Clink, clink…

The axe rose, the axe fell, driving the hours into dust.

Gwil’s hands were shaking, his guts churning. Anticipation and cold Kaia, working in tandem to sow agony through his bones.

A squelching crunch. A scream. A choked gasp.

Gwil turned.

Cort put his boot on the chest of the guard that he’d just killed and ripped the pickaxe from the man’s shattered ribcage. Blood gushed from the wound in time with a slowing heart.

Excited murmuring broke out throughout the tunnel.

“You next,” Cort said to Gwil. “Lay down.”

Gwil did so. Cort knelt beside him and examined the collar. He shook his head and stood. “You might wanna try praying.”

“You won’t miss,” Gwil said.

“You’re too trusting. Arch your head back. Give me a target.”

Gwil bent his neck all the way back, getting his chin out of the way and propping himself up with the back of his head.

The axe fell. The collar snapped.

Fire, radiant and ravenous, an inferno swelling within his veins.

The Nirva returned, furious, as if its confinement was a transgression that could not go unpunished.

The gloomy cavern fell away, layer upon layer unraveling, peeling away as if carved by a knife. A field of reeds, a sky of butterflies. The World’s deepest abstractions, revealed as dust.

It made him feel so small.

Through that instant, Gwil had no control over his body. His limbs flailed, slamming against the ground, flinging him up and down.

His primal, mindless scream was silenced by a rough, grimy hand clamped over his mouth. Then, the fingers pinched his nostrils shut.

With his other arm, Cort pinned Gwil against his chest in a one-armed bear hug.

He couldn’t breathe. He swatted at Cort’s face.

“Pipe the fuck down,” Cort said with a grunt.

“Mm hiin nno!” Gwil’s smothered bellowing had the high pitch of a whistling teakettle.

Cort relaxed his grip.

“I said I’m fine now,” Gwil said, gasping. “Lemme go. It’s passed.”

Gwil stood. The crippling frailty that had weighed upon while he wore the collar had vanished. The burning blood soothed his aches like a hot bath. The voices were singing.

His muscles thumped with visceral pulsations. Sturdiness surged through his bones. His limbs felt as strong as iron, yet featherlight.

Every sensation was amplified. The dim light bloomed with clarity, glimmering in a prismatic array. The frigid air was as refreshing as the sea on a summer day. The smell, well, the smell of the Kaia was still rancid.

“What the hell was that?” Cort snapped.

Gwil shrugged. “I dunno. The collar. It’s nothing.”

“That’s not nothing,” Cort said.

Gwil looked to where Cort pointed. Divots had been smashed into the rocky floor of the cave—fist-sized, with spider-web cracks.

“Woah! Did I-”

“That’s not what I’m pointing at,” Cort said. “Look at your hand.”

Gwil held up his arm, which he hadn’t noticed had slipped out of its cuff.

His hand was a mangled mass of red and pink pulp. Slivers of white bone peeked out through raw, glistening tissue. He could barely make out his fingers.

“Wh-wh-wh-”

“Shh! Do not scream!” Cort hissed.

“Fuuuuuck!” Gwil whisper-shouted.

The bloody hunk of meat writhed, little worms of flesh twisting, curling into each other, growing into skin and bone.

“Wahhhahah!” Gwil screamed.

Torn veins stitched back together. Blood vessels bloomed like tiny roses. Bones fused, cracking into place. Layers of granulation tissue formed, and then a blanket of thin, fresh skin.

Then he stopped. “Oh yeah, I forgot I could do that.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Cort looked furious, but he had been yelling too.

Chaos.

Two guards came running in. Pickaxes clattered to the ground. The prisoners fell into panic, their rapid breaths buzzing like mosquitoes in their poisoned lungs.

Gwil rushed the pair of guards, the iron ball bouncing in his wake. It felt like he was running as fast as a horse.

A thrown pickaxe whizzed past him, spinning end over end. Its spike impaled one guard in the stomach.

With his uninjured hand, Gwil socked the other one across the jaw, shattering his gasmask. Out cold, the man crumpled beside his writhing comrade.

Gwil looked down the tunnel to see if anyone else was coming. They hadn’t been that loud, had they?

He turned back and saw that Cort had gathered up all the prisoners.

“Everyone,” Cort said, keeping his voice low. “We’re getting out of here. If you’re fit, pair up with someone who’s sick. First thing we’re gonna do is get these chains off. Line up. Quick.”

Gwil looked down at the guard, who was slowly dying with a pickaxe lodged in his abdomen. “Hey Cort, I forget. Is it better to take it out, or leave it in?”

Cort threw his hands up. “Who gives a shit? Go find the other guard and send everyone else down here.”

“Right.” Gwil bolted into the hub at the base of the pit.

Each of the pit’s tunnels would’ve had one guard, so there was only one left down here. But the prisoners were already rushing out of their tunnels. Gwil’s eyes darted between them, searching for the guard. Then he heard a noise above.

The last guard was climbing up the scaffolding.

Nirva blazing in his leg, Gwil planted his foot and swung himself into a spinning kick, using the iron ball to blast through two of the scaffolding’s supports.

That half of the structure heaved and then collapsed. The guard lost his footing and came tumbling down.

Gwil clambered up to meet him where he fell. He ripped off the guard’s mask and then, using the heel of his palm, popped him in the forehead. The man’s eyes rolled back, and he went still.

