"Bring it, you mandible freaks!" Jinn roared, his voice raw with defiance as it tore through the cell like a war cry, echoing off the cold stone walls with a strength that belied his young frame.
His feet planted firmly against the cracked floor, his knees slightly bent in a fighter's stance, and both of his fists clenched so tightly that the knuckle on his regular arm had turned pale.
His small chest rose and fell with deep, steady breaths—his eyes never wavering, locked onto the swarm of insectoid monsters standing before him, daring them to take the first step.
The suddenness and boldness of his shout silenced much of the room.
Heads turned all at once, and the low murmur of the crowd shifted into gasps of disbelief and whispering awe.
It was not every day that a child challenged death itself to a fistfight.
"Is that kid… insane?" one voice muttered from the shadows.
"He's fighting them? All of them? Alone?" whispered another, the disbelief in their voice clear.
Amidst the confusion and whispers, one voice pierced through the fog of noise with raw concern.
"Jinn!" cried Kain, his voice cracking with panic and fear as he pushed himself upright.
The terror in his eyes spoke volumes.
But Jinn didn't turn.
"Stay there, Kain!" he shouted back firmly, his gaze never breaking from the enemy ahead.
"I got this handled."
The last word came with a cold, hard snap.
His hands tightened into fists once again, the tension spreading through his forearms like coiled steel.
"You better listen to him—kid's got something in him," grunted one of the older slaves standing nearby.
His arms crossed, and though his voice was gruff and tired, his eyes watched Jinn carefully with a curious glint—something between admiration and disbelief.
The Throns, towering behemoths of exoskeletal muscle and menace, loomed over Jinn with monstrous hunger.
Their grotesque bodies were armored in thick carapace-like plating, black and scarred from years of violence.
*click! *click! *krick! *krick!
Their mandibles twitched and clicked as they began to encircle the boy, forming a slow, deliberate ring like predators toying with a cornered prey.
Each heavy footfall rumbled through the chamber, their clawed feet scraping the floor with anticipation.
These weren't just thugs—these were killers, bred by a cruel galaxy to take what they wanted by force.
Jinn exhaled slowly, eyes scanning the tight ring around him.
He flexed his fingers and kept his arms high, hands near his chin, elbows tucked.
His footwork was loose, his stance balanced—ready to move in any direction at any time.
Sweat trickled from his brow as he strained to anticipate the first strike.
*click! *Click! *CLICK!
The clicking grew louder—rhythmic, almost mocking.
Then came the flicker.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jinn saw it.
"Tssh!"
One of the Throns lunged from the right, its grotesquely long arm slicing through the air with the strength of a falling tree.
*FWHIP!
The wind howled around it.
But Jinn was ready.
He ducked low in a smooth, swift motion—his body gliding just beneath the blow as he exhaled sharply, feeling the rush of wind graze his hair.
"Damned rat!" the Thron roared, furious at the miss.
Its arm recoiled, preparing to strike again—but Jinn was already moving.
He surged forward, closing the gap between them in an instant.
His synthetic arm, humming faintly with internal power,
*crack!
drove a sharp hook into the Thron's side.
The force behind it was brutal.
A loud crack rang through the chamber as the impact fractured the Thron's hardened exoskeleton, sending it stumbling backward with a scream of pain.
"AARGH!"
The old man watching from beside Kain raised a grizzled eyebrow and let out a soft, amused chuckle.
"Ho? Now that's impressive," he muttered to himself, nodding.
Jinn didn't let up.
"Come on! I ain't got all day!" he shouted mockingly, his breath visible from the chill air, his voice dripping with defiance.
The wounded Thron snarled, clutching its broken side.
"Motherfu—Kill him!" it spat.
"You're dead meat!" another hissed, and suddenly all of them lunged—six, seven, maybe more—like monstrous trees uprooting themselves to crush the defiant weed that had dared to stand tall.
"Grab him!" one of them shouted, using a clawed leg to try and sweep Jinn's feet from beneath him.
*fwoosh!
Jinn jumped, barely avoiding the leg that slid beneath him—but in midair, one of the other Throns seized the opportunity and lunged forward.
Massive arms coiled around Jinn, locking his body in a crushing grip.
*click! *click!
"Good! Let's tear him apart!" another growled as it approached, teeth grinding in anticipation.
"Argh!" Jinn winced in pain, the pressure around his ribs unbearable.
