Year before the war of Godfathers
The country of Galactica had been overrun by the mafia.
There was no cranny of the cities left untouched, no corner safe. The people lived in bondage, and their every breath was weighed down by the presence of death hanging over their shoulders, there was famine and pain, people took to eating something called white meat... The flesh of the others.
It was the extremely dark age of humanity, rife with bloodshed and extreme cruelty for a chance of survival.
But the lands surrounding Galactica told a different tale. They were not shackled by mafia rule; a force known as the Transcendants had long wiped them out after the infamous War of Godfathers.
That war was no ordinary bloodshed, it was a catastrophe.
The slaves had risen, chains against their masters. Rivers ran dry, the earth soaked with blood, and entire generations were swallowed in the chaos. It was the dark age, one that shattered kingdoms, silenced empires, and carved scars into the map of history.
And when the dust settled, a new age dawned for every nation, except Galactica.
The Black Family, most ruthless of them all, ruled with fire and iron. They wondered about this nemesis that had hunted mafia bloodline after bloodline, a foe that sought no throne, no gold, no crown. Only their extinction.
"The've released the people from survival mode but tightened their claws against their throats in it's stead" Black murmured quietly to himself, earning him a dark stare from Felix.
Their reign was cracking.
"Perhaps this time", Galactica's turn had finally come.
Finally, the book was closed. And multiple sighs ensued.
It appeared it had been a bedtime story. Five children of varying height surrounded an old lady, perhaps a nanny. Her face sagged, wrinkles filling every crevice, but her eyes held great love. Hands that gripped a long cane wobbled gently as she sat on straws that passed off as a bed, while the children, dressed in torn clothes, huddled around her. It appears she had been reading the children a tale from the history of the kingdoms.
"Granny Meg… will the Transcendants really save us, would they come and help us fight against them?"
The child who spoke was covered in dirt, the image of a typical malnourished child, only these children lacked a few limbs. It told of the gruesome state of life of the surroundings. As for the little boy who asked, he lacked both eyes. He was blind. His name was Ray.
"There is no one coming to save us, Ray. Shut it," the one who seemed the oldest said scathingly. He was missing a calf and limped away.
Turning back to the rest of the boys, he continued,
"There are no Transcendants. If you want the mafia gone, you kill them yourself!"
"But…" Alex tried to say. He had no arms. And he was always the peacemaker.
"Not another word from you, Alex!" Felix snapped, turning fully. "Granny Meg…" he looked up at the woman, voice toning down a notch. "Why don't you head to Duke Casimir's for your duties, with Ray, and we'll take care of things over here.
"Alex…" he paused for a moment. "Take Rex with you."
And Black, he looked at the boy who stood at the same height as him. Both boys had calves missing, only that Black had an extra eye gone.
He trotted over and patted his shoulder, looking into his only good eye.
"We'll survive this."
And as Black replied with a grunt.
Felix said simultaneously "Boys, let's move."
The boys scattered into the night.
But Felix didn't make it far, for they had come for him once more.
The Faust Family's hounds had already been set loose. He was dragged back, kicking and spitting, his one good leg scraping against the dirt as iron hands held him down.
They didn't kill him outright. No, death had always been a mercy in these lands.
Felix was hauled into a damp chamber beneath one of the Faust estates. The walls sweated with mildew, the air thick with rot. He was tied down on a wooden frame, wrists raw against the rope, his missing calf leaving his body tilted awkwardly.
A man stepped out of the darkness. A smile stretched too wide across his face, teeth like a wolf. His name was whispered only in curses, Benedict Faust, second son of the ruling family.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't our dearest guest" Benedict drawled, circling the boy. "One of the little rats scurrying under our boots. I hear you've been keeping secrets. Brave acts for someone who limps."
Felix lifted his chin, his voice cold even through the tremor.
"I won't tell you a damn thing."
The whip cracked across his back before the words even finished. His skin split, blood spraying across the stone. He bit down on his scream, jaw trembling, but no sound escaped.
Benedict leaned down close, his breath sour with wine.
"Tell me where the others are. The blind one. The armless brat. That half-eyed freak you call your brother, and the one without limbs, Tell me, and maybe I'll let you keep your tongue."
Felix spat, red mixing with saliva, hitting the man's cheek.
"They're not just my brothers… they're all I've got. And I'll die before I give you their names."
The room stilled. Benedict's grin widened.
"Good."
The torture worsened. Nails were driven under his fingernails, one by one. The screams came then, ragged, animal, clawing at the air. His body convulsed, but still he said nothing.
They broke his fingers. Crushed his knee. Pressed hot irons into his flesh until the scent of burning skin filled the chamber.
And still, through every wave of agony, Felix's words were the same.
"You'll never find them."
By the third day, he was a ruin of himself. Barely breathing. His lips cracked, his eyes hollow. But he hadn't betrayed them.
The guards mocked him as they left him chained in the dark.
"Stupid kid. Protecting ghosts. None of them will come for you."
But in his fading mind, Felix smiled. Because he knew the truth, his brothers weren't ghosts. They were his shadows. And shadows had a way of surviving.