As he climbed down, Gwil dragged the unconscious body and dumped it on the ground, somewhere out of the way. No need to kill everyone.

More prisoners streamed into the main area of the pit. What a sight—a screaming horde of half-dead ghouls, waxen skin aglow with Kaia, pickaxes swinging wildly.

Cort came running up to where Gwil stood at the foot of the scaffolding.

“Weren’t we supposed to keep quiet?” Gwil asked. “They’re yelling.”

“Are you shitting me? You broke the scaffolding. Loudest thing I ever heard. You know we have to climb out, right?”

Gwil turned to gesture at the scaffolding and saw half a dozen guards peering down from the rim of the pit.

Without a word, he leapt up onto the scaffolding and started climbing. The guards scattered.

“You better have one hell of an Invoke,” Cort shouted.

He reached the top. Madness, all the guards running around like headless chickens. Most were gunning for the cavern’s exit. Others seemed directionless, and a few fools retreated down into the pits.

Gwil dashed toward the exit. He couldn’t stop them—several of the guards had already escaped. The whole prison would know what was happening.

But he could at least hold the line against whatever came.

Without thinking, Gwil leapt across one of the pits, only realizing in midair how far it was. He landed with one foot scrabbling on the edge, the other dangling.

He caught himself by grabbing the ankles of the two shocked guards that stood there. In pulling himself up, he dumped them both into the pit.

Ahead, a group of some fifteen guards had gotten themselves into formation. They closed in on him, charging with their spears. Gwil spun past the leader of the charge, grabbed the shaft of his weapon and wrenched it away. The man tripped and plummeted into one of the pits.

Gwil held the co-opted spear sideways and clotheslined the next two. The rest of the gang piled onto him. He deflected a few jabs and then dropped the spear.

He was better off without it. Nirva rushed through his body like never before, driving his every move.

Gwil threw punches at whatever he could reach. His fists felt as sturdy as the iron ball that was shackled to his leg. He landed a solid blow on someone’s chest and felt the ribcage collapse as the man went flying back.

He grabbed two more by the backs of their heads and slammed their faces together.

Gwil couldn’t believe how good he was at fighting. It was so easy. His opponents moved as slowly as if they were underwater.

The Nirva, the Nirva was monstrous. Against it, these ordinary humans were as weak as soggy noodles, and as fragile as paper mâché.

A spear from behind slashed through Gwil’s leg. He felt the metal scrape against his hipbone. He threw himself backward into the man, grabbed him by the arm, and began spinning.

Using their comrade as a bludgeon, he bowled through the rest of the attackers.

The other guards that had been approaching him turned and fled, making for the exit. Gwil laughed as he chased after them.

***

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” Cort barked.

He anchored an assembly line of prisoners as they lifted their sickly fellows up the collapsed scaffolding. Another group worked on breaking as many of the chains as they could.

Cort was furious at both himself and Isca for allowing that brainless dipshit to be a part of their escape. He’d ruined everything at the first step.

Their chance was shot. Up in flames before it even got off the ground. The whole of Podexia was about to come crashing down on them.

It was too late to turn back. All they could do was throw themselves into the gnashing jaws. Death would be better than whatever punishment they’d reap for this pitiful attempt.

The realization washed over him. They were all going to die. All these poor prisoners who Cort had let himself get tangled up with. Goddammit. He’d failed them. And on top of that, he’d given up his own life for nothing.

Well, he could make peace with that. Not like he was gonna do anything worthwhile, anyway. At least he’d die trying to do something decent. Except…

Isca…

“Cort!” someone shouted from the top of the pit. “We’re still clear up here. Don’t rush it!”

“Eh? How?” Cort yelled back.

“That Hallowed kid is running riot. The guards are trying to escape and he’s not letting them!”

Cort whipped around and– “Shit! Watch out!” He’d kicked a pile of detached iron balls and sent them rolling.

Clutching his toe, he called out to a woman that was helping him get everyone out. “Limmy, you good with the rest? I gotta see what’s going on up top.”

“I’m good. Go!”

Cort grabbed two discarded pickaxes and clambered up the heap of scaffolding. At the top, he pushed his way through the gathered prisoners. A few eager ones had rushed ahead to join the fray.

Cort surveyed the scene. “I’ll be damned.”

A couple dozen guards lay scattered throughout the field of pits. Dead, dying, and unconscious, they formed a path of carnage leading toward the exit.

At the mouth of the cavern, Gwil was tangled up in a mass of flailing bodies. He fended off attackers from both sides—reinforcements had come.

Podexian guards swarmed him, burying him beneath their bodies. But Gwil broke free every time, like a man at sea who refused to drown, surfacing between waves.

The kid was a terror. He fought like a demon, ripping through armed and armored enemies like they were made of tissue. And he was laughing. The echoes of his lunatic cackling filled the cavern.

Cort turned on the group behind him. “What are y’all standing around for? Go help everyone get out of the other pits. They got no damn clue what’s goin’ on.

“And watch out for any guards that went down to hide!” he added as they hurried off.

With a pickaxe in each hand, Cort sprinted ahead to help Gwil. It sure as hell wasn’t ideal, but maybe they still had a chance. And if not, this wasn’t such a bad way to go out.