CHAPTER 17 – "UNEQUAL BATTLE"
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The scarred man's fist cracked against Alkeos's jaw.
Alkeos staggered back, his vision blurring. He tasted blood. His legs felt like lead, his breathing ragged. The suppression field pressed down on him like a weight he couldn't shake.
The scarred man didn't wait. He closed the distance in an instant, driving his knee into Alkeos's stomach.
Alkeos doubled over, gasping.
*I'm too slow.*
The man grabbed him by the collar and threw him into the wall. Stone cracked. Alkeos hit the ground hard, his ribs screaming.
Around them, prisoners watched from their cells. Some pressed against the bars, eyes wide. Others muttered to each other, voices low and uncertain.
"He's done," one of them said.
"No," another whispered. "Look at his eyes."
Alkeos pushed himself to his knees, blood dripping from his mouth. His hands were shaking. His body was screaming at him to stop.
But he didn't.
He stood.
The scarred man tilted his head. "Still alive? Impressive."
Alkeos spat blood onto the stone. "I've been in worse fights."
"Not recently."
The man lunged again.
This time, Alkeos was ready.
He sidestepped, channeling what little Eidric he could into his legs. The movement was clumsy, unrefined, but it was enough. He drove his fist into the man's ribs—hard.
The man grunted, stumbling back half a step.
Alkeos didn't stop. He pressed forward, throwing a quick jab at the man's jaw, then a low kick aimed at his knee.
The man blocked both, but his footing shifted. His movements weren't as smooth as before.
Alkeos could see it now—the pattern, the rhythm. He wasn't as rusty as he thought.
The scarred man smiled. "There you are."
He attacked again, faster this time. His fist cut through the air like a blade, aimed straight at Alkeos's face.
Alkeos ducked, spun, and drove his elbow into the man's spine.
The impact echoed through the corridor. Stone cracked beneath their feet. The suppression field flickered, weakened by the force of their blows.
The prisoners watching murmured louder now.
"He's matching him."
"No. He's *beating* him."
Alkeos and the scarred man circled each other, both breathing hard, both bleeding.
Then they moved.
**GARETH VOSS**
**Royal Jail Interrogator**
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Kael raised his sword as the silver-haired woman stepped closer.
"Liora, Rynn, Theron—run to the docks," he said without looking back. "I'll beat her, grab Alkeos, and meet you there."
Liora hesitated. "Kael—"
"Go."
Rynn grabbed Liora's arm. "He's right. Move."
Theron didn't argue. He turned and ran, Liora and Rynn following close behind.
The woman watched them go, her expression unchanged. "You think you can stop me alone?"
Kael tightened his grip on the sword. "I don't have to stop you. I just have to slow you down."
She drew her blade—a thin, elegant thing, more rapier than sword. "Let's see."
She moved.
Kael barely blocked in time. Her blade struck his with a sharp *clang*, the force of it sending vibrations up his arms. She was fast—faster than anyone he'd fought before.
She pulled back and struck again—a quick thrust aimed at his chest.
Kael twisted aside, bringing his sword up in a defensive arc. She deflected it effortlessly and kicked him in the ribs.
He stumbled back, gasping.
She didn't wait. She pressed forward, her blade flashing in the dim torchlight—thrust, slash, thrust again.
Kael blocked, parried, retreated. His movements were clumsy compared to hers. She was trained. Precise. Every strike was calculated.
He was barely keeping up.
**ELARA SOLIS**
**Royal Jail Interrogator**
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Liora ran beside Theron, her breathing sharp. "Who are you?"
"Theron," he said between breaths. "Friend of Alkeos."
Liora said. "Who is Alkeos ?"
"My friend" said Theron "Kael and I plan to rescue from here".
Rynn asked. "Where did you meet him"
"At market then At Jail." Theron
Rynn glanced at him. "You're got him arrested."
"Indirectly."
"Not helping your case."
"I'm helping now."
They turned a corner, boots pounding against stone. Behind them, the sound of fighting echoed through the corridors—distant but unmistakable.
Liora looked back. "Kael—"
"Will be fine," Rynn said. "He's tougher than he looks."
Liora didn't answer. She just kept running.
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In a cell on the second level, the previous king sat with his back against the wall, his eyes closed.
A prisoner in the cell across from him pressed against the bars. "Who do you think will win?"
The old king didn't open his eyes. "The one determined by revenge. By the need to protect. That gives power."
The prisoner frowned. "What does that mean?"
The old king smiled faintly. "Wait. You'll see."
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Kael was losing.
Elara's blade cut through the air again, slicing across his shoulder. He hissed in pain, stumbling back.
She didn't give him time to recover. She moved in close, her blade aimed at his throat.
Kael raised his sword to block, but she twisted mid-strike, her blade slipping past his guard and cutting into his side.
He gasped, dropping to one knee.
Elara stepped back, her expression cold. "You're not strong enough."
Kael's vision blurred. His grip on the sword weakened.
*Father Aldric's voice echoed in his mind.*
*"Strength isn't about how hard you hit, Kael. It's about why you keep standing."*
*The old priest smiled, his hand resting on Kael's shoulder.*
*"You protect what matters. That's all you need to remember."*
Kael's breathing steadied.
The suppression field pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating.
And then—
He broke it.
Or
He changed it.
Not everywhere. Not for everyone. Just for himself.
The pressure vanished. The weight lifted. Eidric surged through his body like a flood, raw and uncontrolled.
Elara's eyes widened.
Kael stood.
He swung.
The black sword cut through the air, faster than before, stronger than before. Elara barely raised her blade in time.
The impact sent her flying backward. She slammed into the wall, her sword clattering to the ground.
She didn't get up.
Kael lowered his sword, breathing hard. His body ached. His side was bleeding. But he was standing.
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In his cell, the previous king opened his eyes. He felt it—the surge of power, raw and unrefined, breaking through the suppression field like a crack in stone.
The prisoner across from him stared. "What was that?"
The old king smiled. "Didn't I say who would win?"
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Alkeos caught Gareth's fist mid-swing.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Alkeos channeled what little Eidric he had left into his hands. His fingers glowed faintly, sharpening, hardening, until they felt like blades.
He twisted Gareth's wrist and drove his hand into the man's chest—not cutting, but striking with enough force to crack ribs.
Gareth gasped, stumbling back.
Alkeos didn't stop. He moved in close, striking again and again—palm, elbow, fist—each blow precise, brutal.
Gareth collapsed.
Alkeos stood over him, breathing hard, blood dripping from his knuckles.
The prisoners watching were silent.
Then one of them started clapping.
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Alkeos climbed the stairs slowly, his body screaming with every step.
When he reached the second level, he stopped.
Kael stood in the middle of the corridor, his sword still drawn, blood dripping from his side. Elara lay unconscious against the wall.
Alkeos stared at him for a long moment.
Then he nodded. "Not bad."
Kael exhaled slowly. "You too."
From his cell nearby, the previous king watched them both.
And he smiled.
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**END OF CHAPTER 17**