He could feel his bones creaking.
The old man watching narrowed his eyes, taking one step forward.
"I guess that's it…" he muttered solemnly.
But he stopped mid-step.
"Urgh!"
*crunch!
Jinn had plunged the thumb of his synthetic arm directly into one of the Thron's bulbous eyes, piercing through the hardened membrane with a sickening shlurp.
A fountain of thick green blood erupted from the wound, splattering onto the floor in jets.
The Thron screamed in agony, thrashing violently before releasing Jinn from its grasp.
"Mama, what's happening!?" cried a child, now sobbing uncontrollably.
"Don't look, dear! Don't look!" the mother whispered, shielding her child's face.
Jinn dropped to the ground with a grunt—
"DIE!"
but another Thron was already lunging toward him.
He didn't waste a second.
With his small frame and agile reflexes, Jinn dropped to the floor and skidded forward, sliding between the Thron's spindly legs like a shadow.
He twisted his body mid-slide to avoid the clawed feet, and emerged on the other side—free of their encirclement.
"Phew…" he exhaled sharply, wiping sweat from his face and raising his arms again, ready for more.
But before the next strike could come, the entire cell fell into an abrupt silence.
*THUD! *THUD! *THUD! *THUD!
Footsteps.
Dozens of synchronized, armored footsteps echoed through the corridor outside.
A heavy presence swept into the chamber.
"Shit—it's the Zeraf!" someone shouted, and panic set in like wildfire.
Slaves scrambled to their spots, retreating from the chaos and pretending as if nothing had happened.
Fear forced their silence.
"What's going on here!?" barked a voice with the authority of a storm.
It was the warden.
He stepped into the chamber, his cold gaze sweeping across the bloodstained floor and injured Throns.
His eyes halted on the corpse of the first Thron—its body ripped open, blood still staining the wall in a grotesque display.
His gaze narrowed further as it landed on Jinn—unscathed, standing tall amidst the aftermath.
The warden's expression shifted—part intrigue, part calculation.
Then he spoke.
"You—boy."
He raised his hand and pointed directly at Jinn.
"You shall be punished for your misbehavior!"
"W-What!?" Kain shouted, disbelief etched on his face.
He moved forward, stumbling.
"Wait! The Throns started it!" he shouted, blocking the path of the approaching soldiers.
"They were stealing bread from everyone!" Kain insisted, voice trembling with desperation.
"Y-Yeah! It's those damned insects!" another slave added.
"They stole from us!"
"Leave the kid alone!"
Voices began to rise in unity, all standing for Jinn.
But the moment the warden's expression darkened, all those voices faded.
A single cold glare shut down the entire crowd.
The room went dead silent again.
Without hesitation, one of the soldiers kicked Kain aside like garbage.
*thwack!
His small body tumbled across the stone, crashing into the wall.
"You fucki—!" Jinn tried to shout, but he was struck hard across the back of his head.
Everything went black.
"J-Jinn…" Kain groaned, barely conscious as he crawled.
The old man from before knelt beside him, helping him up gently.
"Don't worry, kid," he said, his brows furrowed in a grim expression.
"We haven't seen the last of that boy."
With a metallic slam, the cell door closed once again.
The Soldiers then dragged Jinn's limp body away.
===
*An unknown time had passed
Jinn's mind stirred from the depths of unconsciousness, his eyelids fluttering open as a dull ache throbbed at the back of his skull.
His vision blurred at first, colors swirling until they slowly focused into shapes and details.
The sharp scent of incense and aged wood filled his nostrils.
As his senses returned, so did the reality of where he was.
He was no longer inside the cell.
No longer among the starving slaves.
No longer beside Kain.
Instead, he found himself inside a lavishly furnished chamber—a room he instantly recognized as far beyond the standards of any typical officer's quarters.
The crimson-red drapes that hung from ceiling to floor were adorned with golden embroidery, depicting spiraling blades and serpentine sigils that crawled like veins across the fabric.
The walls were carved with intricate symbols, serpents weaving down pillars and wrapping around golden sconces.
The red hue of the room bled into everything, from the carpets to the velvet-lined furniture.
Everything felt too grand, too ornate… too intentional.
*creak! *creaaak!
Jinn blinked rapidly, trying to move—only to find himself bound tightly to a cold iron chair.
Both his wrists and ankles were locked by thick bands of reinforced iron, bolted into the arms and legs of the chair.
