The Awakening
The cell reeked of mold, blood, and silence.
Lucas lay motionless, a shadow among broken chains and walls stained by darkness. His eyes opened slowly—not out of relief, but because of a memory.
The memory of Clara. The sound of her laughter. The small hand clutching his own.
The pain that once defined his days now felt distant, like an echo filtered through a dark veil. He no longer felt hunger. He no longer felt thirst. He felt nothing but... himself.
Or almost.
A voice whispered in his ear, deep as a stone sinking into a bottomless well:
"You have awakened. But you are still nothing."
Lucas didn't answer.
"Do you want to return to her? Tear the skies apart, open a path between worlds? Then listen closely..."
The air around the cell shuddered. The stones wept. The shadow behind him rippled like a living cloak.
"To reach that power, you must destroy. Not for revenge. But for sustenance. Your strength will be measured by the worlds you raze."
Lucas sat up. The broken chains clattered to the floor like ancient bones.
"I need to get out of here."
"Then break the door. Start with this world."
He stood. The body that was once a bag of bones now pulsed with raw, unstable energy. The cell seemed too small, unable to contain him.
With a single sharp motion, Lucas tore the iron door from its frame. The metal screamed, and echoes raced through the corridors like ancient alarms.
Two guards rounded the corner. The first dropped his torch at the sight of him.
"He's... he's alive?"
Lucas advanced. The first scream was short; the second, strangled. Neither of them had time to react.
The shadow spread behind him. The stones darkened. But Lucas didn't stop to admire the destruction.
He walked. Steady steps over a floor stained with his own memories.
And then, he saw him.
The man.
The one who always laughed.
The one who would snuff out the lights just to laugh in the dark. The one who called him a "dog" when he begged for water.
The one who stomped on his fingers when he reached for a filthy piece of bread.
The man tried to run.
Lucas didn't hurry.
The shadows grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him back. The floor itself seemed to want to hold him forever.
"No... please... please..." the man stammered, his face twisted in terror. "I was just following orders... I—"
"Say it again," Lucas said, kneeling beside him. "That line you used to say. When you left me seven days without water."
The man trembled, unable to speak.
"Come on, I'll help you," Lucas murmured, bringing his face closer. "'Thirsty, hero?'"
He calmly grabbed the guard's hand. The filthy, sweating fingers still tried to slip away.
"Then drink this."
He spat into the man's eyes.
With both hands, he twisted each finger one by one, bending them into grotesque angles, snapping them slowly like dry twigs. He didn't snap them all at once—he forced them until the bones exploded from within.
The scream that followed was like a slaughtered animal. But Lucas didn't rush.
"Remember when you left me in the dark for three days with the rats?"
He pressed his thumbs into the man's eyes and pushed.
Blood poured like thick ink. The man thrashed, flailed. But Lucas held firm.
"Still able to hear? Then listen closely."
Lucas leaned in, whispering into his ear.
"I'll tear everything from you. Just like you did to me."
He raked his blackened nails across the man's stomach, slicing just deep enough to expose trembling entrails. Not enough to kill—just enough to leave the flesh alive, exposed to the cold air.
"Let's see how long you last."
The shadows moved like hungry fingers. They slithered into the open wounds, clawing from within.
"Now you'll feel what it's like to die second by second. Slowly."
The man no longer screamed. He only gasped, a convulsing bag of meat.
Lucas stood.
"You don't deserve death. Not yet."
The shadows began to wrap around the body, sewing him into the ground.
Before turning away, Lucas grabbed what was left of the man's jaw, looked into his blind, bleeding eyes, and whispered:
"Now laugh from the inside."
The Staircase and the Decision
He climbed.
Spiral staircases. Empty corridors. Voices that appeared and died before reaching him, swallowed by the shadows that now walked with him, erasing the world around him like reality itself feared him.
When he reached the prison courtyard, he saw soldiers forming ranks. Archers. Spears. Orders barked in desperation.
He stopped. He looked at them. Not with fear. But with calculation.
Not yet.
The Abyss spoke again:
"There are many. Today, you could still die. But return stronger. And when you do... let no stone be left upon another."
Lucas retreated into the shadows of a side corridor. He climbed a service stairway. Passed through a forgotten hall. Escaped through a crumbling tower.
The world outside was larger, darker than he remembered.
And he ran. Not out of fear.
But out of promise.
Escape
The forest embraced him like a secret buried too deep to ever be remembered. Twisted branches scarred the sky. Blood dried on his skin. His lungs burned with the cold air. But he was free.
With every step, he felt the weight of a vow he hadn't yet spoken aloud.
He hadn't fled to survive.
He had fled to learn how to kill like a god.
The kingdom that imprisoned him still stood.
But not for much longer.