Terrible… Issayë tutted as Jillian stepped back to admire his work. A dog could do better.

Jillian fumbled in the near pitch darkness for the door and found a cold, cast iron handle that groaned as he turned it. The door cracked open slightly before bumping into something hard and unmoving.

It took him a moment to process what he was seeing.

A table stood flipped up against the doorframe with sandbags piled behind it. That alone would have made for a solid barrier, but there was also a barrel, a few crates and even a chair thrown in for good measure.

Someone had put in quite some effort to prevent anyone from getting back out.

Jillian scoffed. High and mighty Brywar must have meant to sacrifice his own men when he sent them down. And he called Jillian an animal.

Morals aside, this was a problem.

Even Issayë’s unnatural strength had its limits. He could throw himself against the door all he wanted, but he'd only fracture his own bones eventually.

"The fuck did you get all that junk from? Why not set the place on fire while you're at it?" Jillian yelled blindly into the room beyond. He could only see bits and pieces of furniture through the gaps in the barrier as he kept his head low lest he be shot on sight.

The warden’s dragging footsteps was the first sign that the place was not entirely abandoned. They moved a short distance before Brywar’s face appeared above a crate to sneer at Jillian as if he was a fat rat in a corner.

"Stone doesn't burn, you idiot. I’m going to sit here and wait for reinforcements while I listen to you howl for mercy."

"Brave words from someone barking over a fence." Jillian snapped back at him.

Nervous laughter echoed from a corner at the back of the room that made Brywar turn sharply to hush them.

Jillian chewed his lip as he listened carefully. The warden wasn’t alone, but there weren’t enough guards in there to simply mob him either.

No sign of reinforcements, though that did not mean they were not on the way. Would they be more guards, or a horde of angry peasants?

Jillian shivered at the thought. Issayë would turn the entire village into another massacre. Morgëthri mercenaries maybe? That could be in his favor. They knew his value. They would promise the humans coin to buy him, then take him back to the Ashlands. He'd be tortured instead of starved.

No ... Jillian did not want to sit and wait. He could smell the relatively fresh air blowing through an open window. He would not stop now.

"Let me out and maybe I'll kill you quick,” Jillian offered. A strong maybe. He’d already imagined so many ways he wanted to kill that bastard. There was no way he’d waste it.

Issayë was delighted by the way his thoughts leaned more and more to willingly solving every problem with death.

“Shut your mouth before I get the bricks and wall you in there!” Brywar yelled and jabbed a broad finger in Jillian’s general direction.

A panicked shudder went through him. Buried alive, eh? Now there was a fear he could not endure.

Is that soft creature getting to you?

Jillian slammed the door shut and leaned his back against it. “You don’t think he would?”

There are so many ways out of here, this one is only the most convenient one.

The bloodiest. Though hacking his way through iron bars or digging his way through mud and stone would be excruciatingly slow. Just the thought of suffocating in a narrow dirt tunnel had Jillian almost whimpering from stress.

You could burn it yourself.

“You want to burn us?” Jillian let out a short, desperate laugh.

That is entirely on you. Don’t be clumsy. Get a torch, quench your thirst, and I’ll do the rest.

“I’m not letting you out again.”

I don’t need you to. I only need a spark. You’ll like it. I promise.

“I never do.” Jillian wrapped his arms around his knees and rocked slightly. Maybe he could squeeze out fast enough to not get trapped. He laughed again—he wasn’t that slim—and even if he could, he stood as much of a chance wrestling Brywar as he did a bull.

Then lay down and die right here! Issayë’s anger sent a sharp jolt of pain up Jillian’s spine. If I had known your father would make such a weak litter--

“Fine!”

Jillian cursed softly to himself all the way down the stairs. He would have slid most of the way if not for the unbearable absurdity of having to hold his dick aloft to avoid brushing against the steps.

“I suppose ‘Quench my thirst,’ means more blood drinking.” His upper lip curled with disgust as he asked it.

Once back in the dungeon he stood and faced the guard that had tried to run away from the fight earlier. The man lay dead, splayed open in the cell across the prison corridor. The cavity in his chest looked much like a bowl of black soup in the dark. A feast served just for him.

