“Until you draw your last breath.”

Those words echoed throughout the cell. For a long moment, the only sound was Rhys’ ragged breathing and the faint murmurs and whispers emanating from his Mark turned tattoo.

Silas tilted his head, as though considering the offer. “Forgive me, but the last time we spoke, you seemed… less inclined toward leadership. And now you're inviting us to join you?”

I didn’t think Silas would require any convincing. Rhys thought.

He allowed a soft smile — the kind meant to comfort and reassure. A flicker of practiced humility.

“This isn’t an invitation,” Rhys said gently. “It’s a path forward. For all of us.”

Silas blinked slowly, his gaze flickering between Rhys’ glowing tattoo and the runes etched into his newly formed arm.

“Since it seems like you reawakened your authority, did your fractured memories return to you as well Master Rhys?”

Silas was rather sceptical of Rhys’ switch from wanting nothing to do with them to now asking them to join him.

Man, we don’t have time for this!

Rhys lowered his gaze just enough to appear solemn.

“I did not ask for this burden,” Rhys said, his voice steady, yet laced with a quiet, unyielding resolve. “But I will not turn away from the path set before me, not anymore. Though the reasons remain shrouded, Eshe has marked me — and whether by fate or misfortune, I must walk this road.”

His gaze sharpened, burning with a fierce but composed fire.

“So I ask you, not as one who claims to have all the answers, but as one who seeks them — stand beside me. Lend me your strength, and together, we will uncover the truth of my purpose. Not for me alone, but for something far greater than any one of us.”

Silas’ lips parted, but he didn’t speak. His sharpness dulled beneath the weight of Rhys’ words.

Rhys took a slow step forward and using the keys he swiped from the guards, unlocked the cell. “I won’t force you to follow me. But the guards know what I am now. They’ll come back — not just for me, but for anyone tied to me. Staying here means death.”

He met Silas’ gaze — steady, calm. “I’m offering you a chance to stand beside me. To escape. To survive.”

Silas swallowed, his throat bobbing.

Then, slowly, he rose to his feet.

“I pledged myself to you before, Master Rhys,” Silas said softly. “That hasn’t changed. I just needed to make sure.”

He lowered his head ever so slightly — not quite a bow, but close.

Rhys’ smile didn’t waver. He turned his attention to Goro. The silent giant’s dark eyes were locked onto Rhys’ glowing Mark, the faint violet light reflecting in his pupils.

Rhys didn’t need to ask.

Goro dropped to one knee.

The movement was slow, deliberate — a gesture of loyalty. His massive fist pressed against the stone floor, head bowed.

He placed a hand lightly on Goro’s shoulder, the gesture almost holy. “Stand, Goro,” he said softly. “There’s no need for formalities.”

Goro rose back to his feet. Rhys turned toward the corridor, his new arm flexing involuntarily. The tattoo burned a little less now, but the violet pulse still flickered beneath his skin.

“We need to move quickly,” Rhys said, his voice calm but firm. “I’m not sure how long it’s going to last but I released the mutated creatures and the guards should be preoccupied trying to contain them.”

Silas inclined his head. “You set the Marauders free?”

“I had no choice, it was the only way I could escape from the execution.”

Just then, a bell rang, acting as an alarm for the guards. Since Rhys released the Marauders, the prison was already on high alert. The unrest settled into the other prisoners as well and they started shouting and growling to be set free.

After thinking for a bit, Rhys continued, “Goro, set all the prisoners free and we'll follow right behind you.” He handed him the iron bar he got from the cage.”

Rhys’ goal was to create more chaos to make their escape easier, the prisoners would also serve as fodder for the Marauders.

“Now, about finding the main exit—”

“I know where it is,” Silas chimed in. “I was conscious when they brought me in.”

“Good, you’ll serve as our navigator then,” replied Rhys.

After a brief planning session, the three men made their way into the corridor.

“Goro,” Rhys said, his voice sharp, “take this.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He thrust the iron bar — still faintly glowing with the remnants of the runes — into Goro’s massive hand. The metal seemed small in his grip, but the weight of what it represented was far greater.

“Use it to break the locks.”

Goro gave a small grunt of acknowledgement. Without hesitation, he stalked to the nearest cell.

The prisoner inside, a gaunt man with a wild beard and crazed eyes, flinched at Goro's approach.

With a single swing, Goro drove the iron bar into the lock. A harsh crack. The ancient metal groaned before the lock shattered, and the door creaked open.

The prisoner blinked once. Then twice. And then, the reality of freedom hit him like a drug.

"Free us! FREE US!"

That was all it took.

The other prisoners howled like animals, their rage and desperation feeding into a single chaotic roar.

Goro moved methodically, smashing the bar against lock after lock, each impact ringing louder than the last. Prisoners poured into the corridor — some wide-eyed with disbelief, others snarling like cornered beasts. Shackles became makeshift weapons, and even those too weak to fight joined the growing flood of bodies. Afterwards, he handed the bar back to Rhys as they watched the chaos unfold.

