don’t they?”
The Collector hesitated. “So… what do we do now, sir?”
Drellic turned his gaze to the hulking figure sitting across from him — the cow-rhino hybrid, the Bone Juice Seller. “My dear friend, how much stock do you have on hand today?”
The Bone Juice Seller leaned forward, his huge horns casting shadows on the floor. “Well, thanks to some generous new contracts, I have plenty. Let’s say about fifty bottles, fresh as the morning dew.”
Drellic scoffed. “Only fifty? Don’t play coy with me. Tell me the real number.”
The Bone Juice Seller smirked, flicking a bell hanging from one of his horns. “You caught me. I have a hundred bottles in total. Each bottle costs a hundred gold, but for you — a trusted business partner — I can offer a ten percent discount.”
Drellic clicked his tongue. “Nine thousand gold… You’re bleeding me dry.”
The Bone Juice Seller laughed, his heavy frame shaking. “Better to bleed a little now than lose tens of thousands later, don’t you think?”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Drellic’s eyes narrowed, but he slid a large pouch across the desk. “Take it and vanish. And pray that you don’t get mugged on your way out.”
The Bone Juice Seller accepted the gold, his thick fingers curling around the pouch like claws. “Oh, don’t worry about me. These horns aren’t just decorative. I can trample any snivelling rat that dares follow.” He stood, his hooves echoing ominously. “Farewell. And good luck managing your star attractions.”
As he left, Drellic turned sharply to the Collector. “Collector, take these bottles to Kragg. Force them down his throat if you must. He has to drink every single drop before the final match starts.”
The Collector hesitated, his thin fingers trembling. “Manager, that much Bone Juice… it could make him lose all reason. He might destroy everything, even after the fight.”
Drellic’s gaze turned ice cold. “That’s fine. In fact, that’s perfect. I want [Player] to face a real monster. And if Kragg goes wild, it’ll make a better show. Now go.”
The Collector swallowed hard. “But sir… what if Kragg doesn’t survive? Even if he wins, there could be long-term side effects—”
Drellic interrupted, his voice low and dangerous. “Collector, your tongue grows long. Would you like me to cut it?”
The Collector fell silent immediately, bowing his head. “Apologies, Manager. I’ll do as you command.”
Drellic smirked and waved dismissively. “Good boy. Now hurry. The audience won’t wait forever.”
The Collector left quickly, his thin tail flicking nervously as he carried the bottles towards Kragg’s cell.
---
In the dimly lit cell, Kragg the Fallen sat cross-legged on the floor. The tally marks on his wall counted up to 99 — each one a grim testament to his victories. In front of him was a small wooden chest. Unlike his brutal battle axe leaning against the far wall, this chest was delicate, worn from years of careful handling.
Kragg opened it slowly, revealing an old, yellowed diary and a few crude pens he had made from raven feathers. His massive fingers turned the fragile pages with unexpected gentleness. Each page was filled with messy but enthusiastic scribbles — stories of a simpler time. Memories of a childhood spent playing in the sun, exploring meadows, drawing imaginary monsters.
He paused on one page, his eyes lingering on a childlike drawing of a house with smoke coming from its chimney, and three smiling figures: a father, a mother, and a smaller figure with two horns — himself.
A flood of memories rushed in. His father, once a proud Shindo soldier, had abandoned the kingdom to seek a peaceful life elsewhere. They settled in a small, quiet town where Kragg could chase butterflies and scribble stories in his diary. Until that night. The night when the Dune bandits arrived.
He saw it again: his father kneeling, begging the bandits to spare them, offering all their gold. The bandits laughing, mocking his father’s cowardice. His mother’s scream as a dagger pierced her back. His sister’s sobs, cut short by a cruel blow. And Kragg — young, small, helpless — clutching his diary as the world burned around him.
He remembered how he had lunged at the bandits with a dagger he could barely hold. How he was kicked aside like a rag doll, the taste of dirt and blood in his mouth.
“Ooh, this one’s a fighter,” one bandit had laughed. “Unlike his coward father.”
“Yeah, let’s take him. The Arena folks will love him.”
“And the girl?”
“Take her too. Might as well make some extra gold.”
Kragg’s hand trembled as he traced that old drawing. A drop of water fell onto the page — a tear he hadn’t meant to shed.
A sudden clang of metal jolted him from his memories. The Collector stood at the cell door, his arms full of small bottles.
“Kragg the Fallen,” the Collector called cautiously. “Manager Wane has a gift for you. Drink all of this before your match.”
Kragg’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”
“Bone Juice. All of it.”
Kragg glanced at the bottles, then at his diary. He slowly closed the chest and hid it under his bedding, locking away his last fragment of innocence. With heavy steps, he approached the Collector.
“I don’t need it,” he rumbled.
The Collector shook his head quickly. “Orders. Drink it. Or we force you.”
Kragg’s gaze darkened, but he didn’t resist. One by one, he drank the bottles, his throat burning with each gulp. As the last drops slid down, a haze crept into his mind. The world began to twist and churn, his vision doubling, his muscles twitching with raw, explosive power.
The Collector stepped back, almost dropping the empty bottles. “It’s done… he drank it all.”
Kragg’s breathing turned ragged, each exhale like a raging beast’s growl. His thoughts blurred, his sense of reality slipping. The last image in his mind was of that small drawing: his family, smiling, a home that no longer existed.
Then, darkness.
High above, Drellic stood at his window, watching the arena with a predator’s grin. “Ah, finally. The real show begins.”
Tyler rose from the stands, his hand steady on his sword. This time, there would be no holding back — on either side.