BAM!!!
A fist—like a bolt of lightning shattering a thunderstorm's silence—smashed into Victor's face.
The sound rang through the corridor like an explosion.
Victor staggered violently, the sheer force of the impact sending his body spiraling leftward, crashing against the stone wall beside Owen. His nose instantly burst with blood, dripping down like the aftermath of a broken dam. He held his cheek, stunned, stunned not by the pain—but by the sheer power behind the strike.
That wasn't Samuel's punch. No.
This… this was something else.
His breathing slowed. His eyes twitched. And then, his head rose.
The world stood still.
Standing there, next to the barely conscious Owen—his knuckles still curled tight, shoulders heaving slightly from the force of the blow—was Jace.
The familiar face.
That dead-cold stare.
That slow exhale through gritted teeth.
Victor blinked. Once. Twice.
No one said a word.
Jace stood tall, his silhouette outlined by the flickering prison light, casting a long shadow over Owen's broken frame. His expression unreadable—no fury, no panic, just a bone-deep silence that screamed louder than any war cry.
"…You," Victor muttered, his lips parting with a smirk painted in blood.
But Jace didn't respond.
He slowly cracked his knuckles, his eyes locked on Victor—not as prey looking at a predator.
But as a hunter finally facing the beast.
Owen gasped—air finally returning to his lungs as the blurriness in his vision began to fade. His chest rose and fell with uneven rhythm, and his ears rang faintly from the pressure.
And then… he saw him.
That figure.
That presence.
Jace.
Standing tall beside him, bloodied and bruised from head to toe—his shirt torn, his knuckles raw, his eyes sunken yet burning with something unshakable.
Jace was alive.
He had survived the Warden.
He had escaped.
Owen's breath caught in his throat, his disbelief silenced only by awe.
Jace turned slightly, not looking at Owen, but speaking with quiet command.
"Get up and go try waking Samuel up..."
"I'll deal with this bastard."
Owen blinked. "Jace…"
"There's no time to ask questions," Jace cut him off, eyes never leaving Victor.
"He's an experienced fighter," he added.
Owen nodded, forcing himself upright, holding his aching side.
"Yes... He is skilled. Be careful, Jace."
Jace's response came sharp and cold:
"I survived the Warden."
"There's no way this jerk is beating me."
Those words.
That tone.
Jace wasn't the same scared man who stepped into this Phase. He had changed. The fear of death, the shadow of the Warden, the chaos, the hopelessness—they had refined him. Hardened him.
What was once fear was now focus.
He had seen the worst and lived.
Now, he stood there like he belonged in this nightmare.
Owen, watching him from the corner of his eye, nodded. There was nothing else to say.
As he turned and staggered toward Samuel's unconscious body, he muttered,
"He has the key to the door."
Jace didn't respond. But he listened.
Owen added, his voice grave:
"We need it to escape. Don't let him run. Kill him if you can."
Jace's head gave the faintest nod.
"I'll take it from him."
And now…
His feet shifted.
His breathing steadied.
His hands rose.
Guard up.
Muscles tense.
Heart silent.
Resolve absolute.
Jace was ready to fight.
Victor stared at Jace, and for the first time—his confidence wavered.
This wasn't Samuel.
This wasn't some scared supply boy.
This was someone who had survived the Warden.
A real fighter.
Still, Victor wasn't backing down.
"Do you think you can beat me?" he snarled, his voice laced with frustration and venom.
Jace didn't respond. His gaze was locked, silent, unmoving. No anger. No emotion.
Victor's lip curled into a mocking grin as he raised his fists.
"I'll show you your place, you overgrown idiot."
And with that—he charged.
Jace didn't flinch.
Victor closed the gap quickly, moving with practiced speed. He suddenly ducked low, rushing in at
Jace's midsection—trying to make it look like a full-body tackle.
Jace readied his arms, preparing to counter the momentum, to seize Victor's weight and redirect it—like a frontal takedown counter, one where the attacker's own charge would be used against them by grabbing and lifting over the shoulder to slam down.
But it was a trap.
Victor had feinted.
His body stopped low—but then, with explosive precision, he twisted and launched a powerful uppercut, the motion whipping upward like a spring aimed at Jace's jaw.
Jace's instincts kicked in. He leaned back just in time, the punch barely grazing past his chin.
He took a step back to reset—
But Victor didn't allow it.
In a blur, Victor lunged forward, throwing a flurry of rapid punches—right, left, straight jabs—each aimed at Jace's face with brutal intent.
Jace raised his arms, his guard tight.
He blocked one. Parried the next. Slipped past the third. But Victor's rhythm was relentless. He wasn't giving Jace room to breathe, let alone counter.
He's faster…
Jace realized it—Victor's attacks were slightly quicker than his.
