Zuka stepped through the shattered doorway, his senses immediately sharpening as a wave of oppressive energy pressed down on him. The chamber ahead was vast, stretching beyond what the dim green sigils could fully reveal. His boots pressed against damp stone, the surface slick with something thick that gleamed under the eerie glow. The scent of blood and decay was suffocating, mingling with something far worse—the unmistakable presence of black magic woven into the very walls.
As he moved cautiously forward, the chains rattled. The sound was faint, yet deafening in the silence.
Then he saw them.
Row upon row of prisoners lined the walls, their bodies limp, hanging like lifeless marionettes from the thick iron bindings that held them in place. Their skin was pale, drained of color and vitality. Their breathing was weak, their chests barely rising and falling.
He had seen slavery. He had seen cruelty. But this was something else entirely.
Zuka knelt beside one of the prisoners—a broad-shouldered man, middle-aged, with deep lines on his face that spoke of a once-proud warrior. Even now, in this miserable state, his expression carried remnants of strength, a quiet dignity refusing to fade.
Pressing two fingers to the man's carotid artery, Zuka checked for a pulse. Weak. Sluggish. But steady.
He tilted the man's head slightly, prying open an eyelid. Dilated pupils. Slow reaction. Sclera bloodshot, faint yellowing.
Liver strain. High stress. Signs of severe malnourishment.
Running his fingers along the man's forearm, he felt the texture of his skin—cold and clammy, his veins almost too visible beneath the surface.
They're draining him, but not enough to kill. Something is keeping him just alive enough.
His gaze flickered to the iron shackles binding the man's wrists. He examined the symbols burned into the metal—black runic etchings, looped in an intricate, unholy cycle, constantly drawing out energy.
He clenched his jaw. This wasn't just imprisonment. This was systematic energy extraction.
His hands curled around the chain. The moment his fingers touched the metal, he felt it—a faint pulse, like a living thing, feeding off the man.
With a sharp pull, the iron groaned, twisted—then shattered.
The prisoner sagged forward, unconscious but free.
Zuka wasted no time. He moved swiftly, breaking chain after chain, his fury burning hotter with every snapped link. Some prisoners collapsed instantly, their bodies unable to hold their own weight after so much time in suspension.
Such a pity. They are treated like dogs.
Another chain snapped.
Even dogs get better treatment.
And another.
Whoever is responsible for this will die.
Then, from the darkness above, a voice—low and mocking—slithered through the air.
"What have we here?"
The words dripped with amusement, curling through the chamber like venom.
Zuka tensed, his sharp gaze snapping upward.
Figures moved in the shadows.
They descended without a sound, too smooth, too precise—like creatures who had long perfected the art of the hunt.
"Has a rat come to chew on the chains of our slaves?"
Another voice followed, silken and taunting.
"Or perhaps..." it whispered, "...he came wandering, hoping to find a reward."
A third voice, hungry and feral, rasped in delight.
"Let us feast!"
Three figures landed in perfect synchronization, their steps eerily soft against the stone.
The air itself seemed to recoil from them.
They were tall, unnaturally elegant. Their skin was pale, almost luminous, and their eyes burned red with something between hunger and sadistic amusement. Their beauty was unnatural, sculpted to perfection, their long white hair flowing like liquid silver.
The first figure inhaled deeply, his wicked grin spreading.
"Oh my, I smell royalty."
Zuka didn't move, his stance firm. His heart beat steady, unshaken. He locked eyes with the creatures, golden gaze unyielding.
He didn't need to look twice to know what they were.
"I smell vampires."
Lucian's lips peeled back, revealing sharp fangs. "I wonder what Dragonoid royal blood tastes like."
He lunged.
Zuka reacted instantly.
Lucian came in low, claws flashing for his throat—fast. Too fast. But Zuka's instincts burned brighter.
He turned, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. A sharp step to the left, just barely outside Lucian's reach. The vampire's claws sliced through air.
Zuka answered with a counter-strike—his forearm snapping upward in a brutal block, redirecting Lucian's momentum.
Lucian snarled, pivoting. He spun, bringing a sharp knee toward Zuka's ribs.
Zuka's muscles coiled. He caught the knee mid-air, his palm slamming against Lucian's thigh with a force that stopped the vampire's movement entirely.
Before Lucian could react—
Zuka twisted, using his opponent's momentum against him.
With a powerful hip throw, he flipped Lucian over his shoulder—slamming the vampire's body into the stone floor with bone-crushing force.
Crack.
Lucian choked out a gasp, the impact stealing his breath.
But Varyn was already moving.
A blur of silver. Claws aimed at Zuka's back.
Zuka spun, raising his left arm in a high guard—but Varyn was relentless, his movements quick and fluid.
A rapid series of strikes—slashing, cutting, pressing forward.
Zuka was forced to backpedal, deflecting each attack with precise movements, using his vambraces to absorb the blows. Sparks flew.
Then—an opening.
Varyn overextended.
Zuka stepped in.
A vicious elbow to the vampire's ribs—brutal, sharp.
Varyn's body jerked violently sideways.
Zuka followed through.
He drove his knee into Varyn's gut, feeling the impact reverberate through his leg.
Varyn gagged, staggering backward.
Aldric sighed, stepping forward. "Enough of this."
The air shifted.
Blood-red chains erupted from the stone, wrapping around Zuka's limbs.
Aldric's voice was smooth, commanding. "Chains of the Bloodfallen."
Zuka growled as the chains tightened, coiling around him like living serpents. The moment they touched his skin, he felt it—a slow, insidious pull, siphoning his energy.
Not just physical strength. His very essence.
His vision blurred for a fraction of a second. His limbs felt heavier.
Aldric chuckled. "These chains do not simply bind. They consume. Dragonoid or not, you will kneel."
Zuka's breathing slowed. Controlled. He tested the restraints, feeling their pull.
Then his aura flared.
The chains groaned under the pressure. The sigils along their length flickered.
Zuka planted his feet, muscles coiling. His golden eyes burned like embers.
With a deafening roar, he ripped his arms free.
The chains snapped, shattering into fragments of crimson light.
Aldric's smirk faltered.
Zuka exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. "I do not kneel."
Lucian snarled, lunging. Zuka met him midair, catching the vampire's wrist and twisting it violently. A sickening pop echoed through the chamber.
Varyn attacked next.
Zuka ducked under his swipe, spinning low—before launching an explosive uppercut that sent Varyn airborne.
Aldric exhaled, clearly losing patience.
The chamber darkened.
In the blink of an eye, the battlefield changed.
A black shrine of death.
Aldric smiled, stepping forward, arms outstretched.
"Your pride has led you here, Dragonoid. And it shall be your death."
Zuka cracked his knuckles. His magic was sealed.
But my fists are still my own.
And they would be enough.