You're gonna regret that kid. He snarled as he limped.
The man's threats hung in the air like a cloud, his words an empty promise of revenge. But Lucian refused to be cowed by the bravado. Instead, he honed his senses to the surrounding space, seeking any sign of weakness, any miniscule opening through which he could deliver the fatal blow. With an assassin's patience and focus, he waited, coiled and ready to strike.
With a tactician's mind, Lucian recognized the need to control the pace of the fight. If he let the hulking brutes dictate the course of battle, he would be swiftly overpowered. Thus, he chose to remain agile and elusive, his stance malleable and his gaze unwavering, watching for the slightest signs of vulnerability. He knew that by denying them the upper hand, he could gradually whittle away at their defenses, wearing them down until the opportune moment to deliver the finishing blow.
His strategy hinged on the arrogance of his foes, who be believed had grown accustomed to overpowering their opponents through brute force and sheer might. He sought to turn their own dominance against them, forcing them into unfamiliar territory by assuming the role of the elusive, agile fighter.
Their bafflement, their frustration, would open a chink in their armor, allowing Lucian to exploit their weaknesses and seize control of the fight.
He trusted that the novelty of this approach, unexpected and outside their usual experience, would unbalance them, rendering them as disoriented and uncertain as he would be formidable.
Lucian's confidence spurred him into action, his body coiling like a spring as he lunged at the first hulking brute. He wielded the femur like a savage weapon, the serrated edge flashing in the dim light as he drew it in a vicious arc, aimed at the man's unprotected flank.
His muscles bunched, his focus razor-sharp, as the makeshift blade sliced through the air, its deadly intent palpable in the wind.
The moment stretched into eternity as Lucian's eyes widened in shock, his mind racing to comprehend the brute's sudden, unexpected counter.
Time seemed to slow as he felt the man's massive hand close around his own, halting the blow in mid-swing.
The femur hung suspended between them, its sharp edge only inches from the man's side. Lucian's pulse quickened, the adrenaline coursing through his veins as his instincts kicked in, his body tensing in anticipation of the enemy's next move. This could get dangerous fast.
Nice try," the brute hissed, his lips curling in a smirk of cruel satisfaction. With a callous disregard for Lucian's suffering, he began to twist the arm holding the femur, wrenching it in an unnatural angle.
Ahhhh! Lucian's howl of agony cut through the stale air, his cries echoing off the dank walls. The pain was excruciating, shooting through his arm and shoulder like searing bolts of lightning.
His fingers strained against the man's grip, trying in vain to break free, but the brute's strength was overwhelming, crushing Lucian's arm with every twist.
The sharp clatter of bone on concrete reverberated through the cell, the sound a chilling accompaniment to Lucian's anguished cries.
The femur slipped from his agonized grip, the makeshift weapon clattering uselessly on the floor. It lay there, taunting him with its impotence, as Lucian's arm continued to twist in the brute's vise-like grasp.
The loss of his only means of defense was like a hammer blow to his resolve, and Lucian felt a creeping dread seep into his bones as the brutal hold tightened even further.
Lucian's eyelids fluttered shut, shielding his gaze from the brutal reality before him. In the darkness of his mind, memories flooded back: the disorienting blur of waking up in this horrific prison, the terror of the first frenzied fight, the fleeting moments of peace interspersed with chaos.
He knew this danger was different, more immediate and pressing than before, the threat of death looming large. For the first time in this hellish place, he was staring his own mortality in the face, the icy grip of fear tightening around his heart
The brute's relentless twisting turned Lucian's arm into a grotesque mockery of nature's design, the bones and sinews bending and contorting under the pressure.
Lucian's screams intensified as the unnatural angle stretched his body beyond its limits, his muscles straining against the brutal force that sought to tear him apart.
If he were to twist it one more inch, it would pop right out of his shoulder. Lucian squeezed his eyes shut, expecting it to happen at anytime now and for the "crack" sound to echo in the room as his arm broke.
Just as the point of no return loomed on the horizon, an unexpected thing happened, the brute stopped his sadistic rotation of Lucian's arm.
Yet the momentary relief was fleeting, as the thug's brutality found a new avenue of expression. His fist rocketed forward with devastating speed, colliding with Lucian's midsection.
The blow drove the air from his lungs in a whoosh, a gut-wrenching retort as his body doubled over, racked with spams of pain.
Lucian crumpled to his knees, his body a heap of shattered bones and bruised flesh, his spirit a dying ember of what it once was. The brute's punishing fist had dealt a grievous blow, robbing him of the very breath that fueled his defiance.
His exhaustion and pain overwhelmed his will to rise again, and he sank into the cold, unforgiving embrace of the floor, a vessel emptied of its last reserves of strength.
Like a proud boxer leaving the ring, the first brute retreated, his twisted smile a chilling postscript to his savagery.
Lucian remained on his knees, head bowed and chest heaving, too spent to defend himself from whatever brutality awaited. But his suffering was not yet over, as the second man emerged from the shadows, his steps deliberate, his expression devoid of mercy. He took his place in front of the quivering Lucian.
The first brute leaned against the wall, a satisfied grin stretching across his face as he watched his partner approach, the metallic taste of blood on his breath.