Break.

The prison walls trembled.

Arthur's head snapped up as distant explosions echoed through the halls. The flickering oil lamp outside his cell trembled, its flame casting wild shadows against the stone.

Then—BOOM!

The ground shook violently, dust raining from the ceiling. Screams filled the air. Some belonged to prisoners. Others… Laws.

Arthur leaped to his feet, straining against the iron bars of his cell. 'What the hell was happening?'

Another explosion rocked the building. The outlaws were attacking.

CRACK!

A body slammed against the cell bars. Arthur flinched back as the man slid down, blood trickling from his mouth. It was a Law officer, his insignia barely visible through the blood soaking his uniform.

Then Arthur saw him.

A towering outlaw, his face covered with a dark scarf, holding a massive double-barreled shotgun in one hand and a blood-stained hatchet in the other.

His eyes locked onto Arthur.

"Well, well," the outlaw growled, voice deep like rolling thunder. "Guess we got some unlucky ones still locked up."

Arthur clenched his fists.

Was this his chance?

The outlaw stepped over the dying Law, casually blowing off the lock of another prison cell with his shotgun. The door creaked open, and a burly, tattooed man rushed out, laughing like a madman.

More gunfire. More explosions. The attack was spreading.

Arthur scanned the hallway, looking for an opportunity.

Then—fate gave him one.

A group of Laws stormed in, weapons drawn.

"SECURE THE CELLS! DON'T LET THE PRISONERS ESCAPE!" one of them shouted.

They fired—BANG! BANG!

The outlaw with the shotgun cursed and dove behind a wall. A bullet tore through his shoulder, but he only growled in annoyance.

Then Arthur saw it.

In the chaos, a man had fallen—one of the chiefs.

His blood pooled on the stone floor. And beside his twitching fingers—

A set of keys.

Arthur's heartbeat pounded in his ears.

This is it. This is my chance.

He lunged.

Ducking beneath a stray bullet, he dived to the ground, snatching the keys from the cold floor. He barely had time to register the weight of them before—

BANG!

A bullet whizzed past his head, missing by inches.

A Law officer had seen him.

"You—!" the officer shouted, aiming his rifle.

Arthur didn't hesitate. He rolled to the side, his shackles clinking, and before the officer could react—

CLANK.

Arthur shoved the key into his shackles, twisting desperately.

They snapped open.

For the first time since his capture, his wrists were free.

He lunged forward before the officer could fire again, slamming his fist into the man's gut.

The officer staggered back, choking, but Arthur didn't stop. He grabbed the man's pistol from his holster and, without thinking—

BANG!

The officer collapsed, blood pooling around him.

Arthur's breath hitched.

His hands trembled around the pistol. This was different than a game of Laws and Outlaws.

This was real.

But there was no time to think. More gunfire erupted down the hallway.

Arthur gritted his teeth, took the officer's ammo pouch, and sprinted.

He was escaping tonight.

Arthur ran through the twisting corridors, dodging stray bullets and stepping over bodies—Laws and prisoners alike.

The air reeked of blood and smoke.

Screams echoed all around him. This wasn't just a jailbreak.

It was a massacre.

A massive blast shook the prison. Through the smoke, Arthur could make out figures running—Outlaws, prisoners, and the remaining Laws fighting for their lives.

The front gate.

He spotted it. Freedom was just beyond those iron bars.

But then—

"GET BACK HERE, YOU DAMN RAT!"

A familiar voice roared behind him.

Arthur turned—his stomach dropped.

His father, William Bethonen.

The man stood amidst the smoke and flames, a bloody saber in hand, his coat tattered from battle. His cold, piercing gaze locked onto Arthur.

"You're not leaving," his father said, voice sharp as steel.

Arthur's fingers tightened around his pistol.

His father stepped closer, blood dripping from his saber. "Surrender now. We'll sort this out. You don't have to be like them."

Arthur's pulse pounded in his ears.

For a moment—just a moment—he hesitated.

Then he remembered.

The cell. The chains. The sentence.

They didn't care if he was innocent. They had already made their decision.

And his father—his own father—had done nothing to stop it.

Arthur took a step back.

"No," he said, his voice steady. "I'm done living by your rules."

William's expression darkened. "So you choose to be an outlaw?"

Arthur exhaled.

"I choose to be free."

Then he turned—and ran.

Gunfire rang behind him. His father fired first.

Arthur dove to the side, bullets narrowly missing. He rolled, landed on his feet, and sprinted toward the gates.

His father chased him.

Arthur burst through the wrecked gates just as a final explosion tore through the prison behind him.

He didn't look back.

Because Arthur Bethonen was no longer a prisoner.

Tonight, he had finally escaped his chains

***

Arthur ran.

He didn't stop. Not even when his legs burned, not even when his breath came in ragged gasps.

The night stretched endlessly before him, a vast and empty unknown. The only place he had ever known was the town—and he could never go back.

If he returned, he would be chained forever.

So he kept running.

Through forests where the trees whispered, moments later the ground became sand, he is now venturing the dessert. He had never traveled this far, never ventured beyond the edges of the world he once believed was safe.

Now, he had nowhere to go.

His father's gunshots still echoed in his mind. The weight of his first kill pressed against his chest. The prison, the blood, the screams—everything was behind him now.

But ahead?

Nothing.

Arthur clenched his fists, his footsteps slowing. He was truly alone now. No home. No guidance. Just the dark horizon and an outlaw's fate waiting for him.

Yet, despite the uncertainty clawing at his heart, he knew one thing.

He would never stop running. Not until he found a place where no one could chain him again.

.