CHAPTER 11 : CHICKEN
I was born into one of many nameless farms in Veil, also known as the City of Dreams. I, along with many other children, was kept together in a huge cage covered with iron bars around its perimeter. Many of us would hold onto those bars and shake them, looking at many more cages similar to ours as it was our only source of entertainment.
We didn’t know how we were born or the very concept of having parents. As we grew a little older, we noticed that there also existed people, who looked different than us. They didn’t have beaks, talons, wings, or feathers like we did. In fact, they had other parts that we lacked.
And that’s not all. We even noticed that among ourselves, apart from the beaks, feathers, wings, and talons, we were quite different too. Our hair came in various hues, our eyes sparkled with different colors, our skin bore unique shades, and even our ears took on diverse shapes. One of my friends used to say that he found my long blue hair and golden eyes beautiful. But despite all that, the outsiders who took care of us mostly referred to us as two words, ‘product’ and ‘chicken.’
More years passed, and I reached adolescence. For some reason, we girls were separated from the boys. Occasionally, the outsiders who took care of us would bring in more outsiders they called ‘customers.’ These ‘customers’ would stare at us from all angles, then randomly point at one of us. Afterward, our caretakers would release that person, but what happened next was always a mystery to us. Sometimes we would hear their screams. I was too scared to find out why.
Unfortunately, my turn came sooner than I expected. One day, a group of customers chose me. I didn’t catch much of their conversation, but I heard them say something like, ‘She would make a great feast for the party.’ I was more confused than terrified at first. I was released and handcuffed by my talons. As I walked towards a cart, my confusion turned to horror. I saw a sweeper clearing away chopped-off talons and beaks. One caretaker was chopping meat, while others gathered feathers from the ground as if they were precious gems.
Before I stepped onto the cart, a caretaker asked one of the customers, “Are you sure you don’t want to eviscerate and package the product?”
The customer replied, “No, we’re going on a long journey. We don’t want the quality of the meat to deteriorate in this heat.”
The caretaker nodded and moved on, while I hesitated, trying to make sense of what was happening around me. The cart jerked forward as we began our journey, and I found myself seated between two strangers. The air was thick with the stench of blood and sweat, and the rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the dirt road did little to soothe my growing unease.
After some time, I turned to one of the customers, who appeared to be dozing off with a bottle in hand. My questions tumbled out before I could stop myself, driven by the need to understand. He blinked at me, his glazed eyes slowly focusing. Then, with a lazy grin, he chuckled as if I’d just said something amusing, the sound harsh and grating.
"You really don’t know, do you?" he slurred, his amusement fading into something almost like pity. "Alright, chicken, let me tell you a few things to kill some time."
He explained that I was a member of the ‘Hen Tribe,’ or at least that’s what we were previously known as. According to the legend he shared, there was a huge war in the past, also known as the ‘War of Ragnarok.’ During that war, the beastmen army faced a severe shortage of food. As a result, they resorted to cannibalism, eating the dead bodies of their comrades. While doing this, a certain soldier came across the body of a member of the Hen Tribe. He liked the taste so much that he called other soldiers to try it. After that incident, the beastmen army no longer ate their dead comrades but instead hunted members of the Hen Tribe, whether they were dead or alive.
Even after the war ended, the hunt continued. From high-ranking nobles to lowly merchants, everyone continued hunting the Hen Tribe, not only because of how tasty their meat was but also because they discovered how useful their feathers were. The feathers could be used to craft winter clothes and as ink pens for writing. Over the years, this turned into one of the fastest-growing industries. Members of the Hen Tribe were inbred to produce offspring solely for consumption.
The meat harvested from the Hen Tribe eventually became known as ‘chicken.’ The term became so popular that people no longer referred to us as fellow beastmen but simply as chickens.
As the man finished his grim tale, a heavy silence settled over the cart. I stared at him, trying to process the horrifying reality of my existence. The word "chicken" had always been a simple label, something I had heard my entire life, but now it carried a weight I could barely comprehend. I wasn’t just a person with a strange body. I was a commodity, raised for slaughter.
As the cart moved into the forest, the red Sun sank behind the mountains, staining the horizon like spilled blood. "I wish I was never born," I sobbed as the white moon took its place in the empty black sky.
The driver, once silent, now muttered incoherently to himself, his voice seemed strained and frantic. He seemed to wrestle with his own unease about the journey ahead. Without warning, his voice was abruptly cut off. A sharp, brutal impact drove him forward. An arrow had pierced his throat, its shaft quivering ominously. His eyes widened in terror before closing forever. His fingers, once gripping the reins tightly, went limp.
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The cart veered sharply and crashed into a tree. The sudden jolt threw me, along with two of the customers, into the mud.
From the shadows emerged a group of figures. Their silhouettes were shrouded in a mysterious aura. As they approached, I noticed each wore a black robe and a peculiar silver mask. The mask was intricately carved, depicting a crown crossed in red.
One of them whispered something to another. Then, in a calm and calculating tone, the leader said, “Take everything that looks valuable.”
“Hey... what do you mean, take everything?” the drunken customer from earlier slurred, staggering from the cart. He clutched his head, still disoriented from the accident. He stumbled closer to the masked leader, oblivious to the murmured warnings from the other customers.
