The obsidian-colored soil beneath Keith squelched with an unsettling wetness as he struggled to find some semblance of sleep in this wretched place.
The air reeked of a metallic and earthy tang—a scent that had become all too familiar over what he guessed might be four months, give or take a few days.
The suffocating stench, mixed with the dampness of the cave, seemed to cling to his skin, and even sleep couldn't offer him any escape.
BRRRRRRRRRRRR
An annoyingly loud alarm—more like a screech—yanked him from his fitful slumber. Keith groaned. He didn't want to move, but he had no choice.
The punishment for being late was excruciatingly painful. His body had experienced that more times than he cared to count. Every bruise, every mark was a reminder of his past disobedience.
Sitting up gruffly, he glanced to the side. On a slightly elevated surface, bedded with straw, lay an old, fragile figure.
It was a silver-haired ape, roughly 6'5" tall, sickly thin, and shivering ever so slightly. Keith sighed. "He's not going to last long."
Gently, Keith tugged on his tattered cloth. "Wake up, old man Rulf. It's time for our shift."
A guttural groan rumbled from Rulf as he stirred, struggling to sit upright. "Urghhh... Oh, it's you, Rubén," he muttered, turning toward Keith.
The dim light seeping through cracks in the cell bars fell across Rulf's face, sharpening his features. His broad arms, each tipped with five fingers bearing sharp black nails, rested heavily at his sides.
Two black canines jutted downward from his upper jaw—one broken clean in half, the other marred by a jagged crack, both silent witnesses to age and suffering.
Keith wasn't surprised by the sight. He now looked the same, albeit shorter at 5'9", but with substantial muscle on him.
His broad chest and long arms bore sharp black nails, and his two pristine black canines signaled his youthfulness. His body, however, carried numerous whip-like scars and a massive red gash across his chest.
Keith helped Rulf off his bed. The old ape struggled to stand. Though he was supposed to tower over Keith, his hunched back made it impossible for him to look imposing. It was as if the years of hard labor and suffering had weighed not only on his body but also on his spirit.
Watching Keith provide assistance, Rulf smiled faintly. "It's like you've turned over a completely new leaf compared to the past," his grizzled voice remarked.
His sharp eyes gleamed. "Well, it's better this way. At least you won't be beaten to half-death all the time. Come on, let's go."
Keith's smile tightened uncomfortably. He knew Rulf was old, not dumb—on the contrary, the elder was wise and had saved countless beings in captivity from certain death.
Observing Rubén's change in behavior was obviously suspicious, but Rulf refrained from asking Keith directly.
Rulf's unspoken understanding was a relief. The old ape had been around long enough to know how to survive in this any environment.
"Yes, old man Rulf," Keith replied, following him.
As they approached the cell door, the once-lifeless brown bars began to stir. Faint vibrations ran along their surface as grotesque eyes, embedded within the metal, started to awaken.
One by one, they blinked open, their glossy surfaces swirling with unnatural colors. The eyes roamed over the two apes, scanning them in eerie silence.
The sensation of being watched was unnerving. The eyes didn't just observe—they penetrated. Keith could feel them searching for weakness, like predators sizing up their prey. He shuddered involuntarily.
Then, with an annoying screech that set their teeth on edge, the bars parted, the sound echoing through the empty cave.
"Let's proceed," Rulf said grimly.
Keith nodded silently.
They stepped out into a vast cave, its walls carved by time and the relentless grip of nature. The ceiling stretched high above, disappearing into shadow, while the uneven floor was covered with the same soil as their cell—just less pungent.
The air was thick with the scent of decay, as if the cave itself had swallowed all traces of life.
On the ceiling and walls, enormous holes gaped like open maws, their jagged edges framed by decades of erosion.
Each opening was large enough to accommodate beings of formidable size, their depths shrouded in darkness that seemed to pulse with life.
The occasional sound of snoring emanated from the hollow depths, and each rumble sent a shiver through Keith. The Beings within the holes—once, he'd have called them monsters—were now a part of his daily existence.
A perpetual sense of foreboding clung to the air.
As they walked deeper into the oppressive darkness, Keith's mind wandered, recollecting the bitter events he had faced.
