Rearing Demons
Chapter 127: Slave Yur

Chapter 127: Slave Yur

As his vision returned, Yur stared at his surroundings—only an endless, void-like expanse of pure black.

There was nothing; no light, no shape, no relief. He couldn’t see himself, nor anything else in that oppressive emptiness. It felt as though his eyes were closed, even though he was painfully aware they were wide open.

A True Seeker.

Suddenly, a voice resonated from somewhere within the void. But from where could it be coming?

"Who is it?!" he shouted, his words strangely muffled—as if spoken underwater.

The disembodied voice replied, Oh Seeker, what is it that you seek?

Yur remained silent, his mind churning with questions as he waited, desperate to unravel the mystery of his existence. "Zul," he called out, the name hanging in the darkness. Yet, as seconds ticked by, there was no reply. "Zul?" he repeated, his voice growing more uncertain, but still met only by silence.

As he struggled to make sense of the surreal situation, the very fabric of reality warped around him.

In an instant, Yur found himself in a bright, sunlit field; a place so vivid and familiar it seemed buried deep within his memory. It was a place he never imagined he would see himself in again, at least, not like this.

Chains. The realization struck him with chilling clarity: he was once again bound by heavy, unyielding chains.

"What?!" he exclaimed, shaking his arms in disbelief. His face contorted with anger as he fought against the restraints, only to discover with mounting horror that his wrists were disturbingly small, pale, bony, and childlike.

Raising his hands in disbelief, he then glanced down to see that his legs, too, were tiny, as if he had been reduced to a mere shadow of himself.

"Hey! What are you doing?!"

"Arg!" he cried as a sharp sting and burning sensation suddenly erupted along his back, sending searing pain down his spine.

A jolt of agony shot through his mind, and he collapsed to the ground. His small hands scrambled to rub away the relentless burn, yet his desperate efforts only made his body writhe and twist in vain against the pain.

"Get up!" A menacing growl thundered through the air, accompanied by the ominous flicker of a long, snake-like whip slicing through the space.

"AH!" he cried out, his voice unnervingly high-pitched, so much so that it betrayed his youth.

What is happening?!

Despite the overwhelming pain, his mind raced, determined to piece together the bizarre reality unfolding around him.

"This bastard!" he roared in a mix of anger and despair, forcing himself into a shaky stand.

"I’m sorry!" A voice—both his own and yet strangely foreign—escaped his lips, a plea that stirred deep, unnameable emotions.

Rising unsteadily, Yur instinctively bowed before the commanding figure, gritting his teeth as tears welled in his eyes.

Was he crying? Was this agony merely physical, or did it reach deeper into his soul?

Though he could not understand the unfolding events, his body moved as if guided by ingrained muscle memory.

"Grab the rope and keep working, or I’ll beat you to death!" the man growled, his tone as cold as it was unyielding.

"Y-yes..." came his stuttered reply, his youthful voice trembling with fear and confusion.

He watched, almost as an observer in his own nightmare, as his tiny hands struggled to grasp a massive rope that dwarfed his frail palm.

Desperation coursed through him as he clutched the rope tightly, his fingertips barely managing to hold on. With trembling determination, he wrapped the rope around his waist and began to pull.

What am I pulling?

He wondered, his thoughts muddled with confusion and dread. Turning his head, his eyes fell upon a large boulder—oddly cut into a perfect square. Glancing around, he saw that he was not alone; others, bound in similar torment, were attached to the same rope, all laboring together to heave the massive stone.

"Hurry!" The harsh sound of whips slapping against the ground sliced through the air, causing his body to tremble with fear and urgency.

In response, he mustered every ounce of strength his scrawny frame possessed and pushed himself harder.

In that punishing moment, as he strained with every fiber of his being, a bleak realization struck him: perhaps everything was just a terrible dream, a nightmarish illusion where he was nothing more than a slave.

I have always been one, and I always will be, he thought bitterly. Embracing that harsh truth, he sighed deeply, his teeth clenched in both resignation and defiant anger.

Still, even the fleeting sensations of strength and freedom—bittersweet and painfully brief—seemed a welcome reprieve from this relentless torment. With a heavy sigh, he continued to pull with every last bit of his damaged body, inching his way up the block, though progress was agonizingly slow.

"Are you alright?" a concerned voice interrupted his strained exertions, momentarily piercing the haze of his inner turmoil.

Who is this? he wondered, turning his gaze toward the figure who now smiled at him. The man’s face was strangely obscured; though he sported a beard, his eyes, mouth, and nose were hidden in shadow, leaving no clear features to behold.

"I am fine, Dad," Yur replied automatically, though confusion quickly clouded his mind.

Dad? Could it be?

For a fleeting moment, the realization washed over him; this man was his father.

Yes... this is Dad,

He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as a weak smile tugged at his lips, even while tears welled in his eyes.

"Just push a bit harder, and once we reach the top, we can finally rest," his father urged, his tone gentle yet laced with urgency.

"Yes, Dad," the boy replied, nodding as his small frame braced itself for yet another bout of unbearable labor.

The dream had felt unnervingly real, too real, almost indistinguishable from reality. Was it truly real? The question echoed hauntingly in his mind even as his battered body continued its relentless, rhythmic toil.

His frail form, clearly succumbing to the overwhelming strain, pushed on with a duty he could neither understand nor escape.

Why? he bitterly wondered. Why am I pushing myself so hard when I know I will die either way?

The despair in his heart was as tangible as the searing pain in his limbs. Despite the mounting doubts that clouded his mind, he refused to stop. His feet sank into the soft dirt, even as sharp pebbles pricked his skin intermittently—a pain he had grown disturbingly accustomed to.

Why am I so accustomed to this? he pondered, sorrow and resignation mingling in his voice.

He continued to pull, and around him, others echoed his futile struggle in a silent, shared torment.

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"Yur..." a gentle call came as he lay on the ground, his hands and legs battered and splayed from exhaustion. His hands were bleeding, and his feet were raw with peeling skin, each wound a testament to his relentless torment.

"Huh?" he mumbled, turning his head in confusion as he addressed the familiar voice, "Yes, Dad?"

"What happened?" his father asked softly, walking over and sitting beside him. "I’ve never seen you so lost and broken before. Did something happen?"

"Lost?" Yur echoed, his voice trembling with uncertainty. "What do you mean?"

"Well, all of a sudden, you just stopped moving, stopped pulling altogether," his father explained gently, worry etching his tone.

"I see," Yur murmured, nodding slowly even as his mind remained shrouded in confusion. "I’ll be more careful..."

"As long as you’re alright," his father reassured him, reaching out to gently pat Yur’s head. "Come on, rest up—we have many more stone blocks to pull."

"Where are we pulling these to? Why are we even doing this?" Yur asked suddenly, his voice laced with bewilderment.

"Why?" his father replied, his expression a mix of confusion and resignation. "Because they told us to. Whatever their purpose, we must obey. It isn’t our place to question."

"You don’t know?" Yur asked in shock, unable to mask his disbelief. "Dad, how can you not know what we’re doing or why we’re doing it?" The stark uncertainty in his father’s response left him utterly stunned, deepening his despair.

"What can I tell you? We are nothing but slaves—lower than the lowest of the low. We do as we’re commanded, or we face death," his father explained gruffly. "Just keep your head down and work."

"Got it," Yur replied, nodding slowly as his mind churned with confusion and foreboding.

What am I doing? Where exactly am I?

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