He stood in front of the masked leader and grinned, his breath heavy with alcohol. “Do you know who we are?” he smirked. “We are related to the royal pala—”
Before he could finish, the masked leader’s hand moved with deadly precision. A purple dagger sliced vertically through the drunken man’s head. “The last thing you should do is mention royalty in front of us,” the leader said, wiping the blood from his dagger on the dead man’s clothing.
“Now they’re all related to those scumbags. Should we kill them all, boss?” a feminine voice asked among the group. The leader nodded, and in a flash, his subordinates began to slaughter the remaining customers.
“Oh, I found some gold, boss,” one of them called out in excitement. The customer who had fallen into the mud with me struggled to his feet, his eyes wide with terror. He tried to flee but was quickly captured. As the masked leader prepared to cut his throat, his gaze fell upon me. “Hold him tight,” he instructed one of his subordinates and stepped closer to me.
I tried to crawl away through the mud, but the handcuffs on my talons and the pain from the accident made it difficult. Before I knew it, he was inches away. As he reached out towards me, I gulped and closed my eyes, bracing for the worst.
To my surprise, his hand gently rested on my head, ruffling my dirty, mud-streaked hair. The touch was warm, oddly comforting. It was so unexpected that it dispelled my panic in an instant, leaving me in a state of confused relief.
Top of FormBottom of FormHis dark-purple eyes met mine, and he asked, “What’s your name?” His tone was warm, a stark contrast to the cold-blooded murderer I had witnessed moments before. The question lingered in my mind, unfamiliar and strange. “Name? What’s that?” I asked, my voice trembling.
He wasn’t surprised. With a gentle smile, he explained in a soothing voice, “Hmm. A name is like a label that helps us tell each person or thing apart and makes them special. It gives us a sense of identity.”
Until that moment, I had never understood the importance of a name. Ever since I was born, I had only been called ‘chicken’ or ‘product.’
“Does that mean everyone has a name?” I asked curiously.
He laughed and nodded, “Yes, everyone has a name. For example, my name is Cain.”
One of his subordinates quickly chimed in, “Hey boss, don’t just reveal your name to strangers. That’s strictly forbidden. You idiot boss. Hahaha.”
“Oops, my bad,” Cain replied with a laugh.
He then turned his attention back to me and asked, “Would you like a name too?”
“Is it okay for me to have one?” I asked, unsure.
“Of course. Everyone deserves their own sense of identity.” His tone grew serious for a moment before returning to its earlier lightness. “How about Kiyoko? How does that sound?”
“Kiyoko?” I repeated, still a bit confused.
“Yes, it means ‘clean.’”
I glanced at my mud-streaked body, then back at him, a faint smile forming on my lips. “Clean, indeed,” I said softly.
“Why are you showing this much interest in a mere chicken like me?” I asked, my voice tinged with uncertainty.
“That’s because I’m the same as you.”
Without another word, he reached up and slowly removed his mask. His hair was short, a deep shade of purple, and his features were sharp—particularly his nose, which drew my attention immediately. But it wasn’t just his nose. There was something unsettlingly familiar about the contours of his face. Where his beak should have been, there were only faint scars, hints of a past trauma. My breath caught as I realized what he meant. He was like me—part of a tribe that had been altered, stripped of their natural features.
He extended his hand to me, his voice calm yet commanding. “We are members of ‘Dethrone,’ an underworld organization that operates in the shadows. Our mission is to overthrow the royal family and create a new Olymzeus—one where leaders won’t abuse their power, and every individual will be treated with respect, regardless of race, gender, status, or tribe. Welcome to our little family, Kiyoko.” He smiled, a strange warmth in his expression.
“What?!” The captured customer exclaimed, his eyes wide with fear.
Cain turned to him, his smile never wavering. “Oh, let me take care of this nuisance first.” With effortless grace, he pressed his purple dagger to the man’s throat, the blade glinting in the dim light.
“Wait,” I interrupted, a sudden impulse taking over me. “You can’t just take any random girl into your shady organization, you know.” I reached out, taking the dagger from his hand. “At least let me prove my loyalty to you.”
He hesitated, searching my eyes for a sign of doubt. “Are you sure about this? You don’t have to do it for us if you—”
“It’s not about you!” I shouted, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and resolve. “I’m doing this because I want to. I want to make this bastard feel the terror that we, the so-called ‘chickens,’ endure every single day. I want him to know what it’s like when the predator becomes the prey.” My grin spread wide as I plunged the dagger into the customer’s mouth, over and over, each thrust fueled by rage and pain. His screams faded into a gurgling silence.
“Huff... huff... That felt... great,” I panted, wiping the blood from my face.
Cain chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “What a strange girl.”
“She’s a gem, boss!” another member called out, his voice filled with admiration.
“You’re one of us now.”
I was showered with many such compliments for the first time in my life. It made me happy as that was the first time I ever received a sense of accomplishment or to be precise the taste of my own success.
We all celebrated and partied that night. That was the night, my new life as a member of ‘Dethrone’ began.
CHAPTER 11 END