The clang of metal on stone jolted Kus Og awake.
A rhythmic clattering echoed through the cavern—minecarts rumbling along rusty rails somewhere in the dark. He was bound by thick chains, hanging him upside down. The only light came from a dying torch lodged in a crevice of the rock wall, casting flickering shadows across the jagged cave.
In front of him, two men sat slumped, bound in coarse rope. Judging by their dusty overalls and calloused hands, they were miners—exhausted, maybe unconscious.
Footsteps approached—three of them.
One man stepped forward.
The man rasped, "Kus Og Adlaw. The infamous son of Maharlika's golden mayor. Gifted, privileged, a threat like no other. It's a strange sort of honor to finally meet you."
Kus Og said nothing. His eyes remained locked on the man's shadowed face.
The man let out a slow breath. "You're calm. Impressive. Most would be begging by now." He stepped closer. "Tell me—what were you doing in that old facility?"
Kus Og's gaze sharpened. "Are you the one behind the terrorism six years ago?"
The man chuckled, a sound full of rust and sadness. "Terrorism. Is that what they call it now? No, child. It was justice."
"Then tell me," Kus Og said, voice steady, "are you working with my father?"
There was a pause. Then the man laughed again, this time louder, more bitter.
"So you've learned something of the truth." He took another step, and the firelight caught the edge of his face—aged, haggard, with a long scar tearing down from brow to cheekbone. One eye was milky-white. "But no. Your father doesn't need to orchestrate attacks against his own regime?"
Kus Og's voice dropped. "I'm already aware of his involvement with the serum. No need to lie now."
He turned his back, sighing deeply.
"You ask whether I'm his accomplice. No. But you? You are something else entirely. If only I could turn you. If only you could see that your father's empire is built on graves."
Kus Og smirked. "Just because I disagree with my father doesn't mean I'll ever stand with people like you."
The man glanced back. "Pity. I could've used a backup plan."
He stepped into the light fully now, letting the torch illuminate the ruin of his face. "I was once a 'special' one too. First soldier from the lower class. I believed in Maharlika. I gave my life to it. Opened doors for people like me—only to watch those doors slam shut again. The serum… that damned serum.
He turned away.
"Ironic. Before, the Serum was hope but turned into horror. Now that horror will turn into hope."
His two companions moved in and took a syringe.
Without a word, they injected something into the miners' arms.
The effect was immediate and brutal. The men screamed—howls of agony that echoed through the cave. Their bodies convulsed, muscles swelling grotesquely. Their hands smashed against the cave walls, and rocks tumbled from above.
Kus Og struggled against his chains. One of the mutated miners charged and slammed a massive fist into his side, hurling him against the stone. Before the creature could strike again, the second one tackled it. Then, it turned on Kus Og, throwing wild, brutal punches. But again, the first monster attacked its companion.
While the two berserk miners fought, Kus Og, gritted his teeth and broke his chains. They had weakened in the chaos, loosened just enough. With a final burst of strength, he tore them to pieces.
The fight raged around him, fists slamming, roars echoing. He looked for an exit and spotted a thick metal door. As he ran for it, a boulder flew past his head—barely missing him.
The door wouldn't budge. One of the beasts lunged. Kus Og met it with a counterpunch that knocked the thing back. The second attacked—he blocked, kicked, dodged. The three fought like animals, trading blow after blow until, at last, the monsters collapsed—exhausted, breathing heavily, their bodies slowly shrinking back to their human forms.
Kus Og limped toward the door and, with a roar, drove his fist into it again and again until it burst open. A tunnel stretched beyond. No map, no signs—just darkness and rails.
A minecart.
He loaded the unconscious miners into it and rode.
The dawn greeted them.
Outside, Kus Og left the miners on the ground and bolted toward the highway. There, tied to a tree, were two men, struggling against their bonds.
He stopped, grimacing with impatience, and kicked the tree in half. The men tumbled down.
One of them gasped, "Our truck—it's gone. Someone stole it. The wine for the plaza—your brother's party—"
Kus Og's stomach dropped. A chill swept through his spine.
He ran. Faster than he'd ever run before.