“Brilliant,” Silas muttered, keeping close to Rhys. “We’ve gone from a prison break to inciting a bloody riot.”

“Chaos is a weapon,” Rhys replied, his voice cold but calm. “The more of them fighting the guards, the easier it’ll be for us to slip out.”

A guard appeared at the far end of the corridor — his wide eyes taking in the swarm of escaping prisoners. He fumbled for his weapon, but before he could draw it…

CRACK.

A prisoner swung a broken shackle into his skull. The guard collapsed in a heap.

Another guard rushed in, this one more prepared, and thrust his spear into the prisoner’s gut. The man gasped, blood bubbling at his lips as he crumpled to the ground.

The hallway descended into violence.

Rhys didn’t hesitate. “This way!” he barked, pushing forward through the chaotic storm of prisoners and guards alike.

Goro ploughed ahead, his sheer bulk forcing a path through the crowd. One guard tried to strike him with a short sword — but Goro caught the blade mid-swing with his bare hand. Blood trickled down his palm, but he didn’t flinch.

Instead, he wrenched the weapon from the guard’s grip and sent him flying into the stone wall with a bone-shattering thud.

The guard crumpled to the ground, his sword clattering uselessly at his side. Goro didn’t spare him a glance — his focus already shifting to the next threat.

Another guard lunged forward, his spear aimed at Goro's ribs.

Rhys moved first.

He stepped into the attack, grabbing the shaft of the spear with both hands and twisting it violently. The guard staggered, caught off guard by the sudden shift in momentum, and Goro took full advantage.

A single, brutal punch to the man's chest sent him crashing into the wall.

“Keep moving!” Rhys barked.

Silas darted ahead, quick and nimble, his eyes scanning for the next turn. “The stairwell’s close — two more corridors.”

Their footsteps echoed as they sprinted through the dim hallway, but the alarm’s shrill wail masked nothing. More guards were coming — their heavy boots thudding against the stone floor.

Three of them appeared from the corridor to their right — weapons drawn.

Rhys didn’t hesitate. He snapped the broken chain dangling from his wrist forward, the iron links whistling through the air and striking the front guard's forearm. The man recoiled with a sharp grunt of pain, giving Goro just enough space to plough through the gap Rhys created.

The next guard swung a short sword, but Goro sidestepped and caught the man’s arm mid-swing, twisting it sharply. The guard howled in pain — a sickening crack echoing through the hall.

Silas used the distraction, slipping behind the third guard and driving an elbow into the back of his knee. The guard collapsed, and Silas grabbed him by the back of the head — slamming his face into the stone floor.

They were making progress. Another turn. Another hallway.

And then more guards appeared. Four this time. Rhys’ jaw tightened.

“We’re running out of time,” he muttered. He didn’t want to be here when the Marauders caught up.

The corridor was too narrow to slip past them, and these guards were smarter — forming a tight line, shields raised, and weapons braced.

Their leader, an older man with a scar running from his jaw to his ear, met Rhys’ gaze with cold authority. “Surrender,” he growled, “or we’ll cut you down.”

Rhys' mind raced. They couldn’t break through a formation like this — not in such a confined space.

Silas’ fingers twitched at his side, calculating. Goro braced himself, a human battering ram ready to charge — but even he seemed to realize brute strength alone wouldn’t be enough.

Then—

The stone beneath them shuddered.

The air shifted, an oppressive weight sinking into the corridor like a vice.

And then came the sound — a low, bone-rattling growl that vibrated through Rhys’ chest.

It wasn’t human.

The guards' faces paled.

Another growl — louder now, closer — like the grating of stone against stone.

From the shadows behind the guards, they emerged.

The first Marauder stepped into view — a hulking mass of charred, cracked flesh and burning eyes. Obsidian skin rippled over its grotesque frame, its molten gaze flickering with unrestrained malice.

Then another.

And another.

Three Marauders.

The creatures roared in unison — a sound so raw and primal that Rhys' body reacted before his mind did, a spike of adrenaline shooting through his veins.

The guards barely had time to process the danger before the first Marauder charged. It hit their formation like a battering ram. Two guards were sent sprawling, shields and weapons flying as their tight line shattered like glass.

The scarred leader raised his sword in a desperate parry — but he was too slow.

The Marauder’s arm swung like a hammer, smashing through the blade and crushing the guard against the wall with a sickening crunch. His sword clattered uselessly to the floor, snapped clean in two.

Panic spread like wildfire.

“Go!” Rhys shouted.

The corridor descended into chaos — guards scrambling to fight the Marauders, some turning to run, others too frozen in fear to move.

One of the creatures grabbed a guard by the throat and slammed him into the ground with a force so violent it cracked the stone beneath his body.

Blood pooled.

Another Marauder roared, grabbing a guard by the leg and hurling him down the corridor — his body tumbling lifelessly across the floor before going still.

Rhys didn’t need to see more.

He grabbed Silas’ arm and shoved him forward. “Move, now!”

Goro barrelled ahead, muscling through a panicked guard, the iron bar still clenched in his massive hand.

They didn’t look back.

They didn’t have to.

The screams said enough.