He had transmigrated into the body of a young ape known as Rubén, a member of the hardy and resilient Blacktusk Apes.
Keith had awoken in a cold, damp cell, his new body battered and broken—beaten to death, as he later learned, for Rubén's unyielding defiance.
The memory of that moment gnawed at him. The shock, the horror, the sheer disbelief. He had always thought transmigration was a thrilling fantasy, but only when confined to fiction.
Keith was a practical man. Stripped of his previous world's peaceful laws, comforts, and amenities, the harsh truth hit him like a train.
Why would anyone wish to leave a world of peace, order, and stability? Keith had lived in a safe country, one where danger was little more than a concept.
The bravado others spoke of crumbled when faced with raw, visceral suffering. Those who claimed they'd survive by sheer will were deluded.
Rubén had been defiant, rebellious to a fault. That defiance had earned him daily beatings at the hands of their captors.
Keith's first days in Rubén's body were marked by paralyzing fear and deepening despair. Rulf had urged him to adapt, warning of severe consequences for disobedience.
But Keith hadn't listened. Too terrified to move, his every nerve frozen in disbelief, he refused to comply when the grotesque, iris-like openings in the cell bars unfurled.
Whip-like tendrils with jagged nails emerged from those eyes and lashed at his flesh, tearing deep into his skin. The pain was beyond anything he had ever known. It wasn't just physical—it left him wishing for death.
He thought he would die. But the soil beneath him, rich with miraculous healing properties, began its silent work. His torn skin knitted itself back together, leaving endless streaks of raised, jagged scars etched across his body as a reminder.
Months passed, and Keith adapted. The fear lingered, but he learned to mask it.
As Keith and Rulf neared the end of the cave hallway, the air seemed to tremble. From one of the jagged holes in the cave wall, a Being emerged, dragging its filthy, ashen body.
The creature's patchy red skin looked as though it had been burnt, and its twisted, malformed antlers jutted out from its skull at awkward angles, signaling its lower rank.
Its legs, scrawny and uneven, scraped against the ground with every step, leaving a trail of dirt and grime in its wake.
The Being's face was an unsettling sight, with sharp, shark-like teeth protruding from its lower jaw, mismatched and jagged, as if they had been hastily sharpened on something.
It emitted a low growl, a warning of the suffering it would bring. Keith's pulse quickened, a reflexive reaction that hadn't faded despite his time here.
Both Keith and Rulf were only at the Mortalis stage, the presence of this creature—despite its low rank—was a grim reminder of their precarious situation.
'Fucking Yorgakhan', Keith cursed inwardly.
Yes, the reason for all of his suffering was this being: A Yorgakhan. They were Creatures who were a cancer to all of living things.
Their evolution was tied to their kills. Weaker prey offered little progress, but by hunting stronger beings and absorbing their life essence, they grew more formidable. The world itself also fed them, its mana and vitality flowing into their being with each passing moment.
The longer they stayed in a world, the more familiar they became with it, their power surging as they absorbed both its essence and the life force of its inhabitants. Basically a tumor feeding off the world's vitality.
This relentless growth made them a universal enemy—feared, despised, and hunted without hesitation. Across the world, the decree was clear: "Exterminate these vile beings on sight."
Keith's thoughts were interrupted by a grating voice.
"Wa...lk...fass...terrrr...sla...ve. Th...re's...muu...ch...mi...ni...ng to...dooo," the creature hissed, brandishing a grotesque, nail-jutted whip.
Seeing that, both Keith and Rulf quickened their pace.
If only I were stronger, Keith lamented. Rulf had once been powerful, a Mastern, but his strength had waned—the reason for which he refused to share.
Soon, they reached a primitive elevator system, its design as crude as the cave surrounding it. Thick, frayed ropes dangled from the ceiling, intertwined with gears that groaned with age.
The mechanism looked ancient, almost alive, as if the cave itself had shaped it from its jagged walls.
The air was heavy with the sound of dripping water and faint, distant movements. Then, with an ear-piercing croak, a rusted pulley began to turn.
From the darkness below, a massive, cage-like platform rose. Its wooden slats, held together by thick iron bands, swayed precariously. As the elevator emerged fully, a pair of glowing red eyes shone from the depths of the platform.