Goosebumps prickled Jillian’s skin as he looked down at the body. It was one thing when Issayë did it … an entirely different one when he had to do so himself.

Sip sip, was all he got as encouragement.

He cupped his hands in the sticky liquid. It tingled a little—contaminated by magic that did not entirely belong to Issayë. The low light made it easier to pretend it was just another kind of disgusting drink. A slightly warm and metallic drink with a hint of static energy.

After two handfuls he already felt like he had worms crawling in his stomach. That could definitely not be healthy. The slick coating left in his throat made his stomach push the blood back up again. He closed his mouth before it could pour out, took a deep breath and swallowed it back down.

“How much is enough?”

It’s enough.

“Really?” Jillian asked, surprised. This was the perfect opportunity to trick him into stuffing himself unnecessarily full, yet Issayë didn’t take advantage of it. The Azur sounded weary though, which was slightly worrisome. “Alright.” He shrugged it off. There was no use stressing over the details of whatever he was doing now.

Next, he plucked a torch from one of the wall scones by the stairs. Its fire flickered and swayed briefly until he held it steady.

The warmth from the flame rippled over his face. Sunlight would feel fantastic. Not that he was light deprived. Daylight made it down here through narrow stone shafts, but it wasn’t the same as direct contact. Not after it filtered through the Azur’s web of magic, losing much of its warmth on its way.

As he climbed back up the stairs, Jillian nearly slipped on his own blood, his thoughts once again drifting elsewhere. He was so cold that he was tempted to hold the torch much too close to himself. Maybe a big fire would be nice.

No need to be so dramatic, Issayë cooed. You’re almost done.

Out of breath and his thighs burning hotter than his dying torch, Jillian sagged against the wall at the top of the stairwell. What now? he thought. Do I just open the door and wiggle this around until something catches? He waved the torch a little as he stared at the rough and chipped planks before him.

Get some blood from that cut in your back and draw a rune on the door.

Jillian only half listened to the instructions as he ran his fingers along the hinges on one side. Maybe he could bash them off.

Oh? So now you suddenly have time to waste?

Only looking for other options in case this goes sideways, Jillian thought as he reached a shaky hand behind his back. The bleeding had somewhat clogged up, so he had to peel it open again. An equally pained and disgusted grunt escaped him.

Something on the other side creaked.

Quiet! Issayë snapped at him.

“Fuck you,” Jillian hissed and held his bloodied fingers up to the door, waiting for further instructions.The humans already knew he was in here talking to himself.

A fuzzy image of a Sirithin rune formed in his mind, followed by surrounding circles and lines. Very basic, physical magic.

If you had any actual interest to learn, I’d give you something less childish. But here we are.

Jillian painted the lines with as much of a steady hand as he could manage. “I remember you not wanting to teach me anything useful because I could use it against you.” He was no artist, and the lines waved a little as he avoided getting splinters in his fingertips. The idea being represented was much more important than accuracy anyway. He knew that much. It also made him a little happy to feel the Azur cringe as the perfectionist that it was.

Terrible … Issayë tutted as Jillian stepped back to admire his work. A dog could do better.

“I could get you one to be your apprentice instead.”

And I could leave you here. Now focus!

Jillian could feel the Azur gathering its remaining energy to do something. The content of his stomach tingled until his entire midsection became numb.

Open the door and hold the torch low.

The door groaned even louder than before and even though he did his best not to flaunt his fire, it could still be heard and seen by anyone on the other side. Another stupid idea, whatever it was.

There was a moment of awkwardness, where even Issayë thought this was indeed a weird stunt. The angle was all wrong. Like trying to shoot an arrow around a corner. But there was no time for hesitation.

A cold, wet gale burst past Jillian from the depth of the prison like trapped souls rushing out of a crypt. He felt the blood he’d consumed curdle up and turn to ash in his stomach.

The torch-fire exploded towards the opening, like a dragon’s sneeze, igniting something invisible in the air. The force threw Jillian back against the wall and he only stopped himself from tumbling down the stairs with a desperate, out-flung arm bracing against the bricks. His ears ached fiercely.

Brywar screamed something unintelligible.

Jillian’s attention snapped back to the room beyond. A thick cloud of ash and dust swirled through the air. The door was off its hinges, cracked clean in the middle through the rune he’d painted. Crates and sacks were little more than black, molten piles scattered across the floor.

