Brutal Desperation

As the fortress door rolled open, it released a guttural groan, a belch of ancient might. The one who had moved it with considerable ease stepped forward calmly, while another figure stood behind, faintly shrouded in the darkness beyond.

Their armor was a fusion of sanctity and menace, gleaming softly under the crimson radiance of the torch they carried. Blackened steel encased their form, while a stark white cloak draped over their shoulders, bearing the emblem of a red cross—a symbol of unwavering zealotry.

The fabric fluttered slightly over their pauldrons, as if responding to an unseen force, an ominous whisper in the air. Their gauntlets, meticulously crafted, flexed around the hilt of his holy blade—a weapon still buried in its sheath, yet pulsing with an eerie, incandescent glow, as though it had been forged from divine fire itself.

Beneath their hood, only darkness reigned—save for the burning cross etched upon his mask. It glared, unblinking, seething with ethereal fury.

Their presence exuded unshakable resolve, a silent oath written in blood and steel. They did not seem like a mere men, but executioners of faith—knights of an incorruptible doctrine, bound by a creed that demanded sacrifice.

The first knight stepped fully into the cell, his gaze falling upon the young boy lying lifelessly on the cold ground, half-naked.

There was no flicker of emotion. No hesitation. Only impassive judgment.

His left hand, which had rested upon the hilt of his holy sword, shifted to the torch. Then, with one effortless motion, he grabbed the boy with his free hand, slinging him over his shoulder.

Yet in that moment—Auren moved.

The shift was sharp. Flawless.

In an instant, he twisted his body, looping the rusted chains across the knight's neck before kicking off. He flew backward, dragging the executioner down while landing closer to the door.

Auren's legs slammed against the inner handle. Summoning every last ounce of his strength—every drop of his will—he pushed with furious resolve, forcing the door shut just as the second knight lunged forward.

The heavy doors clanged together with a deafening boom.

Pain pulsed through his body from the sheer force of the motion. His muscles screamed in protest, painfully reminding him of his own weakness. That knight had opened the door with ease. How much stronger were the Devouts?

But he did not loosen his hold.

Auren might not have been a full-fledged Blessed, but even a half-fledged one possessed strength beyond that of an ordinary man.

And he was using every last bit of it.

The chains had been positioned precisely, locking around the knight's throat in a brutal chokehold. The executioner struggled—his body convulsing, muscles straining—but the more he fought, the tighter Auren wrenched the bindings.

The knight moved to break free, but Auren twisted. His entire body coiled, rolling the chains tighter still. His long legs kicked upward, snapping the torch from the knight's grasp.

The flame tumbled through the air—then landed upon the dampened floor of the cell.

His clothe and bedding caught instantly. Fire erupted, its light flickering violently across the cold stone walls.

Outside, the second knight pounded against the door.

The first knight had taken the key in with him. So it would not open easily.

The pounding echoed—not just through the prison, but through Auren's chest, reverberating deep within his heart.

Still, Auren had no intention of loosening his grip—not even for a second. If he was going to die, so be it.

But he wasn't going down alone. Not without one of these Archonfuckers.

That was his resolve.

The knight's hand finally reached his hilt. With a sharp pull, he unsheathed his sword—the holy blade singing with a hollow, serene ring.

Yet from his position, strangled within Auren's implacable hold, the swing was nearly impossible. The chains were ironclad, his body trapped. His life was beginning to flicker out. Already, he was seeing stars.

His vision dimmed as his arm trembled, holding the sword aloft but unable to bring it down. Death was inevitable.

Auren grinned—a wild, feral grin. The knight's struggling strength had begun to wane. His own, however, surged.

He had no idea where this sudden, devilish power had come from.

Or perhaps, he did.

But in that moment, none of it mattered. Every force in his body was at its peak—his muscles locked in violent defiance, his senses sharpened beyond thoughts.

The prison glowed in the incandescent fury of the spreading flames, the crimson light licking at the cold stone walls.

Then, in the blaze's radiance, Auren finally caught sight of a small window high on the wall. Barred. Narrow.

Useless.

His only option was to kill the knight—the key was his. With that, he would have both time and means to escape.

And then—the unexpected…

The knight's dimming eyes snapped open.

At the exact same moment, the door behind Auren exploded inward.

A force of terrifying might wrenched it free from its hinges, slamming into both Auren and the knight, sending them crashing forward.

Simultaneously, a circle of blinding white radiance flared beneath the knight's feet—his body bursting with renewed, monstrous strength.

He moved with ruthless precision.

The instant Auren was thrown toward him, the knight seized the chains—spun—then hurled him into the wall.

The impact was shattering.

Bricks groaned and fractured upon impact, splintering apart from the sheer force. Before Auren could even process the pain, the wall collapsed beneath him.

And then—he was falling.

Falling into the darkness below.

The second knight rushed into the room—only to find a gaping hole in the wall.

His partner stood at the edge, rubbing the raw discoloration on his neck.

"That worm…"

The knight's voice dripped with disdain.

The second knight peered down into the yawning darkness, speechless.

"…How do we report this?"

The first knight didn't turn. His gaze remained locked on the depth below.

"He tried to run. But in the end, he was his own undoing."

He exhaled, then added coldly:

"Even if he somehow miraculously survived the fall… there's no way he'll survive the Cursed Creatures that lurks down there."

The second knight sighed, finally turning to his partner, shifting slightly.

"Where's your sword?"

The knight glanced at his empty hand—where his blade should have been. It had happened in a fleeting instant, but he was certain of it.

That damned boy had taken his sword.

His gaze dropped once more, the crimson cross on his mask flaring with a sharp, menacing glow.

"That worm!"