"I surrender!" he shouted.
Lucian blinked, his body frozen in surprise.
The words hung in the air, almost absurd in their simplicity.
After the violence he had just endured, after the blood that had spilled, the idea of surrender felt... out of place.
The man's face broke into a small, calm smile, his hands still raised in a show of peace. "No need for bloodshed," he said evenly. "You've already proven yourselt, haven't you?"
Lucian nodded slowly, giving the barest agreement. His movements deliberate and cautious. He didn't trust this man, not for a second.
As his mind raced, Lucian tried to make sense of it. Why had this man surrendered instead of fought? Was he not the dangerous criminal Lucian had suspected?
Perhaps he wasn't a fighter at all. Maybe he was an unlucky man who had ended up in this pit of violence by mistake.
If that's true, Lucian thought, killing him will be easy.
But the idea didn't sit well with him. The first two cellmates he had killed in self-defense; there was no other choice. This was different. This man had surrendered.
His hands were empty, his posture non-threatening.
Lucian stood at a crossroads. Did he have to kill this man? Or could he let him live?
The system hadn't said anything yet. No congratulations, no notification that the side quest was complete. That silence gnawed at him, filling him with doubt.
If the system hasn't declared the mission over, then it must want me to finish the job.
Reluctantly, Lucian began to brace himself for another fight. He would obey the system. He always had. But just as he began to steel his resolve, the third cellmate moved.
It was a blur-a sudden flash of silver.
Lucian's instincts screamed at him, and he jumped back just in time to avoid the worst of the attack. The knife missed his chest but sliced across his side, leaving a shallow, burning wound in its wake.
Pain exploded through Lucian's body. His breath hitched, and he let out a groan that echoed in the cell. His hands flew to his side instinctively, pressing against the torn flesh. He lifted his shirt to inspect the damage.
The cut wasn't deep, but it was wide enough to sting with every movement.
Blood oozed from the wound, hot and sticky against his skin.
"You dishonest bastard!" Lucian spat, glaring at the man. Rage flared within him, momentarily dulling the pain. "I hate liars like you. Why can't people just be straightforward about their intentions?"
The third cellmate said nothing, his face calm, almost amused.
Lucian's anger boiled over. He had respected the straightforward brutality of the first two men. They hadn't pretended to be anything other than killers. But this man-this coward-had feigned surrender, only to strike when Lucian's guard was down.
He's going to pay for that, Lucian thought, his hands clenching into fists.
The cellmate circled him now, his movements slow and deliberate, the knife glinting in the dim light. His eyes were calculating, watching Lucian like a predator sizing up injured prey.
Lucian felt his body protest with every step. His joints ached, his muscles screamed, and the wound on his side throbbed with every beat of his heart. He was already exhausted from fighting the first two cellmates, and now his body felt like it was on the verge of collapse.
But he couldn't stop. He wouldn't stop.
The cellmate lunged again, his knife cutting through the air with deadly intent.
Lucian twisted away just in time, his body barely escaping the blade's reach. The movement sent a fresh wave of pain radiating from his side, but he gritted his teeth and focused on the immediate threat.
The cellmate didn't give him a moment to recover. He lunged again, faster this time, the knife aiming for Lucian's chest. Lucian dodged, narrowly avoiding the blade, but the effort left him breathless. His legs wobbled, his vision swam, and the ache in his side grew worse with every passing second.
He couldn't keep this up.
The third cellmate was relentless, circling like a wolf closing in on wounded prey.
Lucian's mind raced, searching for a way out. His eyes darted around the cell, desperate for anything he could use.
That's when Lucian's eyes locked onto the bar gate on the far side of the room. An idea formed in his head, It was his only chance to win the fight—but it lay beyond the space where Cellmate 3 lurked like a predator, blade ready to strike. One mistake, one misstep, and Lucian wouldn't live to see the other side.
He tightened his grip on his courage, his pulse drumming in his ears. Every move needed to count. There could be no second chances. Slowly, he began to circle to the left, each step deliberate, his body coiled like a spring.
Cellmate 3 noticed the motion but read it wrong. He thought this was the usual dance of dominance, two men sizing each other up, searching for weakness. With a smug grin, he mirrored Lucian's steps, shifting to his left as well. He thought he had Lucian figured out. In his mind, he had already won, the blade as good as buried. All he had to do was bide his time.
But Lucian wasn't circling out of fear or hesitation. His every step was measured, designed to bring him closer to the bars. Inch by inch, the gate drew nearer, each step widening the gap between him and death.
Finally, the moment came. Lucian's heart pounded as the bars loomed just a few feet away. Without warning, he threw caution to the wind and lunged, his muscles exploding into motion. The sound of his boots scraping against the floor was sharp, almost desperate, as he twisted his body and slammed his back against the bars.
Cellmate 3 froze for a split second, confusion flashing across his face. He didn't understand what had just happened, but he knew it wasn't an accident. Lucian had a plan, and whatever it was, it had to be stopped.
With a snarl, he surged forward, blade gleaming in his hand, ready to end whatever Lucian was scheming.