Chapter 50 A mockery of a kiss. A final humiliation.

The morning dragged on, each minute a fresh torment. The guards grew bored with their earlier entertainment, but their cruelty only shifted forms. The surviving hatchlings—Muk, Snik, and Pip—lay huddled against my chest, their tiny bodies wracked with shivers. The mud had dried into cracked, grayish scales on their skin, their breaths shallow and wheezing.

Lyn hung limp from the post, her body a tapestry of bruises and cuts, her fur matted with dirt and blood. Her consciousness flickered like a dying candle—each time her head slumped forward, the world fading to black, a bucket of filthy water would crash over her, jolting her back to agony.

"Stay awake, kitty," the guard sneered, flicking her torn ear with a grimy finger. 

"Wouldn’t want you to miss the fun."

Lyn gasped, her lungs burning as she choked on the foul water. The guards laughed, but their voices sounded distant, muffled beneath the pounding of her own pulse in her ears.

"Just a few more days..." she thought, the words a desperate mantra in her mind. 

"Hold on. Just hold on. Dad will come."

A guard kicked the post, sending fresh waves of pain through her body.

"He has to."

Another splash of water. Another round of laughter.

"He’ll save them. He’ll save us all."

Her vision blurred, but she clung to the thought like a lifeline.

Because if she let go now—if she stopped believing—

Then Rakrak had already won.

My body lay broken in the mud. My fingers twitched—useless—unable to even curl into fists. My arms, my legs, my will, all shattered beneath the weight of Rakrak’s cruelty.

But none of that pain compared to the agony of watching Lyn suffer.

Each splash of filthy water, each mocking taunt, each crack of a guard’s fist against her already beaten body—it carved deeper into my soul than any blade could.

I should be there.

I should be taking those blows for her.

But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even whimper as I watched the light in her golden eyes flicker like a dying ember.

The only thought that burned through the haze of despair was a fragile, desperate plea.

"Cat Boss. Please. Come for her. Save her."

Because if she died here—if I lost her too, after Kaka, after the hatchlings, after everything—

There would be nothing left of me to break.

By midday, the sun burned mercilessly overhead, searing our exposed skin. My lips cracked, my tongue swollen with thirst. The hatchlings whimpered, their voices hoarse from screaming, their strength gone.

Then—a commotion at the gates.

Rakrak strode into the center of camp, his elite guards flanking him. His beady eyes scanned the scene—Lyn barely conscious, me crumpled in the dirt with the hatchlings, the mud pit still churned from the morning’s "game."

"Enough games," he declared, though not out of mercy.

  "We have preparations to make."

Rakrak's lip curled as he looked down at us—me, half-buried in the mud, my surviving hatchlings trembling like wounded rabbits at my side. His beady eyes narrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.

"Why are these shitty runts still alive?" he mused, tapping his chin mockingly. 

"Ah, right. I forgot to give the order. Oh well. I’ll handle it myself."

Before I could even twitch, his boot slammed into my ribs, sending me skidding through the mud. Pain exploded through my shattered body, my vision swimming as I gasped for air.

Rakrak didn’t wait.

His sword flashed—a single, brutal arc—and Muk, my sweet, quiet Muk, was cleaved in half before he could even scream.

The world stopped.

Pip and Snik, driven by pure fear, scrambled away, their tiny claws raking at the mud as they tried to crawl to safety. But Rakrak just sighed, as if bored, and brought his boot down on Pip’s back with a sickening crunch, exploding his guts and brains on the ground.

Snik made it two more inches before Rakrak’s sword pinned him to the ground like a butterfly to a board.

I tried to scream but nothing came out. Just a silent, gaping horror, my mouth open in a soundless wail. A guard laughed and kicked me square in the face. My teeth shattered. My skull cracked against the earth. And then I was sliding, helpless, through the mud—right back to Rakrak’s feet. My broken lips pressed against his filthy boot. A mockery of a kiss. A final humiliation.

Rakrak crouched, grabbing my bold scalp and yanked my head up so I could see the carnage.

  "Look at that. Now they match the ones in the mud pit. Neat, isn’t it?"

He dropped me. I didn’t move. Couldn’t. The hatchlings were gone and so was the hope.

