The cage was barely large enough for two, yet they'd crammed ten of us inside. Breathing felt like a privilege doled out in thin rations. Chains bit into my wrists, short links forcing my body to hunch like a broken puppet. A sharp sting gnawed at my nose, the heavy tang of blood thick on my tongue. The chains rattled when I tried to wipe my face, only to smear more crimson down my chin. I spat, a dark line splattering on the dry earth below.
My shoulder burned, a phantom flame still clinging to flesh where the torch had kissed me. The smell of charred skin crawled up my nostrils, nausea threatening to climb my throat. Every twitch pulled at the wound, reopening it, and the pain sharpened like a knife.
"I told you so," Mnex muttered in my skull, voice stripped of its usual mockery, just tired and sharp. "Playing hero? It's going to bury you or worse, chain you like this."
Maybe both… but what if I hadn't tried?
"If you hadn't," Mnex hissed, "you wouldn't be a scorched, bleeding mess right now. And tonight, when you slept, I could've erased this from your head."
This isn't about being good or bad, I whispered back. I'm not trying to play hero.
"From the outside, you're doing a damn good impression. Worse than that? You're pulling the perfect idiot act, getting hurt just to prove a point." Mnex's tone turned to glass shards. "Even Doyle said as much…"
I clenched my fists, ignoring the way the metal links cut deeper, and let my head hang low. Doyle's words still lingered like a bad aftertaste. Maybe they'd been right. But I knew what it meant to be powerless. I knew what it felt like to watch hope wither. And no matter how badly this ended, turning my back on those people would've been a betrayal not to them, but to myself.
Hours earlier, Doyle had looked me dead in the eyes and called it madness.
"Thirty men?" he'd said, shaking his head hard enough to rattle his teeth. "Impossible."
"Come on, Doyle!" My voice had cracked, but I refused to back down. "There are people in there right now, being beaten, tortured… kids, Doyle. Little kids!"
"No." He stood, sharp and unflinching. "We skip camp tonight, head straight for the city. Sir Theo and the guards can handle this."
"And if they're all gone by the time we bring help?" My words had scraped my throat raw.
His jaw locked. "Even if we pull this off, we won't walk out alive. This is suicide, young lord. I won't be part of it."
"Then I'll go alone." I stepped forward, but Doyle's hand shot out, gripping my arm tight.
I swallowed hard. "If I'm truly your lord, then I order you to help me. But if you're just my friend…" My breath trembled. "Then I'm begging you. Please. Lend me your strength."
I'd slipped free of his grip, staring at him with fear I couldn't hide, but something hotter burned beneath it: desperation.
Because I knew that feeling, the helpless weight of having no say in your own fate. When cancer had first sunk its claws into me back on Earth, I'd been left with nothing but bad odds and false hope. Waiting to die or daring to fight… even if the fight itself might kill me.
Now, others were stuck in the same nightmare, trapped in cages just like mine. If I walked away today, I'd be betraying every part of me that had once prayed for someone to come save me.
And so I dragged Doyle into this mess. Maybe I shouldn't have. Maybe Mnex and Doyle were both right. But I couldn't abandon them. Not when I knew too well what it meant to be powerless.
I crept back toward the camp as the night grew heavier, timing each step with the lull of drunken laughter. Doyle had slipped into position, ready for his part of the plan. I made my way toward the cages where the captives were kept.
Simple. Yeah, right.
Ffft!
An arrow sliced past my head, thunking into the tree beside me. My heart leapt into my throat. Before I could reach for my sword, a hand clamped around my wrist.
"Well, look what we've got here," a voice drawled, foul breath hot in my face.
I jerked to draw my blade…
Bam!
His fist cracked against my nose like a hammer. Stars exploded behind my eyes, the world spinning sideways.
"Henry! Stay awake!" Mnex's voice snapped like a whip inside my skull.
My vision swam, every blink stinging with blood. I barely saw the other two men stepping out from between the wagons, one with a bow and a torch that burned low and mean.
"Boss," the first one called, yanking my arm painfully, "caught a little mouse snooping around."
Their so called boss stumbled out, glassy eyed and grinning like a vulture. "Bring him here," he slurred, reaching for the torch.
He grabbed my chin, forcing my head up, and sneered. "Too pretty for a boy," he muttered, tongue sliding over his lips. Then he shifted the torch as if to pass it off, only to shove the burning end into my shoulder.
"ARGHHH!"
White hot agony ripped through me, my stomach lurching to my throat. Their laughter echoed like hyenas feasting. I clenched my teeth so hard my lips split and bled.
"This one screams too much," one of them jeered, tightening his grip until my bones ached.
Boss waved lazily. "Empty cage's got space. Toss him in. We'll decide what to do tomorrow."
