Merken moved first and yanked on the rope, trying to throw Chael off balance.
Chael twisted and let the force pull him forward instead of resisting, narrowly dodging a punch that would've probably knocked his out cold. He ducked, feeling the air shift as a fist swung just past his temple.
He wasn't fast enough to dodge the second.
A knee slammed into his ribs.
Pain exploded through his side and his vision flashed white for half a second. He gasped, stumbling, but he forced his body to move.
Amidst the cheering crown Chael's free hand masterfully moved over the man's belt - but before anyone noticed anything, Chael staggered back, gasping with his fist clenched.
Another punch came and he barely leaned back in time. The tether jerked, forcing him closer. His broken arm ached, his fingers screamed with every twitch. He couldn't block. He could only dodge.
Chael was well-trained in the art of fists, though his specialty was the spear. Because a warrior needed to be prepared for any and all situation, and in a lot of them, he'd be without his spear. Like this situation.
'Pathetic.' Chael thought to himself though gritted teeth as he staggered back after a kick landed on his rib.
"C'mon chief! I thought the Ashwara were more fiersome than this! Gahahaha!" Garren rumbled in laughter.
"The notorious young prodigy of the Ashwara Clan is getting his ass beat by a loser like Merken. Who would've thought!" Another one laughed.
Another swing, which Chael barely ducked. Then, a fist grazed his cheek.
Chael was barely retaliating. Instead he watched Merken's every move, trying to look for an opening. Under normal circumstances he would have no problem trading blows and swinging to his hearts content, but every movement caused him unimaginable pain.
"Show us what you got, boy!" A mercenary laughed.
Merken was grinning as he came for another swing, "C'mon! Let's get serious here-"
Just as he entered Chael's range, his body twisted with unnatural speed - just enough to shift his weight.
Then he struck.
His elbow slammed into Merken's throat.
The mercenary staggered, choking and instantly dropped to his knees, gasping for air.
The entire room went silent. Echinda who was watching with a bored expression finally smiled. "That's Ashwara for you."
Chael's pulse pounded. He had to follow up. He pivoted and used the tension of the rope to snap his body forward—
But before he could land another hit.
The entire crowd rushed him.
"You bastard!"
"Tch. Some of a bitch! How dare you, it was just a show!"
Several of them jumped on him. Chael's entire world got disorientated as boots slammed into his side. A fist cracked against his jaw. Someone grabbed his collar and yanked him back, throwing him to the ground.
The beatdown was only amplified by the intense pain from his shattered bones and wounds he had recieved earlier, as. they reopened and soaked his clothes with more fresh blood.
Fists. Boots. Elbows. Chairs.
Pain rained down on him from every direction. His vision blurred. He tasted blood. His ribs felt like they were caving in. His limbs refused to move. He curled inward, instinct screaming at him to protect his head.
The pain was distant now.
Then—
"Enough."
The kicks stopped.
Through his swollen eyes, he saw Garren step forward, looking down at him like a man admiring a broken toy.
"Tch. Lasted longer than I thought." Garren snorted. "Alright, toss him back in the cage before he dies on us."
They grabbed him-his body barely responding anymore. His feet dragged uselessly as they hauled him toward the cage.
Through the haze of pain, his fingers on his left hand twitched as something went up his sleeve.
Something was there.
It was tiny arrowhead he was swiped from Merken's pocket, the price he paid being a vicious knee to the ribs.
They threw him back into the cage. The door slammed shut and the lock clicked. Chael lay there with his breath ragged and blood dripping from his mouth..
But beneath the pain, but beneath the agony and exhaustion, he curled his fingers around the arrowhead.
"Wow, they really did a number on you, huh?" Echinda trotted up to his cage again, smoking her small pipe.
Chael groaned when he heard her voice. He stayed silent for a while before shooting her a glare, "What do you want now?"
Echinda exhaled puff of smoke and smiled at him, "Nothing much. Why? Am I not worth the Chief of Ashwara's time?"
"Kill youself."
Echinda made an mock expression as though she was offended, "How rude. Do tell me though, why were you holding back in that fight?"
A flicker of a shadow crossed Chael's eye. He maintained eye contact with Echinda for a while before he smugly returned her own words to her, "I dunno what you're talking about."
Echinda stared hard at him for a while before letting out a chuckle, "Ahaha, you bastard. Fine, keep your secrets. You're not leaving my clutches anytime soon, anyway."
"We'll see about that." Chael sneered.
Echinda grinned. "Whatever helps you sleep better at night."
Chael then lied down in a sleeping position and turned away from her. Realising Chael was no longer interested in carry on a conversation, Echinda decided to leave. Just as she had turned Chael turned to her once more.
"Wait."
Echinda turned.
"Since I'm already in your hands, tell me. What do you know about my clansmen suddenly turning into frozen husks?" Chael sat up once more, his face serious. "I know for a fact you mongrels have nothing to do with it. You don't have the numbers nor the abilities to pull off something like that. I bet you just decended like vultures for raid after it had already happened"
Echinda looked surprised. She looked thoughtful for just a moment before she gave him a petty smile, "I dunno what you're talking about."
With that, she turned and left.
"Tch. Bitch."
The hideout was quieter now.
The fire had burned low, casting flickering shadows against the cavern walls. Most of the Mongrel's Vow lay sprawled across makeshift bedrolls, their snores mixing with the occasional crackle of embers.
Chael sat motionless in his cage, his back against the cold iron bars. His body still ached from the beating, his ribs throbbing with every shallow breath. But his mind was clear.
His fingers curled around the arrowhead he had swiped, its jagged edge rough against his palm. It was small-barely larger than a coin-but sharp enough to do the job.
Carefully, he shifted forward, eyes flicking to the lock on his cage. His heartbeat slowed. His focus sharpened. He inserted the tip of the arrowhead into the keyhole and began working it, twisting, feeling for the mechanism inside.
.