Not a single flame or smoldering coal left. The burn had been so quick and complete that there was nothing left, Issayë included.

Jillian cursed.

While his tie to the Azur could never truly be severed—he had the feeling that he’d have to finish this himself. He took a few shaky steps forward and retched again.

Fuck magic.

He didn’t spare a thought to the near miracle he’d just been part of. Did not want to even acknowledge it as he dashed over the scattered destruction to hunt down the warden.

His bones ached, grinding against each other in protest, but he didn’t care. He was out, and nothing could stop him now.

At least—that’s what he thought before his hearing fully recovered. Low growls brought him to an abrupt halt. The dogs. He’d forgotten about the guards’ damned pets. They slammed their bodies against their cages, snarling and barking, still locked up to his relief.

Jillian searched the room for the one man that could change that and glimpsed Brywar legging it towards the front door. Instead of escaping through it, he turned and slammed it shut.

A chair broke over Jillian’s shoulder from the left, catching him utterly off guard, and it almost brought him to his knees. There was a cough from someone on his right, too far away to worry about, yet.

Just three more, Jillian told himself. He could hardly see anything but made a calculated guess where the man slamming a chair on him stood and wrapped his arms around one of the guard’s legs. He heaved the fucker off his feet and charged him into whatever object lined the wall. A table broke with a loud crash, followed by a crack as the guard’s head hit the wall, his body falling limp.

Two.

Clay plates clattered and smashed against the floor tiles along with something metallic that bounced against his bare ankle. A cold reminder that he was again unarmed and picking fights. “That better not be a spoon,” he mumbled to himself as he patted the ground blindly for whatever it was.

He found a fork and tossed it as hard as he could over his shoulder, then a knife—a pathetic bit of iron—among the fragments of a shattered plate. It was pointy enough for him to stick somewhere at least. He swiped it up, then turned his back to the wall to avoid being jumped again.

The ash in the air had settled somewhat, only a thin shroud of hazy white still lingered in the air.

To the right of the basement door, pressed up in the corner, stood a young man that could barely fill his uniform. The prison’s little errand boy, Modas. When he noticed Jillian looking at him, he attempted to press himself even further into the wall.

Jillian twirled the knife in his hand and stared the lad down. It would be a pity to kill him. The world had yet to turn him into a self-serving prick.

“The fuck you standing there for, boy? Draw your sword!” Brywar yelled at him.

Modas flinched a little but remained frozen in horror. He apparently feared the elf more than his boss.

Not wanting to find out just how long he’d have that advantage, Jillian lunged towards the boy snarling as if he was about to eat him.

The boy let out a shriek and called for his mother as he launched himself through the cracked open window between the door and his corner. The opening was slightly too narrow to let him slip out smoothly, and soon enough, his scabbard and sword hooked on the frame. Modas kicked and twisted like a doe caught in a snare.

Smart kid. Jillian thought. For trying to escape when he had the chance. The execution though, was simply embarrassing.

Brywar was not as lenient. Dead set on not letting anyone escape, he jumped to pull the lad back in by the legs and left the exit unguarded.

The new opportunity had Jillian stop short in his charge to eye the door and the scuffle in the window. He could just leave. Easy. Even if the two humans chased him, he could shake them in the forest. Brywar’s face would probably haunt him though. Especially the idea of him being alive, even though he now stood with his back exposed to him. He just couldn’t!

The boy was now halfway in, still struggling to flee both elf and chief.

Jillian slammed the knife into Brywar’s armpit. It pierced the seam of his jerkin and sunk into something soft, but it was not deep enough to do any serious damage. The warden swiveled impressively fast for his size and smashed his massive fist straight into Jillian’s face.

For a moment, Jillian thought he’d lost both sight and hearing. His nose felt out of place and it was suddenly hard to breathe. He had barely gotten his feet back before another punch hit him in the shoulder that sent him stumbling backwards. It had never really crossed his mind that such a big man could possess such agility. Only by luck did he deflect a third punch that would probably have put him to sleep.

The warden finally took a break to yank the knife from his armpit.

