Chapter Six
Blocking Junkie's menacing attack with a shield braced against his left arm, Crimson felt the full weight of the brute's strength as he was yanked down to the ground. In a split-second decision, desperation coursed through him. He conjured a throwing knife, the blade glinting with intent, and drove it deep into Junkie's rib cage. The thug howled in pain, allowing Crimson a fleeting moment to reclaim his footing. With a fierce grip, he yanked Miles by the arm, dragging him from the hellish confines of the cell.
Bursting out of the dank dungeon, they were met by a wall of guards, their faces trained and predatory, a storm of steel and fury. "No, no, no!" Crimson shouted, panic lining his voice as he turned to Miles, whose gaze was locked in a paralyzing fear. "Aren't you going to say or do anything?"
Miles remained mute, his eyes wide, betraying the terror gripping him. In a surge of frustration, Crimson slapped him hard, shaking him fiercely. "We need to move, Miles!" he urged, the urgency of their situation igniting something within Miles.
The guards closed in, forming an unyielding circle, their grim silhouettes advancing with menacing intent. One guard barked out a command, his voice heavy with authority, "You are obligated to return to your cells!"
Miles, shaking but resolute, suddenly pointed upward, breaking free from his paralysis. Crimson followed the direction of his finger and gasped. A swarm of ships floated ominously in the sky, their anchors dangling like chains of fate. "Brilliant!" Crimson exclaimed, adrenaline hitting him like a lightning bolt.
Without wasting a beat, he conjured a small ball, his heart racing. He hurled it to the ground—a thunderous thud echoed as it erupted into a towering cloud of dark smoke. "Put these on!" he shouted, thrusting a pair of special goggles at Miles and slipping on his own, the world shifting from chaos to clarity through the magical lenses.
"Miles, listen!" he commanded as the smoke enveloped them like a shroud, but the guards were still closing in. "We need to divert their attention! Cut one of those anchors!" Miles exclaimed.
Miles's fear ignited into resolve, understanding the stakes. "Right!" Crimson shouted. With a flick of his wrist, Crimson summoned a blade, slicing through the air toward the nearest ship's anchor. The moment the anchor severed, the ship lurched upwards with a thunderous clamour, sending a shockwave through the guards as they were drawn like moths to the chaos above.
"Let's go!" Crimson yelled, and together they dashed through the smoke, weaving through the bewildered guards whose focus was now locked on the escaping vessel. With every pounding heartbeat, the thrill of their escape surged within them, propelling them away from captivity and into the electrifying unknown.
With adrenaline coursing through their veins, they vault onto another ship, tearing up the anchor and setting their sights on freedom, as far away from the Imperial's dungeon as they can get. On the deck, Crimson's eyes dart around, searching for anything that might help them blend into the shadows. Suddenly, he spots a cloak fluttering in the wind and swiftly tosses it to Miles. "This will help you fit in around here!" he exclaims. Miles grabs the cloak, a glint of determination in his eyes, and strides away to change, barely uttering a word in thanks. Crimson rolls his eyes, thinking, You could have at least acknowledged my brilliance!
Miles returns a few hours later, looking clean and refreshed. He asks Crimson, "How are we going to find my friend?" Crimson, unsure of the answer, doesn't respond. Miles gets frustrated. "You don't know?"
"Hold your horses," exclaims Crimson. "Thanks for saving me back there. I owe you one, so I'll help you find your friend."
"Thank you," Miles replies, expressing his gratitude.
"There's no need for gratitude until we find your friend," Crimson says. "Let's head to the hunters' guild. Those guys know everyone."
They fly off to the Hunter's Guild. Miles peers down from the ship at the wreckage of ships and bodies scattered across the ground. "Was there a war here?" he asks in Winder.
"You're not from around here, are you?"
"No, I'm not as I told you before"
"But before we go down to the Hunter's Guild, there's something I need to tell you," Miles exclaims.
"You need to sit down for this," Miles said, urgency lacing his voice. Crimson's heart raced as he folded his legs and leaned in closer. "I'm not from your world."
"What do you mean by that?" Crimson asked, eyebrows knitted in confusion.
"I'm from a whole different world, Crimson!" Miles exclaimed, his eyes wide with intensity. "In my world, there are no flying ships, no magic. My friend Laurel got pulled into this dimension, and now I'm here to find her and send her back home if there's a way to do it."
Crimson's expression hardened as he processed Miles's revelation. With a sudden surge of determination, he rose to his feet. "So your friend is also from this other world?" he asked, his voice steady and serious.
"Yes," Miles replied, the weight of their quest hanging heavily in the air.
Do you know what happens to individuals from other worlds when they arrive in Amethyst? Crimson asks with a serious expression.