But all he needed was one clean moment.
Victor cocked back and launched a wide left hook aimed straight for Jace's temple.
Now.
Jace pivoted, just enough to avoid the full force of the swing, and in the same instant—he shot his hand up and gripped Victor's bicep tightly with one arm.
He locked it.
Stopped it mid-swing.
Victor's momentum hit a wall.
Jace's other hand shot up—grabbing Victor's shoulder—and he began to shift his weight, anchoring his body low.
This was the turning point.
But just as Jace was about to execute the throw—
WHAM!
Victor drove a brutal right hook into Jace's kidney.
A sharp spike of pain shot through Jace's side, and he winced, his torso leaning instinctively toward the injured area.
Victor used the opening to try and pull away—but Jace wasn't letting go that easily.
With a sudden, swinging motion, Jace's palm clamped down on the back of Victor's neck. He yanked him forward— and drove his knee hard into Victor's gut.
"Guhh!" Victor grunted as the first knee connected solidly.
He barely had time to react as the second knee came flying in—this time, Victor managed to throw up a hand and block the strike with his palm. Using the moment, Victor twisted and launched an upward strike, breaking Jace's grip and creating some space—
But not enough.
CRACK!
A straight right cross from Jace smashed into Victor's face.
Blood sprayed from his nose as his head snapped back, and his balance faltered.
Jace wasn't done.
He followed it immediately with a sharp left hook to Victor's chin—clean hit. Then pivoted his body, drawing back his right elbow—
Aimed right for Victor's jaw.
But Victor ducked under it at the last second.
He slipped behind Jace with a blur of movement, and—THWACK!
A kick to Jace's hamstring jolted him off balance.
Before Jace could recover, Victor threw a punch across his face—stinging, not clean, but enough to daze.
Victor reeled his arm back for another blow—
But Jace, dazed or not, snapped his arm up and caught Victor's wrist mid-air.
He gripped it tightly—and shoved Victor backward with force.
Victor stumbled, finally putting distance between them again.
The two fighters stared at each other, both bloodied, both panting, both calculating their next move.
Victor charged again, eyes blazing with rage—but this time, Jace stood rooted, calm as stone.
Their bodies collided in the center of the room.
Victor threw a punch—Jace deflected it with his forearm.
Another fist rocketed toward Jace's jaw—he ducked, the air whistling where his head had been. A third strike, a hook aimed at his ribs—Jace arched backward, letting the knuckles graze his shirt.
They circled each other, boots scraping over cracked concrete smeared with blood. Victor suddenly switched stance, left foot forward like a coiled spring.
Jace feinted a jab at his stomach. Victor flinched—and Jace snapped his fist upward, aiming for the chin. But Victor twisted like a snake, letting the punch glance off his shoulder, then swung a brutal uppercut into Jace's side.
A sickening thud.
Jace gasped, pain exploding under his ribs, but he forced himself to pivot. He lunged forward, locking his arms around Victor's neck in a headlock, and drove his knee upward—once, twice, three times—into Victor's ribs.
Victor snarled and jerked his head forward like a battering ram.
Crack.
The headbutt split Jace's eyebrow open. Blood trickled into his eye as they broke apart.
Jace spun, lashing out with a kick at Victor's knee. Victor blocked it with his shin—the impact echoed like two bats colliding.
No more patience. No more rules.
Victor dropped low, tackling Jace's legs. Jace slammed his weight downward, pinning Victor's shoulders to the floor, but Victor wrenched an arm free and clawed for leverage.
With a roar, Jace hooked his arm under Victor's and twisted, trying to flip him onto his back—
—but Victor braced a palm against the ground, muscles trembling as he resisted.
They surged upward, grappling like wolves.
Victor's elbow flashed toward Jace's temple. Jace blocked it, then slammed his shoulder into Victor's chest—and fired two rapid punches: an uppercut, then a straight right.
Victor deflected the first, but the second smashed into his jaw. His head snapped sideways, teeth clacking loud enough to hear.
Still, he stayed standing.
With a guttural yell, Victor hoisted Jace off his feet, ignoring the elbows Jace hammered into his back—one splitting the skin above Victor's eye. Blood dripped into his vision as he charged forward and rammed Jace into the wall.
Crunch. Plaster rained down.
They grappled, hands clawing for control. Jace wedged an arm under Victor's ribs, trying to throw him—Victor stomped hard on Jace's foot, then slammed a fist into his kidney.
They staggered apart, chests heaving.
Jace spat blood, his breaths ragged but steady.
Victor wiped his face, smearing crimson across his cheek, his fists shaking.
This wasn't a fight anymore.
It was survival.
