RIOT

The cold, damp air of solitary confinement wrapped around me like a shroud—in this moment it was almost comforting, but the burning heat beneath my skin was all I could focus on. The symbols etched across my body pulsed, shifting from the faint red glow I'd seen before to a dim white light. The essence was drawn in around me—swirling, building and pushing me to the edge. It was intoxicating, overwhelming. I clenched my fists, the power coursing through me like a storm I couldn't contain.

Control. Focus. I needed to hold on—just a little longer.

Taking a deep breath, I stood, the small cell barely able to contain the energy radiating off me. I stretched, feeling the tension in my muscles snap like a bowstring. "Let's give this a try," I muttered, pressing my glowing hand to the steel door in front of me.

With a surge of intent, I channeled the essence outward. The door didn't just swing open—it exploded off its hinges, shattering into jagged shards of metal that scattered across the hallway. The sound was deafening, but I barely registered it as I stepped into the corridor.

Each breath felt like fire in my lungs, fueling me further. The power threatened to overtake me, but I couldn't stop now. With a burst of speed, I launched myself down the hallway. The walls blurred around me as guards emerged, weapons raised. They were nothing. I ripped through, their shouts cut short as I left them crumpled in my wake.

The sharp clang of an alarm bell echoed through the corridors, its rhythmic blare urging more guards to swarm the area. A group of three guards rounded the corner ahead of me, their weapons drawn and their eyes locked onto me with determination.

"Stand down!" one of them barked, his voice sharp and commanding. He was the leader of the trio, a burly man clad in reinforced armor and a longsword at the ready in his hand. Beside him, a wiry man wielded spear. The last guard, a towering brute with a shaved head, hefted a warhammer that looked more suited to demolishing walls than fighting prisoners.

I slowed my pace and steadied my breath. The essence coursing through me hummed with anticipation.

The leader charged first, his longsword slicing through the air in a wide arc. I sidestepped, the blade narrowly missing my ribs, and retaliated with a swift punch to his gut. The glow of the essence flared as my fist connected, creating a huge hole where his stomach had once been—as he collapsed to the floor dead.

The spear-wielder darted in next, his movements were fast as he lunged forward looking for an opportunistic strike. I twisted, evading his stabbing motions by inches. One cut grazed my arm. The pain was sharp and immediate, but my new found power numbed it almost instantly. Grabbing his wrist mid-swing, I yanked him forward and drove my knee into his stomach. He gasped, doubling over, and I finished him with an upward strike to his jaw. I heard the sound of his skull cracking as he was sent backwards, sprawling out onto the floor.

The moment of triumph was short-lived. The warhammer came crashing down, and I barely leapt out of the way in time. The floor cracked beneath the weapon's immense weight, sending a shower of debris into the air. The brute followed up with a sweeping strike, forcing me to roll to avoid the blow.

I landed in a crouch and then I surged forward, closing the distance before he could take a second swing with the warhammer.

Using the essence, I enhanced my strength and leapt, planting a fist squarely against his chest. The force of the impact sent him flying backward into the wall, but it seems he wasn't done yet as he struggled to his feet.

"You're just some prisoner," he muttered, his tone laced with both anger and fear.

I smirked. "Do yourself a favor and stay down."

The guard went for his warhammer which was on the ground next to him.

I grabbed the other guards spear from the ground and launched it at him, impaling him in the temple as he crumpled to the floor.

I continued down the hallway, Elenion's descriptions of the prisons layout guided me. Through twisting hallways and collapsing tunnels, I pressed forward, the energy growing heavier. The circular chamber was exactly as he had said. The wardstone stood at its center, a massive crystalline structure glowing with restrained power. Its light painted the room in vibrant hues and shifting colors.

For a moment, I paused. Then, drawing in every ounce of essence I could muster, I clenched my fist and slammed it into the stone. The impact was cataclysmic. For a brief heartbeat, there was silence, then the stone erupted. A shockwave of raw energy burst outward, sending fragments of the wardstone flying like across the room.

The oppressive energy that had once suppressed the prisoners lifted instantly. 

I staggered back, catching my breath as the building shook around me. But there was no time to savor the victory. The chaos had begun. I could hear the sounds of fighting and shouting echoing from every direction. 

I kept pushing forward, cutting a path through the crumbling halls. Prisoners and guards alike fell before me. The halls blurred together until I reached a familiar figure.

Varos stood amidst the rubble. His cell was shattered, the door barely hanging on its hinges. "I assume this was all your doing?" he said with a smirk. 

"I had some help," I replied, my voice rough from exertion.

"When the dust settles, send for me. I'll be heading to the southwest, to the city of Kitarth. Whether we fight together or against each other, I want to see who's truly stronger one day." 

I nodded, a silent agreement passing between us. Varos walked away, his loud footsteps fading into the chaos.

The riot had spread like wildfire, magic crackling in the air as prisoners unleashed their abilities that have been suppressed for years. Guards scrambled to regain control, but they were outnumbered and overwhelmed. I had to keep moving, my focus narrowing as I fought through the fray.

My search for Triandal and the others continued. As I rounded the next corner, a figure stepped into view at the end of the hall. The man with the scar—since meeting him on my first day in the prison, I had never even caught his name. His cold, calculating eyes locked onto me, but before he could act, a blur of movement ended him. Members of the Crimson League emerged from the shadows.

"We appreciate what you did here today," one of them said, their voice calm amidst the chaos. "We have much to discuss. Our people will be in contact." And just as quickly as they appeared, they vanished, leaving me standing over the scarred man's lifeless body.

As I turned down another hallway, fate gave me an unexpected gift as my path brought me face-to-face with the prisoners torturer. The smug arrogance I'd once seen in his eyes was replaced with fear. He stumbled back, hands raised in a pathetic attempt to plead for mercy.

"What was it you said the first time we met?" I mused, a smirk tugging at my lips. "Ah, that's right... you're nothing." With those words, I unleashed a burst of pure essence. The blast surged forward, relentless and unforgiving, tearing through him and painting the hallway with a spray of blood.

After fighting through another wave of guards and a handful of desperate prisoners who made the mistake of crossing in my way, the corridors of the prison opened up into a dimly lit atrium. There, standing amidst the rubble and flickering torchlight, was Triandal, flanked by eleven of his warriors. Alongside them stood a handful of the mercenaries I befriended over my time in the prison. Everyone had mismatched armor and weapons which they had taken from the guards they had defeated. Triandal stepped forward, handing me a sword. "To think I doubted your plan! Are you ready to go?" he remarked. 

"Yes, I think it's about time we leave this damn place." I said with a nod of thanks as I grab the sword from Triandal. 

The prison was collapsing into full-blown anarchy. 

Together, we carved our path toward the exit, cutting through those who dared to stand in our way. Each fight pushed us closer to freedom but left its mark—nicks in our commandeered armor, blood splattered across faces and exhaustion was setting in. In the chaos, we took whatever we could: weapons from fallen guards, pieces of armor that still fit, and finally, horses from the prison stables.

With one last desperate surge, we burst through the outer gates. The biting cold of the night hit rushed over us, but it was a welcome contrast to the suffocating heat and smoke of the prison. Behind us, the prison burned. The air was alive with shouts, battle cries, and screams—both of rage and terror.

We didn't stop to look back. We spurred the horses forward, the rhythmic pounding of hooves carrying us south-bound into the forest beyond. Each breath of the cold air felt like a small victory, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the horizon stretched open before us. Freedom—fragile and fleeting, at least in this moment—was ours.