The Path to Power

Chapter 5: The Path to Power

The cell was prison, but Asher's brain was free. His resolve to escape was made, get stronger, and pay Lena back for what she had done. However long it would take, however much pain he had to endure, he would get it done.

He sat on the cold floor, his head aching from the trial, but his brain sharper than ever. Khaelos had ordered him, but the god had vanished before giving him any useful information. Typical. Now Asher had to get things in order.

"Time to stop sitting around," he said to himself, balling his fists.

Asher closed his eyes, going for the strength inside him, the darkness Khaelos spoke of. He focused on the small ember within, forcing it to expand. A burning sensation ran through his veins, as if flames ran through his blood. His muscles tensed, his skin charred, but he gritted his teeth and endured.

"Good. Keep pushing, mortal."

Khaelos' voice rang in his head, acrid and testy.

"You hesitate. Why? Do you fear pain?"

Asher snorted out a laugh. "Pain is nothing. Tell me what I must do."

Khaelos laughed harshly. "Simple. Break yourself, then rebuild. Your body is weak, untrained. You must rebuild it. Feel the power in your blood. Force it into your bones, your muscles, your very existence. The more you hurt, the stronger you become."

The god's words were logical, but Asher didn't quite trust him. He was a being of chaos, after all.

But he had no other choice.

Panting, he focused again, trying to force the power through his limbs. His arms trembled, gasping for breath, but he didn't stop. He pushed on until his body felt like it was being torn apart.

And then, suddenly, it stopped. The pain subsided, to be replaced by a strange, raw energy. His body still ached, but he could feel the energy building within him.

"Not bad," Khaelos said to himself. "You're not quite as pathetic as I thought."

Asher smiled. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Take it as you please, mortal. Now, unless you wish to rot in this prison, you need knowledge. Learn what you can. Be careful, however, weaklings break under stress."

The voice had faded away, and Asher blew out harshly. Khaelos was not a man who was going to do something for the love of doing it, but at least he was giving some counsel.

Now, he needed to learn more about the prison.

---

Asher glanced over the cell. His cellmates were somber, lost in their own thoughts. But he could not afford to be careful. He had to move.

He went up to the old man with the twisted face who had spoken to him before. The man's eyes were sharp, brimming with years of experience.

"You've been around here for a while, haven't you?" Asher said to him, his voice easy. "What do you know about this place?"

The old man smiled. "And why would I tell you, boy?"

Asher moved in closer. "Because I'm going to be leaving here. And I don't think you'd care to see the Order lose."

The old man looked at him for an instant before letting out a low guffaw. "You've got more guts than a young man your age should have, I'll give you that." He breathed deeply, then spoke in a low voice.

"This facility is not meant for criminals. It's where the Order would like to eliminate people. They don't immediately kill us since some of us are. valued." His voice grew cold. "Tests, experiments, psychological games. Those are what they play on people who catch their attention."

Asher's expression hardened. And that was their plan for him.

"What about security?" he continued to press.

"Guards patrol in shifts. The walls are reinforced with magic, but the energy dampeners don't work perfectly. I've seen people push through it briefly."

That was useful. It meant Asher could use his power, even if only for a short time.

Before he could ask more, the young woman from before spoke up. "You're really planning to escape, aren't you?"

Asher met her gaze. "Yes."

She hesitated, then nodded. "If you can find a way, I'm in."

The old man chuckled. "Sounds like you're making friends fast."

Asher's lips twisted into a smirk. He wasn't seeking friends he was seeking allies.

He would break out. He would train.

And then he would make them all pay.

The old man's chuckle faded, but his eyes remained sharp. "If you're serious about this, boy, you'll need more than guts. Courage alone won't break these walls."

Asher leaned forward, his smirk unwavering. "Good thing I have more than just courage."

A few of the prisoners were watching now, silent but attentive. Some were indifferent, others skeptical. Only fools would put their trust in a stranger. Asher didn't need their trust—he needed their skills.

The old man exhaled through his nose. "You remind me of a fool I once knew. He thought he could change things too and the Order crushed him like an insect."

"Sounds like he wasn't me," Asher replied smoothly.

