Capítulo 18: Chapter 18: Breaking Chains
Reached 75 stones, here's the bonus chapter.
Next: 100
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The throne room was gilded, echoing the king's wealth and unearned arrogance. King Alastor sat upon a throne of polished gold, his plump face twisted in a smug grin. He was flanked by two figures: a tall swordsman with a calm, calculating gaze and a shorter, leaner man with sharp eyes, his fingers dancing over a rifle resting against his shoulder.
"So, you're the one causing all this excitement," Alastor sneered. "Orion Hale, the 'brilliant inventor' who thought he could come into my city, stir up trouble, and walk away unscathed."
I stared him down, fingers flexing around the handle of my gun, each breath steady and measured. The king's words dripped with entitlement, but his tone held something sharper: a dangerous confidence.
"My talents aren't for sale, least of all to you," I said, my voice firm.
The king chuckled, a mirthless sound. "Not for sale? No, no, you misunderstand. This isn't an offer, it's an order." His gaze hardened. "You'll work for me. Everything you create will be mine. Resist, and you'll find your time here unpleasant… and very brief."
The words barely left his mouth before I raised my gun, aiming directly at his chest. My finger tightened on the trigger, but even as I fired, a flash of metal cut through the air, intercepting the bullet before it could reach the king. I tracked the motion, eyes landing on the swordsman, whose blade gleamed in the torchlight. He hadn't flinched, his posture as calm as his steady grip on the hilt.
In the same instant, I felt a surge of warning in my mind, a split-second sense that I was being targeted. Instinct drove me to roll to the side just as the crack of a rifle split the air. A bullet embedded itself in the stone where I'd stood a heartbeat before.
My eyes narrowed as I assessed my situation. The swordsman was clearly skilled, able to slice through a bullet mid-flight, and the sharpshooter had the accuracy to match. Both of them advanced toward me, their movements coordinated, like wolves circling their prey.
The swordsman advanced with a cold, measured grace, his blade angled toward me. His gaze was unyielding, showing no trace of hesitation or fear. Beside him, the sharpshooter reloaded with practiced speed, his fingers deftly working over the rifle's mechanism.
They were trained killers, each skilled in their own craft, and they had no intention of letting me walk out of this room alive.
The swordsman struck first, his blade slicing through the air with a speed that forced me back. I countered with a series of shots, but the swordsman deflected each bullet with ease, the sound of metal on metal ringing through the hall. His movements were precise, the trajectory of each swing calculated.
The sharpshooter took advantage of the chaos, positioning himself for another shot. My senses screamed a warning, and I twisted just in time, feeling the bullet's heat as it grazed my side. The slight burn stung, but adrenaline pushed me forward.
I could feel myself slipping into a rhythm, my mind tracking their movements, mapping each feint and counter. They were skilled, but patterns were emerging, small gaps in their coordination that I could exploit.
I sidestepped another slash from the swordsman, using the motion to close the distance between us. My fist flew out, aiming for his chest, but he twisted away, the blade in his hand coming up to meet my forearm. Pain jolted through me as he landed a shallow cut, but I used the momentum to pivot, catching sight of the sharpshooter as he aimed.
With a sharp intake of breath, I sprang forward, closing the gap between myself and the rifleman. My gun was still intact, but a grazing hit from his bullet struck the barrel, shattering the delicate mechanics. I cursed, tossing the ruined weapon aside, my fingers curling into fists.
Close combat, then. The swordsman advanced again, his blade a flash of silver as he moved with relentless precision. I could see the focus in his eyes, the trained calm of a fighter who knew his craft. But I wasn't untrained, and I had something he didn't: an eye for weakness.
He swung, and this time I leaned into the attack, allowing his blade to slice a shallow line across my shoulder. But the moment his momentum shifted forward, I slammed my fist into his side, feeling the satisfying impact of knuckles against bone.
The swordsman staggered, but the sharpshooter was there to cover him. Another bullet whizzed past me, and I dropped low, using the swordsman as a shield as he regained his balance. The rifleman hesitated, unwilling to risk hitting his own ally.
That hesitation was all I needed.
I lunged at the sharpshooter, grabbing his rifle and twisting it from his hands. His eyes widened, but he fought back, his fist connecting with my jaw. The pain flared, but I tightened my grip on the rifle, ripping it from his grasp and using it as a makeshift club, striking him across the face. He stumbled, blood dripping from his nose, but before I could press the advantage, the swordsman was on me again, his blade slashing toward my midsection.
I dropped the rifle and dodged back, narrowly avoiding the deadly arc of his sword. The floor beneath us was slick with blood and sweat, each movement a test of agility and speed.
The swordsman's strikes were relentless, each swing of his blade executed with lethal precision. He aimed for my vital points, forcing me to remain on the defensive. But even as I dodged and parried, I studied him, memorizing the rhythm of his attacks, the small hesitations in his footwork, the way his grip tightened just before each strike.
I ducked under a horizontal slash and launched a counterattack, driving my knee into his stomach. He grunted, momentarily winded, but recovered quickly, swinging his sword in a desperate arc. I sidestepped, and in that moment, I saw the opening I'd been waiting for.
With a swift, calculated motion, I closed the distance, striking his wrist with an open palm. His grip faltered, the sword slipping from his fingers as I twisted his arm behind his back, forcing him to his knees. His eyes met mine, and for a brief moment, I saw a flicker of fear.
But before I could finish him off, the sharpshooter regained his footing, pulling a concealed pistol from his belt. I threw the swordsman forward, using him as a shield as the bullet struck him in the back. He fell to the ground, unmoving, his eyes wide with shock.
The sharpshooter's face twisted in rage as he realized what he'd done. He aimed the pistol at me, but I was faster, closing the distance between us with a burst of speed. My fist connected with his jaw, and he stumbled back, dropping the gun.
I didn't give him a chance to recover. My fists flew, each strike landing with brutal precision as I drove him back, cornering him against the wall. His resistance faded, his movements sluggish as I landed a final blow to his temple, watching as he slumped to the floor.
The room fell silent, the air thick with the scent of blood and sweat. I took a steadying breath, my heart pounding as I surveyed the aftermath. The two guards lay defeated, their weapons scattered across the floor. I turned my gaze toward the throne, where the king sat, his face pale with terror.
Alastor's eyes darted between the fallen guards and myself, his hands shaking as he clutched the armrests of his throne. The arrogance that had filled his voice earlier was gone, replaced by a palpable fear.
I stepped forward, each movement deliberate as I closed the distance between us. The king's breathing quickened, his fingers digging into the gilded wood of his throne as if he could somehow disappear into it.
"Did you really think you could control me?" I asked, my voice cold, echoing through the silent room.
Alastor swallowed, his face contorted in a mixture of anger and fear. "You… you're nothing more than a tool! I could have made you powerful-"
I silenced him with a single glare, the weight of my gaze freezing him in place. "Your greed blinded you," I said, each word laced with contempt. "Now, you'll pay for it."
The fear in his eyes deepened as I raised my fist, the silence of the throne room bearing witness to his final judgment.
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I don't post on Saturday and Sunday as i stock up on chapters in these days, since i don't have much time in the week.
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