James sat in the darkness of his cell, the faint light of the torches outside casting long shadows on the walls. His body ached, every movement sending sharp pangs through his ribs and shoulders. But the pain was distant now, drowned out by a cold, focused determination. His newly learned ability hummed in his mind, the knowledge of how to wield it as clear as if it had always been a part of him. He clenched his fists, feeling the faint crackle of energy ripple through his fingers.
The guards' laughter echoed faintly down the corridor. Their voices were casual, unconcerned—a stark reminder of how little they thought of him. They believed he was broken, just another victim of their corruption. They were wrong.
He activated [Requiem of Souls] again, drawing on the last reserves of his strength to mend his wounds. The familiar chill of necromantic energy spread through his body, knitting his flesh back together. Pain receded to a dull throb, replaced by a simmering rage. Tonight, he wouldn't rely on sheer power alone. He had strategy, cunning, and a thirst for vengeance.
[-0.5 Mana][-0.5 Mana][-0.5 Mana][-0.5 Mana]...
[Mana: 180/200]
The plan was simple: escape and make them pay.
James focused, remembering the shape of the runes on what he had dubbed the 'Prick Stick'. His finger drew symbol in the air, leaving behind wisps of dull grey sickly green colored Mana. As soon as he drew the final line and pushed some Mana into it the rune crackled to life. A faint current of energy sparked in his palm, the light casting eerie shadows on the walls of his cell. He placed his palm on the lock of the door, the crackling arcs grew visibly stronger and discharged into the iron bars of his cell door. The metal groaned under the pressure, the lock sparking as the electricity surged through it, James bashed his shoulder against the door, and with a snap, the mechanism gave way.
[You have successfully drawn [Electric Strike]
[You become significantly faster at drawing it.]
[A certain Goddess congratulates you]
[-1 Mana]
[Mana: 179/200]
He pushed the door open slowly, the hinges creaking in protest. Outside, the corridor stretched out in both directions, lined with more cells. Most were empty, their occupants either released or taken elsewhere. James moved silently, his bare feet making no sound against the cold stone floor. He clutched the scythe he had summoned from the Ether, its dark blade a comforting weight in his hands.
[-10 Mana]
[Mana: 169/200]
[A certain Goddess urges you to slaughter]
The first guard was leaning against the wall at the end of the hallway, his helmet tipped back as he dozed. James approached without hesitation, the scythe's blade slicing cleanly through the air. The guard's head fell to the side and rolled a couple feet, his body crumpling to the floor with a dull thud. James wiped the blade on the man's tunic, his expression cold and unreadable.
[A certain Goddess bathes in the blood of your enemies while cackling]
He retrieved the guard's keys and weapon, sliding a dagger into his belt for good measure. The keys jingled softly as he moved, but he kept his steps light, his senses on high alert. The prison was poorly maintained, its guards complacent and overconfident. He'd use that to his advantage.
The next guard didn't even have time to react. James sent an [Electric Strike] arcing through the blade of the scythe, and swung at his chest. The guard convulsed coughing out blood, his body collapsing in a heap. James stepped over him, his scythe at the ready as he moved deeper into the prison.
The sound of approaching footsteps made him freeze. Two guards rounded the corner, their casual conversation dying as they spotted him. "You! How did you get out?" one of them barked, drawing his sword.
James didn't answer. He darted forward, his scythe slicing through the air with deadly precision. The first guard's blade clanged against the scythe, but James twisted, using the weapon's curved edge to disarm him. A swift kick sent the man sprawling, and James finished him with a downward strike. The second guard hesitated, his confidence faltering. James took advantage of the moment, unleashing another [Electric Strike]. The guard's scream echoed through the corridor before he fell silent.
Adrenaline coursed through James's veins as he pressed on, his focus unshaken. He encountered resistance at every turn, but the guards were no match for his determination and newfound abilities. The scythe became an extension of his will, its blade slicing through armor and flesh alike. Each strike of [Electric Strike] sent arcs of energy dancing through the air, incapacitating his enemies with brutal efficiency.
When he reached the main hall, the magistrate was waiting. The man stood at the far end of the room, flanked by two heavily armored guards. His smug expression faltered as he took in the bloodied figure before him.
"You should have stayed in your cell," the magistrate said, his voice trembling slightly. "You've made a grave mistake."
James didn't respond. He raised his scythe, the blade glinting in the dim light. The guards charged, their weapons gleaming as they closed the distance. James met them head-on, his movements a blur. He parried one blow, the scythe's blade hooking around the guard's sword and wrenching it from his grasp. A swift strike ended the man's life, and James turned to face the second guard.
The fight was brutal, each clash of metal sending sparks into the air. James felt the strain in his muscles, the weight of exhaustion threatening to drag him down. But he pushed through, his rage fueling him. The second guard fell, his body crumpling to the ground beside his comrade.
James turned his gaze to the magistrate, his dark eyes glittering with insanity and anger. The magistrate stumbled back, his composure shattered. "Wait! We can make a deal," he stammered, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I can help you. Garrick—"
"You're out of time," James said coldly, his voice laced with fury. He stepped forward, his scythe raised. The magistrate's pleas turned to screams as James brought the blade down, ending his life in one swift motion.
The hall fell silent, the echoes of battle fading into nothing. James stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving as he surveyed the room. The magistrate's lifeless body lay at his feet, a symbol of the corruption that had brought him here.
"None of you are worthy of being in my legion." James spat. Wiping the blood from his scythe, he turned and made his way toward the exit. The prison gates loomed ahead, unguarded in the chaos he had created. James pushed them open, stepping into the cool night air. The city stretched out before him, its streets bathed in moonlight.
For the first time since his arrest, James felt a flicker of hope. He was free. But his work wasn't done. Garrick was still out there, and James intended to make him pay for everything he had done.
As he disappeared into the shadows, the city's bells began to toll, signaling the chaos he had left in his wake. James didn't look back. He had a mission, and nothing would stop him now.