"Stop! Let go of me!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking with desperation. But the two towering figures, clad in gleaming silver armor, paid no heed to his cries. Their gauntleted hands clamped tightly around his ankle, dragging him relentlessly across the cold, uneven stone floor, his body scraping against the rough surface.
As they neared a massive iron gate, one guard came to a halt, his heavy boots grinding against the ground. He stood motionless, his face obscured behind a polished visor, while the other guard fished a large, rusted key from his belt. With a slow, deliberate turn, the key clicked in the lock, and the gate groaned open, its hinges protesting with a deep, mournful creak. Beyond it lay a shadowy chamber, its depths swallowed by darkness.
Without a word, the second guard bent down, seizing the struggling boy with ease. He hoisted him over his armored shoulder as if he weighed nothing, then flung him into the room. The boy landed hard on the filthy floor, a cloud of dust billowing around him from the impact.
The guards stepped back, slamming the gate shut with a resounding clang that reverberated through the chamber like a death knell. They cast one last, indifferent glance at their captive before turning on their heels and marching away, their synchronized footsteps fading into an eerie silence.
"Ah…" The boy groaned, pain shooting through his battered body as he forced himself up from the grimy floor. His muscles trembled with every movement, protesting the abuse they'd endured. "Damn bastards!" he spat, his voice quivering with a mix of fury and exhaustion. "Just wait till I get my powers back," he muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing into slits of defiance as he clenched his fists.
He turned his head, squinting into the oppressive gloom of the room. A faint sliver of light trickled through a narrow slit high in the wall, barely illuminating the space. The air hung heavy with the sour reek of damp stone and rot, and the towering walls seemed to press in closer, as if the room itself were a living thing, watching him.
He whirled around, fists clenched, and unleashed a torrent of curses at the retreating guards. "You filthy pigs! You'll regret this—I'll get out, and you'll pay!" His voice cracked, hoarse with fury and a shiver of dread, but the guards didn't flinch. Their silver-armored silhouettes faded into the shadows beyond the bars, leaving his words to echo uselessly in their wake.
Panting, he turned to confront his new prison. The cell loomed around him, cloaked in near darkness, illuminated only by a flickering torch bolted outside the iron bars. Its frail light danced across the walls, casting twisted, writhing shadows that seemed alive. The air hit him like a fist—thick, rancid, a nauseating stew of rot, sweat, and a sharp tang he swore was blood. Gagging, he pressed his sleeve to his nose and squinted into the murk, trying to piece together where he'd been dumped.
He wasn't alone.