The heavy iron door groaned open, its rusted hinges shrieking in protest. A thickset guard stepped inside, his armor clanking with each step. His beady eyes scanned the caged prisoners like a butcher eyeing livestock.
"You lot belong to us now," the guard sneered. "Best accept it before we break you."
The prisoners remained silent, their eyes lowered. No one dared to speak.
"Let's see..." The guard's gaze drifted before stopping on a young woman, no older than twenty. Her frail form trembled under his scrutiny. "You. Stand up."
The woman flinched but obeyed, rising to unsteady feet. Tears welled in her eyes, but she bit her lip to keep them from falling.
"Perfect." The guard reached for the keys at his belt.
A man beside her—older, gaunt but defiant—gritted his teeth, his frustration bubbling over. He clenched his fists and, before he could stop himself, spoke. "Leave her alone."
The guard's expression darkened. Without warning, he swung his boot into the man's ribs. The sickening crunch of bone echoed through the chamber. The man collapsed, coughing blood onto the filthy stone floor.
"Anyone else got something to say?" the guard growled, his hand resting on his club.
A sudden scream broke through the murmurs of despair. A young man, barely older than Vael, was dragged out of a neighboring cage by a hulking guard. The slaver sneered, bringing down a thick club onto the man's back.
"Did I say you could speak?!" The guard's voice was like gravel as he struck again, this time making the boy crumple to the floor, coughing blood.
The other prisoners turned away, afraid to interfere. Vael's fists clenched. The boy was weak, just like him.
The guard stepped over the whimpering body, turning his gaze back to the caged prisoners. He smirked, pointing his club toward another. His next target.
"You. Stand up," he barked, eyes settling on a frail woman clutching her torn rags tightly to her chest.
She hesitated, trembling.
The guard's patience was thin. He unlocked the cage and strode inside, grabbing her by the arm. "You're property now. Do I need to teach you what that means?"
The woman whimpered, recoiling. The other prisoners remained still, their heads down.
Another man, older and desperate, clenched his fists and took a step forward. "You can't—"
The guard whipped around, slamming the club into his gut. The man collapsed with a sharp wheeze, curling in on himself. The guard spat on him before turning back to the prisoners.
"Any other complaints?" His voice was a low growl. The dim torchlight flickered against the bloodstained club in his grip.
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then, a rock flew through the air, striking the side of his head with a dull thud.
The guard stumbled, eyes flaring with rage. "Who—?!"
Before he could finish, another prisoner lunged at him, grabbing his arm. The guard swung wildly, but more hands grabbed at him, dragging him down.
The chamber erupted into chaos.
Shackled men and women threw themselves at the guards, driven by the crushing weight of desperation. The guards outside turned at the noise, drawing their weapons, but the riot had already begun.
The air filled with screams, the clash of bodies, the sharp clang of steel.
Vael, who had thrown the rock, grinned. Luck had favored him—his cage was the one the guard had entered, and now that someone had taken the first step to resist, others were bound to follow. There was only one guard inside. What could he do against dozens of desperate people? Nothing.
Oren, who had watched everything unfold, turned to Vael in shock. "Kid, you've got guts!" he laughed, slapping his thigh. "But even with this mess, escaping is impossible. There are probably Bronze-ranks here."
Vael shrugged off his words. Of course, he knew that. But would he rather stay here, be sold off, and rot in slavery? No. He would rather take his chances than let fate decide his future.
As the riot raged on, many prisoners had already beaten down the guard and rushed toward the entrance. Three more guards stood there, weapons drawn, trying to suppress the wave of desperate escapees. But how could three mortal guards stop a flood of desperate men and women? They were overwhelmed, trampled underfoot, their cries drowned out by the sound of the stampede.
The upper doors loomed ahead—freedom was within reach.
Yet, while others ran for their lives, Vael remained. He had something more important to do.
A cold, mechanical voice echoed in his mind:
{KILL AND CONSUME ESSENCE. GAIN FRAGMENTS. BECOME STRONGER.}
Vael's eyes flickered with understanding. His system had finally activated.
Oren, already making his way upstairs, called out, "Hey, kid! We need to go now! If we're too late, we'll get caught and beaten to death!"
Vael scoffed. "I have something to take care of first. Go ahead."
Oren hesitated, then sighed. "Suit yourself. Good luck, kid!"
With that, he disappeared into the chaos.
Vael turned his gaze to the nearest unconscious guard—the one who had been mercilessly beating prisoners earlier. He knelt beside the man and patted him down. "Figures. Someone already took his weapons."
Scanning the area, he spotted a rusty pipe lying nearby. Without hesitation, he grabbed it, lifted it high, and brought it crashing down onto the guard's head.
Once. Twice. Again and again.
The sickening crunch of bone filled the air as the guard's skull caved in, his body twitching before going still.
Vael panted, his arms burning from exertion. "Why isn't anything happening?"
Then, a faint glow emerged from the corpse. A wispy, white essence began to rise, drifting toward him like mist.
His system's voice echoed again:
{ESSENCE ABSORBED. FRAGMENTS GAINED.}
A grin spread across Vael's face.
"So this is it."