Rakrak spread his arms wide, his yellowed fangs glinting in the sun as he addressed the camp like a conquering king. His voice boomed with theatrical triumph, dripping with mock grandeur.

"Rejoice, my loyal warriors!" he crowed, pacing before the gathered goblins. 

"For the hour of our glory is at hand!"

He paused, savoring the moment, before turning his gaze toward Lyn and me—broken, bloodied, but still breathing. His grin widened.

"Our scouts bring wonderful news," he announced, clasping his hands together as if sharing a gift.

  "The great Cat Boss, in all his foolish pride, comes charging to our gates! His forces move through the forest as we speak—closer, closer with every breath! He’ll be here soon, that little worm. Very soon. And oh, what a welcome we’ve prepared!"

Straightening, he spun back to his army, his cloak flaring dramatically.

  "Our traps are set! Our blades are sharp! Every step he takes is one step deeper into his doom! By nightfall, his head will decorate our gates, and his warriors will feed the crows!"

The goblins roared in approval, clashing spears against shields, their bloodlust stoked to a frenzy.

"Ah, Lyn," he crooned, tilting her chin up with the tip of a rusted dagger. 

"Look at you now. The mighty heir of the Cat Clan, reduced to a broken, whimpering mess."

Rakrak laughed, twirling the dagger.

  "And to think—your dear father fell right into my trap! Just as I knew he would."

He leaned in, his rancid breath hot against her ear. 

"All because his precious little daughter was stupid enough to get caught."

With a sudden, vicious motion, he drove the rusted dagger into Lyn’s thigh.

She gasped, her back arching against the post as the blade bit deep. But Rakrak didn’t pull it out—no, he left it there, the jagged metal grinding against bone with every slight movement.

"There we go," he purred, stepping back to admire his handiwork. 

"A little reminder of your failure. Every time you twitch, every time you breathe—it’ll hurt."

Lyn’s jaw clenched, her claws digging into the post’s wood as she fought to stay silent.

Rakrak turned to the jeering crowd, spreading his arms wide.

  "And now, we wait! The great Cat Boss comes charging to his doom—right into our welcoming arms!"

The goblins erupted into cheers, their bloodlust rising.

Rakrak turned back to me, his eyes alight with cruel amusement. 

"So, pray, little slave. Pray your precious Cat Boss arrives quickly. Because if he doesn't… your suffering becomes art."

Rakrak settled onto his throne, his grin still plastered across his face as he basked in the raucous cheers of his warriors. The air was thick with anticipation, the scent of sweat and iron hanging heavy.

Butcher lingered by Lyn’s broken form, his club resting lazily on her shoulder as if debating where to strike next. His yellowed teeth showed in a slow grin as he watched her struggle to stay conscious.

Then—

A group of guards came sprinting from the watchtowers, their voices shrill with alarm.

"They’re here!" one gasped, skidding to a halt before Rakrak.

  "The Cat Clan—just beyond the tree line! They’ll be at the gates in minutes!"

Rakrak didn’t move.

He simply leaned back, steepling his fingers, his smirk never fading.

"Right on time," he purred. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he barked his final order.

"Do it!"

Butcher's lips split into a wet, jagged smile, his breath reeking of rot as he leaned in close to Lyn's face. His grip tightened in her hair, yanking her head back at a painful angle, exposing her throat.

"P-please..." Lyn gasped, her voice breaking in a way I'd never heard before. Her body trembled, her claws digging uselessly into the wood. 

"I-I don't want to d-die—"

"Aww, what'sss thisss?" Butcher slurred, his words thick and dripping with malice.

  "The mighty cat... beggin' like a ssscared little kitty?"

With a grotesque chuckle, he pulled the massive cleaver from his belt—its edge chipped and rusted, stained dark with old blood. He let the weight of it drag along Lyn's cheek, leaving a thin red line in its wake.

Butcher threw his head back and laughed, a guttural, drunken sound. 

"Too bad!" he roared, raising the cleaver high.

  "Let'sss see how preciousss you are when your head's rollin' at your daddy's feet—!"

Lyn squeezed her eyes shut—

—as the blade came down.

Butcher didn’t hesitate.