Lucian stood slowly, his movements calm and deliberate. There was no rush, no panic. The cellmate was vulnerable now, his rage making him clumsy.
The knife was still in the man's hand, its blade catching the dim light. Lucian stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the trapped arm. He could see the veins bulging in the man's forearm, the way his fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife. But it didn't matter.
The bars had done their job.
Lucian tilted his head slightly, studying the cellmate like a puzzle he'd just solved. "You know," he said quietly, his voice steady and cold, "you really should have thought this through."
The cellmate let out a guttural growl, his face red with fury, but Lucian was already moving. His hands were steady as he reached for the trapped arm, his fingers closing around the man's wrist. The fight was over, and Lucian knew it.
For the first time, he allowed himself to feel something close to satisfaction. Not because it was over, but because this time, he wanted to finish it. This time, it was personal.
As the man struggled to free himself, his mind raced with disbelief and frustration. How had it come to this? He had been so sure, so confident. Just moments ago, Lucian had been standing upright, staring at him with those calm, unsettling eyes. There was no fear in them, no hesitation, just a strange stillness that he'd mistaken for weakness.
And then, in the blink of an eye, Lucian was gone from where he had stood. One second upright, the next crouched low like a shadow slipping beneath the light. The man gritted his teeth as he strained against the bars. Perhaps he had underestimated the scrawny boy.
But it was too late for regrets.
Lucian didn't waste a moment. He could see the cellmate's muscles flexing, his shoulder shifting as he tried to wiggle himself free. The gap in the bars wasn't wide enough to trap him forever, and Lucian knew it. If he didn't act quickly, the man would get loose. And then it would be his life on the line.
With fluid precision, Lucian leaped to his feet. His movements were sharp and purposeful, no energy wasted. He aimed his first kick at the man's side, driving the sole of his foot into his ribs with all the force he could muster.
The impact was like a hammer blow. The cellmate's body jerked, a guttural groan ripping from his throat as the pain surged through him. It shot up his chest and down his abdomen, making his legs buckle slightly.
Lucian didn't stop. He stepped back only to lash out again, his second kick landing harder, sharper, with cruel precision. This time, the man's scream filled the air, raw and jagged, echoing off the metal bars. His body twisted against the bars, his trapped arm jerking violently as he tried to shield his side, but it was useless.
The pain was relentless, searing through his nerves like fire. His grip on the knife wavered, his fingers trembling as the strength in his hand faltered.
Lucian watched him with cold detachment, his green eyes focused on the blade. He saw it coming before it even happened.
The knife slipped from the man's grip, tumbling through the air in a slow, twisting arc before it clattered against the ground. For a heartbeat, Lucian froze, his breath catching in his throat. If the knife slid away, outside the cell, it would be out of his reach—and he couldn't let that happen.
But fate seemed to favor him. The knife hit the concrete with a sharp clink and bounced, skidding toward the cell instead of away from it.
Lucian didn't hesitate.
In one quick motion, he dropped to his knees, his hand darting out to snatch the knife off the ground. The cool metal felt solid in his grip, a reassuring weight that sent a surge of determination through him.
He straightened up, pulling the knife closer to his chest as he stepped back into the cell. The barrier of the bars was his shield now, separating him from the writhing, struggling man on the other side.
The cellmate snarled through his pain, his free hand clawing at the bars, his face twisted with fury. But Lucian wasn't looking at his face anymore. He was looking at the knife, running his thumb along the handle, testing its balance.
Lucian's gaze flicked back to the man, his expression calm, almost eerily so. The cellmate's struggles grew more frantic, desperation bleeding into his movements, but Lucian stood still, waiting, calculating. He could feel the rage boiling in the man, the frustration of being bested by someone he thought was weak.
But weakness was an illusion, and Lucian was done pretending.
In a single, fluid motion, Lucian plunged the knife into the man's side, aiming with ruthless precision for the spot where his foot had inflicted pain. The man's scream pierced the air, a shrill cry of agony and terror. The realization that he was in the grip of a madman dawned on him in an instant, as the knife dug deep into his flesh, unleashing a torrent of crimson.
Lucian withdrew the knife with a savage twist, savoring the sensation of the blade tearing through flesh and sinew. Blood welled up from the wound, a crimson tide lapping at the ashen flesh, the sharp reek of iron filling the air. Cellmate 3's screams echoed through the room, his body contorting in a futile attempt to evade the excruciating pain. It seemed like the movement of a wounded a snake.
And maybe he was a wounded snake indeed.
Lucian smirked before he stabbed the knife into the man's side again, this time choosing a different spot.
Arghh please! Cellmate 3's voice trembled as he begged for mercy, the crimson drops of his blood pooling on the cold concrete floor.
The dizziness of approaching death clouded Cellmate 3's vision, his consciousness was fraying at the edges.