His fingers twitched against the restraint, but there was no give.
Escape was impossible.
He tensed, his body still sluggish.
That's when a voice slithered from the side of the room, cutting through the silence like a cold dagger.
"Majestic, aren't they?"
The sudden voice made Jinn flinch.
He whipped his head toward the source, finding the warden standing beside a series of large portrait paintings hanging on the wall—each depicting individuals with crimson-red hair, the same shade as Venedix.
The warden gazed up at one of the portraits with reverence, his gloved hand brushing the edge of the frame.
"House Sorellia… the House of Blades," he said, spreading his arms out as if presenting a divine truth.
His voice was laced with admiration, but also something darker.
"Famed across the Empire for being brutally efficient… cold, merciless… and always calculative."
He turned toward Jinn, a cruel smile twisting across his face.
"And they've always had a knack for turning slaves into cannon fodder."
Jinn furrowed his brows, his glare sharpening.
"What do you want?" he spat, not even bothering to mask the venom in his tone.
The warden didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he casually strolled to a large desk behind him, stacked with parchment and gilded documents.
He shuffled through them with a deliberate slowness until he pulled one out and laid it flat.
A faint hum of interest passed his lips as he read.
"For a boy that Lady Venedix herself vouched for…"
He flipped a page.
"You're quite the rowdy one, aren't you?"
The moment that name slipped from the warden's lips, Jinn's heart skipped a beat. His jaw tightened instinctively.
Venedix…?
He wasn't expecting her to be mentioned here—especially not by someone like this.
Jinn's expression hardened. "Venedix? Never heard of her," he scoffed.
The warden let out a hearty laugh and slapped his knee with a loud whack.
"You're a funny one, Jinn," he said, shaking his head in amusement.
He returned to the document, flipping more pages with leisurely ease.
"Let's see here… Jinn. A Rinari orphan. Hailing from the ruins of the fallen city of Leran." His eyes skimmed down.
"Showed remarkable resistance. Fought Venedix herself to the death. Pierced by her blade through the gut… and then revived by her own hands."
The warden paused, narrowing his eyes at that last line.
"That part always intrigued me."
He turned another page.
"A bright red light filled the air during your revival. Witnesses described it as an aura of energy. Now tell me—did you happen to see anything unusual? Perhaps a… red crystal of some kind? Held by Lady Venedix?"
Jinn's brows furrowed.
A red crystal?
Was he trying to uncover something hidden within the revival? Something sacred… or secret?
Jinn scoffed, lifting one brow mockingly.
"Even if I did, why would I tell you?" he said with casual defiance.
The warden's amused expression vanished.
A cold silence fell over the room.
He stepped back slowly, one hand reaching to his side—resting on the hilt of his blade.
Jinn watched closely as that hand tightened.
"Because your life depends on it, child," the warden said flatly.
Jinn chuckled under his breath, despite the situation.
"Then why don't you ask her yourself?"
His eyes flashed with a sharp glint.
"Bastard."
The insult made the warden's lip twitch.
With a sudden movement, he drew his saber from its sheath.
*shhht!
The blade glinted beneath the crimson light of the chamber, raised high above Jinn's restrained body.
Jinn flinched, but didn't look away.
"Are you really that desperate?" Jinn asked, voice low.
"A traitor to your own kind? You'd kill a child for a crystal?"
The insult hit its mark.
The warden hesitated—his grip wavered for half a second.
"Maybe…" he whispered, then suddenly roared, "Maybe I am!"
The saber arched through the air, its edge racing down toward Jinn's neck like a falling guillotine.
"Urgh!" Jinn strained, leaning backward as far as his bindings would allow—but it wasn't enough.
The blade was mere inches from his throat when—
*CLANG!
The sound of metal on metal rang out like thunder.
The saber was deflected in a flash of motion—parried by another blade that came from nowhere.
Then, just as quickly, a figure materialized behind the warden, seemingly out of the shadows themselves.
A hooded assassin, clad in dark, skin-tight garb, stepped forward without hesitation.
In one swift motion, she drove a slender dagger deep into the warden's exposed neck.
*sssht!
"K-Krkgh! W-What… is… this!?" the warden choked, his words gurgling through the blood already filling his throat.
The assassin leaned in close, her voice like silk dipped in poison.
"Lady Venedix sends her regards."