Victor's breaths grew heavier, ragged like a man trying to outrun the inevitable. His chest rose and fell in short, broken intervals. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth, staining his lips dark red. He tried to brace, lifting his arms, but he felt it — his arms were slower, his body heavier. The earlier brawl with Samuel had already drained him.
Jace, by contrast, was becoming faster. Sharper. Meaner.
Victor threw a desperate jab, but Jace slipped it effortlessly, like he knew it was coming before Victor's muscles even twitched. In one fluid motion, Jace dug a right hook under Victor's ribs—a sickening crack echoed out. Victor's eyes widened as the pain surged through his side.
"That one broke." Jace muttered coldly.
Victor stumbled back, gasping, clutching his side—but Jace didn't give him time.
BAM. A knee to the jaw.
CRACK. Elbow to the temple.
Victor's head whipped to the side, blood splashing out like a spray of ink against the concrete floor.
He tried to clinch, desperate to stop the flurry—but Jace grabbed his wrist, twisted it brutally sideways and—
SNAP.
Victor's left pinky bent backward, bone piercing through skin. He screamed in raw, animalistic pain, dropping to one knee.
Jace didn't stop.
He grabbed Victor by the hair and slammed his knee into Victor's face three times in rapid succession—THUD. THUD. THUD. Each hit flattened Victor's nose further, until blood poured in sheets down his chest.
Then, without hesitation, Jace drove his thumb into Victor's left eye.
"AAAGHHH—!!"
Victor's howls tore through the prison walls as Jace pressed deeper, his thumb sinking past the lid into the soft wetness behind it.
"HOW DOES IT FEEL?!"
Jace roared in his face, eyes burning with rage as Victor clawed and flailed. Blood and vitreous fluid oozed out from under Jace's palm.
Victor fell backward, twitching, eye mangled and ribs shattered, face unrecognizable.
He coughed violently, spitting blood and bile, twitching like a dying animal.One eye gone. Bones cracked. Vision fading. Strength gone.
And Jace stood over him — a bloodied monster forged from fear and fire, his chest heaving, hands trembling from the force he used — not out of mercy, but out of pure wrath.
He looked down at Victor's barely breathing body.
"You messed with the wrong group."
And he spit on Victor's broken face.
Victor clutched his destroyed eye, blood still leaking between his fingers. His breathing was ragged, wet with pain and defeat. Somehow, he staggered to his feet—barely upright, broken ribs clicking with every move.
Footsteps echoed behind Jace.
Owen had returned—bringing Samuel with him.
Though bruised and limping, Samuel was alive. His face was swollen, a bruise running from his cheek to his temple, but he stood tall.
Jace glanced back at him, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"You look pathetic."
Samuel coughed a laugh.
"Glad you're alive, man."
Owen walked up beside them, his gaze falling on Victor's mutilated form. His face twisted in shock and awe.
"You really fucked him up, Jace."
Jace didn't respond. He stared at Victor—not with pride or satisfaction, but with cold, unreadable eyes. He knew it had been close. Too close.
Victor looked back at them, dazed and trembling. The fight was over. Jace alone had crushed him—and now with Samuel and Owen at his side, it was three against one.
There was no coming back from this.
Victor's voice cracked as he mumbled, almost like a confession to the shadows around him.
"I lost."
The words fell from his lips in a tone they had never heard before—sad, hollow, empty.
Victor had always been menacing, confident, cruel. Now he was just... defeated.
He looked down at the bloodstained floor, muttering softly to no one.
"What did I do wrong, Dave…?"
The three of them stiffened.
Jace narrowed his eyes.
Samuel glanced at Owen.
Owen blinked.
"Who… the hell is Dave?" Samuel asked.
Victor didn't answer.
He stood there, murmuring to the air—his voice distant, disconnected, like he was in another world entirely. Like the pain and the blood weren't even there.
Then, his next words made their skin crawl.
"Okay, Dave… I hear you."
Victor reached into his pocket.
Clink.
He dropped the key—the key to the exit—onto the floor.
The sound of metal hitting stone echoed in the still, heavy silence.
They all stared. No one moved.
Unease ran through the group like a current.
"Is he… going crazy?" Owen whispered.
Victor said nothing.
He didn't even look at them.
He simply stood there for a moment—then turned and ran.
Staggered steps turned into a desperate sprint, blood trailing behind him.
Samuel took a step forward, ready to chase—
But Jace grabbed his arm.
"What? Why, Jace?!"
Jace's eyes remained fixed on the direction Victor fled.
"You're all injured. Think for a second."
"He dropped the key. That means he's not running to escape."
"He's running to die."
Owen and Samuel froze.
"The Warden… the Whispers… the Crawlers."
"He's not in shape to fight any of them."
Samuel opened his mouth—then closed it.
It made sense.
Victor wasn't escaping.
He was offering himself… to something worse.