the prison of horrors

The Prison of Horrors

The rhythmic pounding of boots echoed through the narrow corridors as the squad of soldiers rushed toward the prison. Their armor clanked with each hurried step, the flickering torchlight casting jagged shadows against the damp stone walls. The air smelled of smoke, sweat, and something far worse—something metallic and scorched, thick enough to coat their tongues.

Then, a scream.

Not just any scream. A sound so raw, so filled with unimaginable suffering that even battle-hardened warriors froze. It wasn't the sound of a man simply dying—it was deeper, primal, a wail of something being torn apart in a way that should not be possible.

Kavin, a seasoned soldier with a scar running from his brow to his cheek, tightened his grip on his sword. "That came from inside," he muttered.

Captain Roland nodded grimly. "Move."

They pressed forward.

The heavy iron doors of the prison loomed ahead—but they were no longer intact. The thick bars had been twisted and melted, the iron warped like wax before a flame. The torches along the walls flickered weakly, their glow barely enough to illuminate the vast, open chamber beyond. And the moment they stepped inside, the breath caught in their throats.

Bodies.

Dozens of them, scattered across the stone floor. Some had been burned beyond recognition, their flesh blackened and fused with what remained of their armor. Others had suffered in ways that defied logic—bones twisted at unnatural angles, their faces frozen in silent screams. The once-strong prison walls bore deep, charred gouges, as if something had clawed at the stone itself.

A soldier stumbled back, pressing a hand over his mouth. Another clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his weapon.

"What the hell happened here?" Kavin whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Where are the prisoners?" Nok asked, his eyes darting around the carnage.

"This…" Roland exhaled, his voice quieter than before. "This wasn't done by swords or arrows."

A new voice, hesitant and shaken, broke the silence. "Captain—look!"

Roland turned to see one of his men pointing toward a slumped figure near the far wall.

Captain Geof. Or what was left of him.

His once-proud armor was melted into his flesh, the steel fused with charred muscle and bone. His arms and legs—what remained of them—were blackened stumps, burned down to the bone. His mouth was frozen in a silent scream, his eyes wide, empty.

A few of the soldiers recoiled, muttering prayers under their breath.

"What the hell happened to him?" someone asked.

"Check if he's alive," Roland ordered, though even as he spoke, he knew there was no hope.

Nok hesitated, then knelt beside the ruined corpse. He pressed two fingers against Geof's throat, waiting for something—anything. But the body was stiff, cold.

After a moment, Nok swallowed hard and looked up. "No, Captain. He's gone."

A heavy silence fell over them. Then—

"Captain!" A young soldier, barely in his twenties, called out, his voice shaking.

Roland turned, irritation creeping into his tone. "What now?"

The young man pointed toward the far end of the room. Among the carnage, amid the bodies of guards and prisoners alike, lay a child. A boy, no older than ten, curled up on the cold stone floor. His clothes were torn, but otherwise, he was untouched. Unburned. Unharmed.

Roland frowned. "Who is this kid?"

"Is he alive?" Kavin asked, stepping closer.

The young soldier knelt beside the boy and pressed his fingers to the child's throat. A sharp intake of breath followed. "He's breathing!"

Roland's eyes narrowed. "Check for injuries."

The soldier examined the boy, turning him slightly. No cuts, no bruises, no burns. Not a single scratch.

Silence.

Then Kavin spoke again, his voice uneasy. "How is he unscathed? Everyone else is…" He trailed off, looking around at the ruined corpses.

The young soldier hesitated, then spoke. "His breathing is steady, but… he's completely unresponsive."

"Could be unconscious," Kavin muttered.

"Turn him over," Roland ordered. "Check his face."

The soldier obeyed, carefully rolling the boy onto his back. His delicate features were smudged with dirt, his dark hair falling over his closed eyes.

"Anything?" Roland pressed.

"Still unconscious," the soldier confirmed.

"Then check his eyes."

The soldier hesitated. Normally, they wouldn't disturb an unconscious person like this, but Roland's tone left no room for argument. Slowly, he reached out and gently pried one of the boy's eyelids open.

A sharp gasp rang through the room.

The boy's eyes—though still unfocused, unseeing—were blue. Not just any blue. A piercing, unnatural shade, brighter than the summer sky, deeper than the ocean.

A shade seen only in one bloodline.

The Indrath bloodline.

Roland straightened abruptly, turning to Kavin. His mind raced. "Kavin. Come here."

Kavin stepped forward, sensing the urgency in his captain's voice. "Yes, Captain?"

Roland's next words came low and fast. "What happened to the prince of the Indrath Empire?"

Kavin hesitated. Then, grimly, "He escaped during the attack. We haven't found him yet."

The room stood still.

Then, Roland did something that made every soldier around him freeze.

He laughed.

It started low, almost a chuckle, but then it grew—a sound of realization, of triumph, of something dark and knowing. His laughter echoed off the bloodstained walls, and the men shifted uneasily.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, Roland stopped.

He exhaled sharply and grinned.

"Well, guys… we caught a big fish tonight."

Silence followed his words.

Then, Roland straightened, his expression shifting from amusement to cold authority.

"Restrain him," he ordered. His voice was sharp, final. "Now."

The soldiers hesitated for only a moment before moving. Boots echoed against the stone as they stepped through the blood-soaked chamber, the scent of charred flesh thick in the air. One reached for the boy's arms, another for his legs, their grips firm, their expressions wary.

The child remained completely still.

He did not resist.

He did not react.

And as the soldiers secured the bindings around his wrists and ankles, lifting him from the floor, the silence that hung over the prison felt heavier than before.