The old man studied him, then let out a short, amused grunt. "Alright, kid. You want out? You'll need to earn your place first."

One of the bulkier prisoners, a man with burn scars running down his arms, scoffed. "He's just a kid, Leon. He won't last a day in the pit."

Leon—so that was the old man's name. Asher filed that away.

"Then let's see," Asher said, rolling his shoulders. "Or are you afraid I'll make you look bad?"

The scarred man growled, stepping closer. "You talk big for someone fresh in here."

Khaelos' laughter rumbled in Asher's mind. "Ah, I like this one. He might not be a complete disappointment after all."

Leon raised a hand, silencing the scarred man. "No need to waste energy proving who's tougher. We don't train weaklings for free. If you want in, you give us something in return."

Asher's expression didn't change. "And what would that be?"

"The Order," Leon said simply. "We want them destroyed. Every last one."

Asher's smirk widened. "Now that's a deal I can agree with."

The tension in the room shifted. A few murmurs spread through the gathered prisoners. Some seemed doubtful, others intrigued.

Leon gave him a long look, then nodded. "Then let's begin."

The Pit

They took him to a section of the prison none of the guards bothered to check an underground chamber called the Pit. It was damp, cold, and reeked of sweat and blood. The perfect place for breaking and rebuilding a body.

Leon stood at the center, arms crossed. "You're not special here, kid. We all have our reasons for wanting out, but only the strong get a chance to leave. If you survive, you'll get your training. If not, well… you won't be the first to die trying."

Asher rolled his shoulders, unfazed. "I like those odds."

The scarred man stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "Then let's see what you've got."

Leon nodded. "No gifts. Just your fists."

The fight began without warning.

The scarred man lunged, faster than Asher expected for someone his size. Asher barely ducked in time, the air shifting as the man's fist swung past his head. The moment he dodged, a knee slammed into his ribs, sending him skidding across the ground.

Pain flared, but Asher grinned.

"Is that all?"

The scarred man snarled and charged again. This time, Asher was ready. He twisted his body, letting the momentum carry him as he slid past the attack. Before his opponent could react, Asher struck—a sharp elbow to the ribs, followed by a low sweep to the legs.

The man stumbled, but he didn't fall.

"Not bad," Leon muttered.

The fight continued, brutal and relentless. Asher took hits, but he gave just as much. He learned the man's patterns, his weaknesses, his hesitations. When the fight finally ended, Asher was bruised and aching, but standing.

Leon smirked. "You'll do."

Training with the Prisoners

The next weeks were hell.

The prisoners weren't just fighters they were survivors, each with their own strengths. Some specialized in close combat, others in strategy, some in movement and evasion. Asher learned from all of them.

- Leon taught him precision how to strike efficiently, how to conserve energy in a prolonged fight.

- The scarred man, Rax, drilled endurance into him, pushing his body past its limits.

- Others taught him different skills knife fighting, pressure points, escape techniques.

Khaelos' voice never left his mind. The god was a constant presence, mocking, advising, laughing whenever Asher collapsed from exhaustion.

"Pathetic. Again."

"Your enemies won't wait for you to recover, mortal. Get up."

"Better. You might actually survive at this rate."

Asher endured it all, absorbing knowledge like a sponge. His body adapted, his mind sharpened. He was no longer just training—he was evolving.

And he never forgot his goal.

Escape. Revenge.

The Final Test

One night, after a brutal sparring session, Leon pulled Asher aside.

"You've learned fast. Faster than most," he admitted. "But there's one last thing before we commit to this escape."

Asher raised an eyebrow. "And what's that?"

Leon's eyes were cold. "We need to know you won't hesitate when it matters."

A knife was tossed at Asher's feet. He looked down, then back at Leon.

"Kill or be killed," the old man said.

Asher picked up the knife, testing the weight in his hand. His expression didn't change.

"Who's the target?"

Leon nodded in approval. "Good. No hesitation. That's what I wanted to see." He gestured toward Rax. "Survive against him, and we'll follow your lead."

Asher smirked, flipping the knife in his hand.

"Let's get started, then."