You Better Be Good To Me

He plodded toward the meeting ground, weak, hungry, broken. They had tortured him just by making him return to this wretched place and yet they still saw the need to make him suffer further. His muscle and trim was beginning to fade, his ribs showed through his now brittle fur, but most of all was the look of sheer and utter hatred that never left his features. His fur stood on end, his fangs constantly bared through a raised lip and his tail never lower than the rest of his body. They sought to take everything from him, every bit of joy he had ever felt, and so far they had succeeded. Every night, he swore he would watch Valhalla burn. But his fantasies were almost always surrounding his half sisters. Watching them scream and beg him for mercy, have them writhe under his paws and beg to be spared. He would be merciful, he would rip out their throats instead of their stomachs. They were the only thoughts that kept him sane, the only thoughts that made it seem like he would see the next day. That...And the thought of his mate...Would that she could see him now, she would fall onto her underside and weep for him, and only speak of how brave he had been all this time.

The slave sat at the edge, far away from the others. He refused to be one of them. Refused to fall for the false pretense those toad lickers called paradise on earth. There was only one paradise, only one place where strength and not blood was awarded, where titles were earned, not given. Where they didn't need to fight old men to stroke their egos. Tortuga. The true paradise.

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