"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the grand commencement of our festivities!" The announcer's voice boomed through the air, tinged with excitement. "Behold, your benevolent King! He has graced us with his presence! He comes not only to display his unwavering love for you, but also to entertain and assure you that he will safeguard the kingdom at any cost!"
The crowd erupted into a chorus of cheers, their enthusiasm palpable.
Meanwhile, Roven watched in his dimly lit cell with his blood-stained fingers gripping the iron collar. He had attempted countless times to release himself from its grip, but his efforts had only resulted in cut hands. In the neighbouring cage, a massive, bear-like creature mimicked his actions, its powerful paws repeatedly tapping at its own collar. With each tap, the creature twisted the collar slightly, its keen ears twitching as if searching for any hint of a hidden mechanism.
As Roven glanced toward a small window in his cell, movement caught his attention. A formidable group of warriors, donned in gleaming steel armour, marched toward the centre of the sandy field. Their presence commanding respect. Holding their large, square shields at the ready and wielding long, glistening spears, they formed a tight, impenetrable circle. These warriors were definitely highly trained, undoubtedly members of the King’s army.
The scene was set for a grand spectacle, the ambiance brimming with anticipation and the promise of blood.
The announcer's voice reverberated, commanding attention as he continued his tirade. "Behold, ladies and gentlemen, these men standing before you are nothing but traitors! Heathens and spineless cowards who have dared to turn their backs on the crown and betray our people!"
Roven gazed sceptically at the accused men. The narrative seemed hard to believe. As he watched them, he could detect their unwavering discipline and unmistakable signs of dedicated training. These men were far from being cowards.
"Today," the announcer declared, "we shall demonstrate to you why the righteous cause of the crown is just and true! Prepare yourselves, for here, in all his majesty, stands YOUR KING!"
The crowd erupted with a cacophony of stomping feet, pounding fists, and hoarse voices, sending shockwaves through the very structure that housed them.
Amidst the chaos, a lone figure emerged onto the field, towering above the rest. Fully enshrouded in resplendent steel armour, the King exuded an aura of grandeur and authority. Inlaid sockets adorned his armour, showcasing the magnificence of large gems encrusted into the chest plate and arm guards. The gems, a mesmerizing mix of vibrant greens and blues, caught the light and cast an eerie glow upon the King's form, giving him a disconcertingly ominous appearance.
Dangling from a chain around his neck hung a single gem, as black as the darkest night, adding an air of malice to his regal ensemble.
Roven's gaze remained fixed on the figure. His jaw worked as his eyes narrowed to slits.
This, he thought, is the true coward.
The King relied so heavily on magic that it felt like an excessive display of wealth and power. Not honour.
Hushed silence fell upon the crowd as the King drew closer to the accused men. It was no longer a mere fight; it was a solemn proclamation—an execution.
Beside Roven, a low rumble reverberated, capturing his attention. He turned to see the bear-like man in the neighbouring cage, a new expression of triumph on his face.
“What is it?" he asked the Wolvegren.
With massive rolls of fur shifting, the bear man moved closer to Roven and revealed a small section on the back of his collar where the clasped joined. It was a barely noticeable area tucked away on the underside of the main locking mechanism, a minute spot where the collar appeared weaker. Even with his keen eyes, Roven could hardly spot it.
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He wondered why the creature was so confident, but realising they were out of options, he followed the bear man's guidance and sought the same join on his own collar. The gap he discovered was minuscule, nearly imperceptible.
Amusement laced the bear man's deep voice as he pointed to the weak point. "Right here," he said. Roven's eyes narrowed, studying the iron collar anew, trying to discern any vulnerability.
Roven's concentration intensified as he directed his attention to the living metal. With deliberate precision, he willed the point of the needle to elongate, transforming it into a slender thread no thicker than a strand of human hair.
Carefully, he moved the delicate thread between the minuscule gap of the collar, his hands slick with the blood. He missed time and time again, but he persevered.
His focus was momentarily interrupted by a resounding clash of metal against metal. Roven's gaze darted towards the spectacle, his spine tingling at the sight of heavily armoured men being effortlessly battered aside.
Finally, after moments of meticulous effort, Roven exclaimed triumphantly, "There!" He had successfully inserted the slender thread of metal into the collar's join. Looking up at the bear man, he inquired, "Now what?"
A grin formed on the bear man's face as he responded, "Make it grow."
Roven nodded and focused on the living metal. Channelling his concentration, he commanded it to expand. In an instant, the collar snapped open, tearing apart from the weakened join. The iron collar fell to the ground and landed with a resounding thump.
Two heads abruptly turned, fixing their gaze on the collar lying on the floor. The woman, who’d never spoken, rose from her position.
"How did you do that?"
Roven extended his hand, revealing the living metal for a moment, before shifting to the hulking Wolvegren. "Here," he instructed, "kneel down and turn around."
The Wolvegren complied, positioning himself as instructed. With the collar now within easier reach, Roven swiftly located the join. In a matter of moments, the Wolvegren collar fell.
Screams echoed through the air above them, as the King's relentless onslaught continued. The armoured men, despite their training, succumbed to the overwhelming might of the King, fuelled by stolen magic.
"Now, let's tend to the cells," the Wolvegren suggested.
Roven nodded, awaiting further instructions, a silent understanding forming between them. The bear-like creature's teeth gleamed in a grin as he spoke, revealing a hint of his expertise. "See down there," he pointed toward the cell doors. "Create a long pole and place it under the hinges of the door."
"You seem to be well-versed in this…"
The Wolvegren's grin widened as he replied, "Mechanisms are a hobby of mine. Now, hurry. Position your iron bedpan under the pole, next to the hinge, and then jump on the pole."
Eager to act, Roven promptly set to work, meticulously following the instructions. To his surprise, as soon as he applied his weight to the pole, the door snapped upward. While it wasn't fully open, it provided enough space for him to pass through.
The Wolvegren nodded approvingly.
Roven turned his attention to the sturdy doors of the Wolvegren's cell. "Should I release you next?"
The Wolvegren shook his shaggy head. Pointing to the right, he directed Roven's attention toward a wooden door, typically serving as the guards' post during their shifts. "Get the keys," he instructed.
Taking a deep breath, Roven steeled himself. He cautiously approached it, his senses heightened, and ready.
Roven then transformed his living metal into a fully articulated battle suit, then moved. As he ran, he could hear the echoes of the soldiers above cry out in pain as their King showed the crowd what constituted as mercy under his reign.
With a burst of determination, Roven crashed through the wooden door, stepping into a curving hallway that encircled the coliseum anti-clockwise. His gaze darted ahead, where another door swung open, revealing an annoyed guard who had poked his head out to investigate the commotion in the cells. The guard's face drained of colour; his expression frozen in sheer terror as Roven sprinted toward him.
Before the guard could even utter a single syllable, a long, green metallic spine extended from Roven's hand, swiftly severing the guard's vocal cords, who stumbled forward, gasping for air while desperately clutching his damaged throat.
Though the guard's demise remained muted, the other guards leisurely occupying the nearby common room did not fail to notice the muffled sound of his struggles.
Roven stormed into the room. In one fluid motion, he hurled a spear at the nearest guard, who had his feet casually propped up on a table. Before the guard fell, a sword materialised in Roven's hand, conjured by the living metal of his suit. With calculated precision, he swiftly dispatched the remaining guards, each strike deliberate and lethal. The clinking sound on the final guard revealed the keys and Roven’s freedom dangling from his hip.
A triumphant grin etched across Roven's face as he closed his hands around the precious set of keys. A tangible sliver of hope.