Jillian’s attention flicked to the boy in the window. Modas leaned on the windowsill, his short brown hair a mop that concealed much of his expression. Though Jillian couldn’t see his eyes, the boy could see fine enough. It only took a moment of presumed eye-contact before the kid enthusiastically wormed his way out with much improved precision and fell flat into the bushes outside. Fast boots pounded the mud as he disappeared.

With one less threat in the room, Jillian finally dared to move more freely, but even an empty field would not give him much advantage. He still had to get close to kill the bastard, and he cursed himself for not having gone for Brywar’s throat when he had the chance. Now he had to scurry about with one eye on the human and the other on any potential weapon. Of which, there weren't many. All the gear and confiscated goods were kept in a separate section.

The closest thing he could get his hands on was a broom and a bucket. The handle was a little too short to put any significant distance between the two, but he had to make it count. Jillian swung the broom as if it was a two handed longsword slapping the bristles across the warden’s face.

Brywar spat and cursed as dust and grit filled his mouth and nose. A few streaks of bright red ran across his cheekbone. A broom could only do so much damage though, so Jillian also brought the bucket of water down over Brywar’s head for good measure and punched it as hard as he could, putting a good dent in it.

Cold, slimy water splashed onto both of them.

As he tried to avoid Brywar’s flailing arms, Jillian slipped on the slop and fell into a roll.

Behind him he could hear spluttering, muffled words echoing out from beneath the bucket. It was stuck really well.

Jillian scrambled to stand, panting like he had just run a marathon and wincing so hard his cheeks hurt. His own head felt as if it only held together because of his skin.

The pain in his back was finally becoming too much, making him limp badly. He had to think of something fast. He felt so weak. Had he really become so dependent on Issayë’s aid that he would just fall apart on his own? He rightly should after the beating he’d taken today. The exit looked more tempting than ever.

Walk out and run! He told himself. Vengeance was nice, but it would do him no good if he passed out or died right after.

His hand touched the handle. It was slightly warm compared to the one leading to the dungeon. One step. Jillian chewed on his lip, his fingers twitching. All he had to do was take one step and he’d be free. He turned it and—of course it was locked!

He could try the window, but being stuck with his bare ass in the air with Brywar on the hunt for him as he’d try to get out was less tempting. As he looked towards the window, he spotted a bridle hanging from a nail on the wall. He sighed as he snatched it and turned around. If this got him killed, he deserved it.

Even while busying himself getting free, Brywar heard the bit jingle and charged towards it. The bucket sat askew on his head, stuck across his temple and crown. He could apparently see well enough with just one eye as he rammed his bucketed head into Jillian’s chest with startling accuracy.

Jillian felt the air leave his lungs as the door shuddered behind his back. A pity it had not broken behind him.

Arms like two tree trunks wrapped around Jillian’s waist as he was lifted into the air. The room became a dizzying blur. All he could do was to raise his arms to protect his own head as he expected to violently snuggle another hard surface. He wasn’t sure if he hit a wall or the floor, but the moment he felt the grip loosen, he slipped out of Brywar’s grip like a fish. The blood coating his skin had some advantage.

“I will break your limbs one by one!” Brywar roared, his spittle sprayed Jillian’s thigh as he ungracefully tried to get those very limbs out of the way while they wrestled.

Not wanting to stay beneath the man or in reach of his hands, Jillian grabbed hold of the scruff of Brywar’s neck and mounted him like a horse—and just like on a horse—he was bucked off almost immediately.

Brywar landed on top of him again, but this time, Jillian faced his back. The warden yanked his head back and the edge of the bucket chipped the floor where Jillian’s face would have been if he had not curled to the side.

He pulled his arm holding the bridle free and quickly wrapped the reins around the warden’s neck like a noose. Instead of immediately trying to strangle him, he gave Brywar a chance to pull them both up. As soon as they were back on their feet, Jillian threw the other part of the bridle over a ceiling beam and pulled, putting his own full weight on it.

The leather creaked and stretched under the massive weight. Even the beam itself let out a sharp crack but held steady. They awkwardly bumped and spun against each other as Jillian struggled to secure whatever straps he could to seal the loop. All those countless times he’d had to saddle up wild horses suddenly paid off.

