Not this again.

Before Rhys could turn tail and run, the creature moved first.

He barely had time to react before it lurched forward, closing the distance in a single, unnatural leap. The air rippled with the force of its movement, and the stench of burning flesh clawed at his throat.

He twisted to dodge, his body moving on pure instinct—

Clang!

The cuff—thick iron, rusted but unyielding—jerked him back, yanking his arm toward his neck.

Damn—

Rhys staggered, the chain linking his wrist to his throat collar cutting his movement in half. His dodge fell short.

Why do I have to be slow!

The creature’s clawed hand swiped past him, grazing his shoulder—after a flash of agony, he saw his own blood spray.

Rhys hit the ground hard, the impact rattling through his bones. He scrambled backward, dragging the chain across the stone with a screech of metal. The Mark of the Damned throbbed against his neck, a burning pulse in time with his racing heart.

The creature twitched.

Its head jerked at an angle no neck should allow, a series of wet pops echoing through the chamber. Blackened flesh peeled as it moved, sinew shifting beneath the burnt skin like a nest of writhing worms.

Its void-like eyes pinned Rhys in place.

Rhys’ chest heaved. He forced himself to stand, teeth clenched.

Think man! Think!

The chain was a problem.

His right wrist was shackled to the iron collar around his neck, cutting his range of motion in half. His arm could only extend so far before the chain snapped him back again—like a dog on a leash.

The guard could have at least taken this off. Make it a fair fight.

Although it was clear that this wasn’t meant to be a fair fight, but an execution.

The creature lunged again.

Rhys threw himself to the side—his movements clumsy and limited. The chain yanked him short again, and the creature’s claws slashed down—missing his face by inches.

The stone floor split beneath the force of the strike.

The creature struck again.

He whipped the chain up—catching it mid-swing—and as the monster’s claw came down, the chain wrapped around its wrist.

For a brief, agonizing moment, he had control—pulling the creature’s arm backward and twisting its shoulder at an odd angle.

I just moved but maybe this wasn’t good idea—

The monster screeched, twisting violently and hurling Rhys across the room.

He hit the floor hard again, pain flaring across his ribs. His wrist throbbed where the cuff had yanked him like a rag doll. Everything ached, his phantom arm; and the Mark that was now burning hotter than ever

Get up.

Stolen story; please report.

Rhys’ hand scraped against something rough—a loose brick dislodged from the wall when the creature had slammed into it earlier.

A weapon or as close to one as he could get in this situation.

He lunged for the brick, his cuffed arm making it awkward, but his fingers closed around the rough stone.

The creature charged.

Rhys hurled the brick at its head.

It hit the creature’s face—hard enough to crack the brick in two—but the monster didn’t even flinch.

“Damn it.”

But it seemed to block its vision temporarily at the very least. The creature stumbled towards Rhys and hit the wall.

Rhys jerked back, the chain biting into his wrist and neck as he moved out the way.

Tch! I have to get rid of this damn chain.

That’s when he remembered.

The cage—earlier he noticed that its iron bars were etched with glowing purple runes.

The runes hummed softly—an ancient whisper beneath the noise of the fight.

It wasn’t just a cage—Rhys assumed that it was some kind of magical seal.

My chains are so hard to manoeuvre in, they must be magic as well. And magic can cut magic!

Probably.

Rhys didn’t stop to think further. He ran for the cage, his movements sloppy with the chain holding him back, but he pushed forward.

The creature recovered and followed closely behind, gaining on him fast.

He hit the cage door, wrapped his head around the rune-etched bars, and dragged the chain against them.

A sharp hiss—the runes flared brighter—and the metal links began to sizzle and crack.

The creature was right behind him. Rhys could feel its running steps drawing closer.

He yanked the chain harder—desperately—

Break…break. Please break!

The chain snapped just as the creature lunged. Rhys threw himself aside just in time, leading the monster to crash into the cage.

The impact was deafening—iron bars bending, stone splitting—but the runes lit up violently the moment the creature came in contact with them.

A piercing shriek ripped from the monster’s throat as the magic seared through its skin—spreading purple burns across its shoulder and chest.

One of the iron bars broke off from the impact, landing near Rhys with a loud clang.

His eyes locked onto it.

The bar still glowed faintly with purple runes, magic still pulsing within the metal.

The creature staggered, disoriented from the burns.

Rhys didn’t hesitate.

He grabbed the broken iron bar—awkward in his one hand—and lunged at the creature’s back. Before it could react, he looped his severed chain around the bar, wrapping it into a crude garrotte.

The creature’s head jerked in his direction, eyes blazing—

Rhys thrust and held the bar across its neck but without an arm, he needed something to pull the chain tight.

The monster thrashed, bucking like a wild animal, but Rhys held on, teeth gritted. He needed more leverage, more strength.

Without thinking—

Rhys bit down on the loose end of the chain, clenching it between his teeth.

With his one arm pulling back and his jaw clamped down on the chain—he used his entire body to tighten the iron bar against the creature's throat.

The runes flared.

The creature screeched as the magic burned into its neck—the purple light spreading like cracks in glass across its blackened flesh.

The bar didn’t just choke it—the runes were unravelling the magic that held the creature together.

Its movements grew more frantic, then slower, then jerky, like a puppet with its strings cut.

Rhys yanked back harder—his muscles screaming, teeth grinding against the chain—until the runes burned all the way through the creature’s neck.

“Just die you bastard!” Rhys let out a guttural roar, voice muffled by the chain in his mouth.

With a final, deafening shriek—

The creature collapsed, the bar still jammed into the side of its seared throat, smoke rising from its wounds.

Rhys staggered back, the broken chain slipping from his mouth. His jaw ached, his arm throbbed, and the Mark of the Damned blazed hotter than ever.

He stared at the lifeless monster—its neck scorched black by the runes’ magic, its head bent at a sickening angle.

For a long moment, all he could hear was his own ragged breathing.

He had won. But barely.

The taste of iron and blood lingered on his tongue. And as he gazed at the creature's smouldering corpse, he realized something unsettling:

This isn’t even part of the trial.

If this was only the beginning…

Rhys started laughing, almost maniacally.

Nah, keep ‘em coming. I’m making it out of here alive!

No matter what.