Everything seemed to freeze, caught in a breath held too long. Veythor’s calculating mind, a relentless engine, continued its silent work. He looked towards Shimi, a swift, almost imperceptible nod passing between them... a silent signal. The fear of failure, a cold serpent, coiled in their hearts, threatening to choke the fragile hope of escape.
Bural walked on, oblivious, his stride nonchalant, a man untouched by worry. Shimi began to concentrate, the familiar greenish aura blossoming around her, a faint, ethereal glow. She raised her hands, silently, a gesture of focused intent. Raika’s breath hitched, caught in his throat. Even Veythor felt a flicker of apprehension, a cold dread that if she faltered, if she made even one mistake, the entire fragile plan would shatter.
"Wind Slash!" she whispered, the words a mere breath. The wind, a sudden, unseen force, coalesced into a blade, sharp and swift. It shot towards Bural’s feet, a silent, deadly whisper through the air. A whoosh, then a gasp from Bural, a surprised cry. The wind blade found its mark, and he stumbled, falling backward with a heavy thud.
Veythor’s heart swelled with a grim joy. He moved, a blur of motion, towards the fallen figure. In his hand, a large rock, jagged and unforgiving. His new body was small, but the countless years of pain, the brutal lessons of survival, had taught him exactly what must be done. He brought the rock down, a brutal arc, smashing it into Bural’s head with all the strength his small frame could muster.
Blood erupted, a crimson spray against the dim light, painting the air, his face, his clothes. But Veythor did not stop.
One, two, three... four... five... six... eight... ten.
He counted, each strike a testament to his cold resolve, each impact a sickening thud. Blood sprayed everywhere, a macabre art. Raika and Shimi watched, their faces contorted in absolute horror. Their innocent minds, untouched by such brutality, could not comprehend. A boy their age, capable of such a savage act. Bural was dead. He had not even made a sound.
"Run, run, run! Don’t stop!"
Veythor commanded, his voice a harsh whisper, and he surged forward, a small, blood-stained blur. Raika and Shimi, their hearts pounding, followed close behind. Ahead, two guards, oblivious, stood chatting, their voices a dull murmur in the cavernous space.
"Shimi, this time, the airbomb strategy. Don’t falter,"
Veythor murmured, his words a silent plea. Shimi nodded, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. Raika, feeling useless, a mere spectator in this brutal dance, watched on.
The rock, still clutched in Veythor’s hand, was a dark, heavy promise. His small body, a canvas painted crimson, moved with a terrifying purpose.
"Shimi! Now!" Veythor screamed, his voice intentionally loud, a sudden rupture in the quiet. Shimi, with a practiced swiftness, pulled an airbomb from her inventory, a small, dark sphere intertwined with a rope.
At Veythor’s scream, the guards turned, confusion clouding their faces. Their eyes widened in horror as they saw Veythor, a child drenched in blood.
"Eeeek! What the fuck is that thing? It’s full of blood!" they shrieked, their voices laced with terror.
In that moment of shock, Veythor hurled the rock. It flew, a dark projectile, towards the guard in front. The first guard, with a desperate lurch, barely dodged. But the rock, a cruel twist of fate, found its mark on the second guard’s face. He crumpled, a guttural scream tearing from his throat.
The first guard, his face contorted in rage, pulled a knife, its blade glinting wickedly in the dim light.
"You little fuckers!" he roared, charging towards them.
"Shimi, get behind him and Raika kick at his crotch from behind! I’ll handle from the front!" Veythor commanded, his voice sharp, decisive. "Okay!" Shimi and Raika simultaneously replied.
The air shattered as Veythor charged the man, a blur of small, determined fury. The guard wore a strange bandana, his torso bare, a testament to his crude strength. As the man swung his knife, a mindless, desperate arc, Veythor dodged, a fluid movement honed by instinct. The man’s anger flared, an orange, lava-like aura surging from his body. "Enchanting effect: Ignis!" he roared, and fire, a hungry beast, erupted from his palm, merging with the knife in his hand.
"You little shit!" he screamed, and as he prepared to strike Veythor, Raika, with a desperate surge of courage, kicked him hard in the crotch. A dull thud. The man bent double, clutching his belly, a strangled scream tearing from his lips. "Aaahhhhh!"
Veythor wasted no time. "Shimi, activate the airbomb!" Shimi placed her hand on the bomb, charging it with her weak mana, a faint, green glow. It was enough. "Catch it!" she cried, throwing the bomb.
Veythor caught it, his fingers closing around the small, deadly sphere. He leaped onto the man’s back, pressing the bomb against his neck, concealing it beneath the man’s blood-soaked clothes. The second guard, still writhing on the floor, was a forgotten detail.
Three... two... one... BOOOM! Half of the man’s neck vanished, a grotesque testament to the bomb’s power. He was dead, a silent, bloody heap. Veythor, not wanting to waste a single precious second, turned to the second guard. He seized the rock, still lying nearby, and began to smash the man’s head, a brutal, rhythmic assault, mirroring the grim work he had done on Bural.
"Aaaaghhhh!" The man screamed, a guttural sound of agony. Veythor, with a brutal efficiency, smashed his mouth, silencing the scream, silencing the man. He continued the grim work, smashing the rock into the man’s head until life fled, until the body lay still. But the effort was immense. His small body, unaccustomed to such violence, buckled. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drum. He gasped, panting, completely breathless, his stamina utterly spent.
Raika, witnessing the raw brutality, his mind unable to process the horror, began to retch, emptying his stomach onto the cold, damp ground. Shimi, too, was panting, her vision blurring, the world spinning around her.
"You are not human. You’re a monster... a monster," Raika choked out, his voice raw with revulsion.
From the other cages, a desperate chorus began. "Help... help us too! Free us... free us, please!" A slave screamed, his hand beating frantically against the black metallic bars, a futile plea.
"Don’t stop! Run!" Veythor commanded, his voice hoarse, but still sharp. "Someone is coming behind us! These are not our concern! Save yourself first!"
Shimi began to protest, her voice weak, but Veythor’s harsh words cut her off.
"No time for ’buts’! Run or rot!"
They ran again, a desperate flight through the shadowed corridors. After a while, Raika suddenly stopped. "Wait! Look here! Here’s a tunnel!" Both Shimi and Raika halted, their eyes fixed on the dark opening.
Ahead of them, the tunnel yawned open black, quiet, waiting.
The sign read: "Enter without permission. Die without mercy."
And just behind them... the sound of boots, running. Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by novelꜰire.net
"Hell yeah!" Veythor screamed, a triumphant, almost manic sound. "I knew it! There must be a shortcut!"