When finally done, he let go and walked around to face the now tiptoeing warden. Brywar’s face was rapidly turning a deeper shade of red and swelled with both rage and effort.

Jillian nervously eyed the reins.

“If you kill me, you’ll never set foot in this town again.” Brywar huffed as he struggled and clawed at the iron bit digging into the soft folds under his chin.

It wouldn’t hold him indefinitely.

Jillian rubbed his bruised ribs as he went to pick up a rag from the floor and stuffed it into the warden’s mouth. The hits pounding at his chest and shoulders weren’t as strong or accurate now that Brywar had to preserve his oxygen.

“If I kill you, no one will stop me,” Jillian said and gave him a cheeky grin as he stumbled back. There could be some consequences. Even if he were to be banned from the area, it would naturally be forgotten in a few generations. Not that he was there legally to begin with. He would just have to try harder to not get caught.

He paced the room, looking for the knife Brywar had tossed aside and picked it up. It felt pretty nice in his hand. Very personal. A sad amount of blood coated the tip. He no longer had the energy to treat the human as his personal punching bag or to give him the attention he’d dreamed of. He held the knife tight and glared at the warden with unmistakable intent.

Muffled, angry screams flew his ways as those thick arms jabbed at him as if the warden was in any position to argue.

As Jillian savored the moment of finally having the situation under control, he remembered the dogs in their kennels. They had been awfully quiet since the fight broke out. He leaned to the side to peer at them and was suddenly struck by savage inspiration.

The poor creatures were so malnourished that it was hard to even discern their breed. Their long and thin limbs trembled with excitement. Their fear had subsided enough that they were now paying attention, and there was madness in their eyes. Old trauma, or the scent of blood and dark magic, had finally broken them. Broken enough for them to turn on their master perhaps. The irony.

A ring of rusty and chipped keys dangled on the warden’s belt. One of them would unlock the door, the smaller could be for the kennels.

There was a chance the dogs would go for his own throat the moment he’d open them. And then he wouldn’t know what to do. Death would be a mercy for them but he couldn’t do that to them. Though he had a feeling that even starving dogs would not want to eat his now tainted flesh.

He kneeled down and cut the keys loose as Brywar kicked at him.

“Oh! Careful there. Wouldn’t want to lose your balance hanging like that. I’ll help you up.” As Jillian reached up and around Brywar’s waist, he plunged the knife into Brywar’s lower abdomen and cut sideways, just enough to make the fat and guts poke out.

The dogs’ weary eyes sparked with sudden life as they leaped and howled. Either they had read his mind, or this was somehow a familiar situation.

Jillian whistled cheerfully at them as he patted the warden on his bucketed head. Brywar’s hands were too busy grabbing at his fresh wound to beat him.

“It’s your lucky day boys! You have more food hanging here than you can eat.”

More Muffled screams seeped through the folds of the rag that grew in intensity as Jillian tossed the keys in his hand once. He hesitated a little.

The dogs eyed him impatiently and Jillian could feel his heart melt. He smiled. How could he not help them? It would be one good deed after a host of bad ones.

A ghost of a snicker echoed at the back of his mind.

Feeding a man to dogs—alive—was stretching it. But to Jillian, it seemed only fair. The man had surely done it to others less deserving of such a fate. He could already imagine his wife yelling at him that evil actions do not justify more of them. She would yell at him for a host of things once he got home. And he would probably love it.

The locks clicked open one after the other.

The dogs pretty much tripped over his feet in their hurry to get out, their claws so very sharp. Just before they punched on the warden, Jillian turned away. The sounds were enough to satisfy him. Just imagining the mauling, the teeth and claws ripping through flesh made the scars on his chest hurt. Was this his limit?

Jillian scratched his aching head as he limped towards the front door. He felt terribly sick but he could not even count all the possible reasons for it. He’d crossed so many lines lately, they were getting a little blurry.

The front door to the Eldachari prison swung open and Jillian Issayë walked out with barely a patch of skin visible under all the blood and dirt. Cries of agony echoed behind him before the door swung shut on its own. Brilliant sunlight greeted his sore eyes along with gasps from a few passersby that quickly ran to get away from him.

Jillian licked his teeth and sighed. This would all be very hard indeed to explain when he got home.

⮜   Chapter II