Four months later.
The guard took steps down as he descended with a tray of food. He had been doing this daily for months now, navigating the dark stairs with careful familiarity to avoid missing a step.
He entered the dimly lit hallway of the dungeon. The atmosphere was a drastically gloomy contrast to the outside. He hated being here, but not as much as he loved seeing the murderous prisoner whom he got to harras in the name of justice.
"Hmph." The guard smiled as he walked to Ryan's cell. This seemed to be the highlight of his day. He felt important, like a herald of justice. "I'll make sure this murderer eats food from the ground till he dies," the guard spat.
After all, to the guard, a murderer didn't deserve any humane treatment, and perhaps he was right — maybe there was a perspective from where he did do the right thing.
"Hey, Rat!" The guard bellowed as he walked up to Ryan's cell. "Are you hungry, Ra-" The guard's words hung in his throat as he looked into Ryan's cell. He wasn't there.
The magically reinforced bars of steel were now bent towards opposite sides, leaving a big hole in the middle of the bars.
"He escaped?" The guard stuttered as he dropped the tray of food, wondering just how it was possible for a normal person to do this to the cell bars. "I have to go and te-"
"I wonder..." Ryan's words cut through the dungeon halls as he emerged from the darkness. The guard's head swiveled to Ryan's direction in shock. "Do you feel fear?" Ryan asked as he approached the guard.
"What the hell are you doing?" The guard drew his dagger, pointing it at Ryan. "Cooperate and get back inside a cell before I have to harm you."
"Because you always seemed so strong and confident when steel bars separated us," Ryan's gaze fell to the dagger the guard clenched like a lifeline with shivering palms. Ryan's head tilted with intrigue. "And now?"
"Stay back," the guard exclaimed as he stepped away from the approaching Ryan. Maybe it was the bent steel bars, or the malice laced into Ryan's tone, or even the dark, terrifying void he had for eyes – that made the guard tremble in slow retreat.
Power is such a feeble thing, how easily it can be challenged, how easily it can collapse.
'He's afraid,' a thought of disbelief for Ryan. No one had ever feared him, not till now. He felt something, a surge of adrenaline flow through him like ecstasy as he looked down at the guard's trembling form like a predator would his prey.
"I said stay back!" The guard bellowed again, but Ryan was now upon him. He wasn't sure when or how, but Ryan now stood before him. That was the only fact the guard could process before Ryan's fist collided with his torso.
"Agh!" Blood spurted from the guard's mouth as Ryan's blow connected. It didn't feel like a normal blow; instead, it was as if a sledgehammer was swung at him. He dropped to his knees, his senses clouded with pain.
However, Ryan's assault was far from over. Grabbing the guard's arm, he shot his knee forward towards it, instantly snapping bone and breaking it. The guard let out a guttural scream of agony as he dropped the dagger he held tightly.
His shouts and cries seemed to only fuel Ryan's bloodlust even further, making it difficult to restrict himself.
He reached down and searched the guard for any belongings, taking the couple of coins he saw on the guard. With a practiced hand gesture, he stored them in his inventory.
Standing up, he grabbed the knife and watched the guard scream in pain. He had taken all he needed from the guard, and he had his revenge.
'This is enough,' Ryan thought.
"No, it's not," he exclaimed as he clutched the dagger before thrusting it down on the guard. The guard let out even more shouts of agony as the dagger pierced him, just for Ryan to drag it back out and stab him again.
"Die, die, die, die," Ryan chanted repeatedly, his hands swinging up and down, blood spluttering on his face as he continuously stabbed the guard. Soon enough, the guard had gone quiet, leaving only Ryan's chants and the sickening sound of Ryan's knife impaling the guard's body to echo through the dungeon.
Ryan stopped, his eyes widening as he saw the blood on his hands and the gory form he had left the guard in. He stood up, with steady hands he clenched the dagger.
He wasn't sure what feeling usually accompanied such cold-blooded murder – perhaps guilt, or regret? He felt none of those, only the sickening delight of seeing his enemy dead at his feet.
A small smile adorned his face.
One must fear the broken man.