Cold shackles bit into my wrists as they shoved me into a cramped, iron barred cage. My knees slammed the wooden floor hard enough to bruise.
"How's that plan working out for you, Henry?" Mnex's voice was ice on raw wounds. "So getting caught was step one, and the beating was just a bonus in your grand plan?"
Not. The. Time. I bit the words out between ragged breaths.
"Exactly my point," Mnex snapped. "It's never the time. And that's why your plans never work."
A soft, shaky whisper tugged at my ear. "Mister… are you okay?"
I turned my head, blinking through the haze of blood and grit. A little girl, no older than five, stared up at me with wide, red-rimmed eyes. Her tiny hands clutched the hem of my torn shirt, knuckles white with fear.
An older man in the corner grumbled, voice rough as gravel. "Kid, you should've run while you had the chance. Now you're stuck with the rest of us."
I glanced around the cage. Hollow faces avoided my gaze, except for a few whose eyes burned faintly in the dark not with hope, but with a smoldering anger that refused to die.
I swallowed the metallic taste coating my tongue and forced my voice steady. "Listen to me," I said, loud enough for every caged soul to hear. "Before the sun rises, we're getting out of here."
No one answered. No one believed me. I didn't care. Belief wasn't what I needed. What I needed was resolve and a little luck.
Now, I said to Mnex closing my eyes.
"Focus," he shot back. "Pulse. One chain link, one shot."
Mana gathered from deep within, a familiar current pulling tight as I poured it into the metal. The links trembled faintly.
The little girl's gasp was soft but filled with wonder. "You're… you're a mage!"
I pressed a finger to my lips, flashing her a small smile. Something fragile and bright lit in her tear streaked face, a flicker of hope where there'd only been fear moments before. She nodded and held her breath, watching me like I was the only miracle left in the world.
That was when the first scream tore through the camp outside, followed by the unmistakable clang of steel on steel. Doyle had started his part of the plan.
The cage rattled as tension spread among the captives. Prayer murmurs, quickened breaths. I didn't move, didn't blink, just let mana crawl deeper into the chain.
Then chaos erupted.
The first sound was a shriek, sharp enough to slice through the night air. Then came the clash of steel, a heavy, wet sound of something vital being torn apart.
"What the hell is happening out there?!" a drunken voice bellowed, panicked and slurred.
And then I saw him. Doyle moved like a phantom along the camp's edge, his silhouette a blur of cold precision. One breath he wasn't there, the next a man's head snapped sideways, nearly severed by his blade.
Blood sprayed in an arc that glistened under the firelight. Another hayseed of a bandit didn't even have time to scream before his throat opened like a second mouth, crimson spilling fast. Doyle didn't stop, didn't hesitate, every step was a calculated death sentence. It wasn't fighting. It was slaughter in its purest form, a grim dance where only one partner would leave standing.
A barrel tipped, wine soaking the dirt like cheap perfume mixing with iron and blood. The smell was thick enough to taste. Panic broke through drunken stupors as more men stumbled from tents, weapons half drawn, eyes wild.
They never stood a chance. A knife spun through the air, planting itself between one man's eyes before he even registered danger. Doyle vaulted over his falling body, twisted, and scythed down another's legs. The man collapsed screaming only to have his voice cut short with a brutal slash across his neck.
Twelve? Fifteen? I couldn't count. Every time one fell, another tried their luck. And Doyle didn't miss, didn't falter. The only rhythm left in the camp was death, the dull thud of bodies hitting dirt, the wet rip of steel through flesh, the heartbeat drum of my own chest hammering in terror and awe.
Some of them dropped their weapons and backed away. Others were too drunk, too stupid, or too slow. Doyle gave none of them mercy.
Then a hush rolled through the camp. Heavy, deliberate footsteps emerged from the largest tent. Even the bandits froze, fear sobering them instantly.
He came out like a nightmare given shape, broad shoulders, one milky blind eye, face crisscrossed with old scars. A massive battle axe hung loosely from one hand, a half empty flask in the other. But his gaze wasn't fogged by drink. No, that gaze promised pain.
"Which one of you bastards ruined my evening?" he thundered, voice cutting through the chaos like an executioner's blade.
No one answered. They didn't have to. The bodies scattered around the camp spelled the truth in red.
His lips twisted into something like a grin. "Fine," he growled, rolling his shoulders and hefting the axe with a casual strength that made my stomach turn. "I'll handle this myself."
The crowd of bandits retreated, leaving a bloodstained arena. Doyle stood alone in the center, sword dripping, chest rising slow and steady. Across from him, the so-called Boss dragged his axe along the ground, sparks spitting where metal met stone.
A promise hung heavy in the air, this wouldn't end until one of them stopped breathing.