The medical bay doors had remained shut. That was the image burned into Adam's mind as he sat in the canteen hours later. They had carried Pao to the infirmary checkpoint, begging the Zar'khal guards for entry, but the answer had been a laughter that sounded like grinding glass. "Waste disposal is on the lower level," they had said. Pao had died on the cold metal grating of the corridor, whispering about a meal he would never eat, while Jones held his hand and Astrid screamed curses at the ceiling.
Now, the prison canteen felt heavier than the crust of the moon that entombed them. The air, usually thick with the humidity of recycled breath and the metallic tang of the ventilation systems, was tonight laced with a tangible gloom that pressed against the chest like a physical weight.
Adam, Harry, Panchenko, and Jones sat at their usual table in the back corner, a spot that was quickly becoming the headquarters of a rebellion that hadn't yet started. But tonight, their ranks had swelled.
Astrid sat across from Adam. She had scrubbed the blood from her face, but her eyes were red-rimmed and hollow, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them. Beside her sat Lee, his leg splinted with scavenged metal rods and torn fabric, his face pale and slick with sweat from the pain. Ylva sat like a statue carved from granite, her bandaged side stiff, her jaw set in a line of grim endurance.
And at the head of the table, radiating a cold, distinct aura of power that kept the other prisoners at bay, sat Julian.
But it was the empty space at the end of the table, the spot where Pao's bulk usually occupied two stools that drew every eye. It was a gaping void. A black hole that swallowed the light in the room.
Trays of the standard nutrient paste were slid onto the table. Grey, trembling, and smelling of wet cardboard.
"Eat," Jones rumbled softly, pushing a tray toward Lee. "You need the calories to knit that bone."
Lee looked at the sludge and gagged. "I can't. I keep hearing him. Asking for stew."
Panchenko, usually the jester who could find a joke in a funeral pyre, was silent. He held his spoon like a weapon, staring into his food as if reading a dark omen in tea leaves. The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring.
Suddenly, Astrid slammed her fist onto the table. CLANG.
The sound echoed through the cavernous hall, silencing the murmurs of a hundred nearby conversations.
"They laughed," she hissed, her voice trembling not with sorrow, but with a pure, incandescent fury. "Those demons. That guard, Vex. He laughed while Pao bled out. While his guts were… while he was dying."
She looked around the table, her emerald eyes blazing. "I swear, if I could rip out their black hearts myself… I would eat them raw. I would burn this entire moon to ash just to hear them scream once."
She grabbed her tray and shoved it violently, sending it skidding off the edge of the table. It clattered to the floor, spilling the grey paste.
"What is the point?" she choked out, tears finally spilling over. "We fight. We survive. And for what? To die in a hallway? To be fertilizer for their damn woods?"
The table fell silent again. The hopelessness of Kazakhar was a tangible thing, a monster far bigger than the Chimera.
Tom, who had been quietly observing the perimeter for guards, adjusted his cracked glasses. He looked at Adam. A silent communication passed between them, a nod of shared resolve. The time for mourning was over. The time for war had begun.
"We need more than just curses, Astrid," Tom said. His voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it cut through the emotional haze like a scalpel. "Curses are wind. The demons don't hear them. And even if they did, they don't care."
Tom leaned in, forcing the group to huddle closer. "We need to get out of here. All of us."
He turned his gaze to Julian. The redhead was sitting with his arms crossed, his ruby eyes fixed on a distant point on the wall, seemingly disengaged. But Adam saw the tension in Julian's shoulders. The King of Level One was listening.
"Julian," Tom said. "Astrid. Lee. Ylva. We have a plan. It is desperate. It is insane. But it is a plan."
A ripple of surprise went through the new recruits. Harry visibly flinched, glancing nervously at a passing drone overhead.
"Escape?" Julian finally spoke. His voice was a rich deep, calm and even, a stark contrast to Astrid's fire. He didn't mock the idea; he simply stated a fact. "No one escapes Kazakhar. The hangar bay is guarded by a legion. The ventilation shafts are filled with neuro-toxin. The bedrock is ten miles thick."
"No one escapes through the front gate, no," Tom countered, meeting Julian's gaze unflinchingly. "And we aren't going up. We're going down."
"Down?" Ylva frowned. "To what end?"
"To leverage," Tom whispered. "It involves Edward Bloodrose."
For the next ten minutes, Tom spun the tale. He recounted the lore he had hacked from the archives, the Vampire Lord, the Kinslayer, the massacre at the Bloodrose Citadel, the duel with the High Seat Azazel, and the secret imprisonment in the Abyssal Oubliette beneath Level Five.
He spoke of the rumor: that Edward was a biological weapon of mass destruction, kept alive only because he couldn't be killed, capable of slaughtering legions if unleashed.
"He is the nuclear option," Adam added, taking over the narrative. "The demons fear him. That's why he's buried so deep. If we free him… if we unleash the Kinslayer… the chaos would be absolute. In that chaos, we steal a ship. We leave."
The table was silent as the weight of the proposal settled on them.
Astrid's eyes, still wet with tears, began to change. The grief hardened into something sharp and cold.
"A vampire who can kill demons without breaking a sweat?" she whispered. "And he's here? Beneath our feet?"
"Level Six," Adam confirmed.
Astrid looked at the empty spot where Pao should have been. She imagined the guards burning. She imagined Vex screaming.
"If that's our ticket out," Astrid said, her voice dropping to a lethal growl, "then I'm in. I don't care if he's the devil himself. If he kills demons, he's my best friend. I want to make them pay for Pao. For everything."
Lee, gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg, nodded grimly. "I'm a thief, not a warrior. But I know a dead end when I see one. Staying here is a dead end. If there's a one percent chance… I'm with you."
Ylva looked at Adam. She touched the bandage on her side. "A warrior seeks a good death. Dying of starvation is not a good death. Fighting a High Seat's prisoner? That is a saga worth writing." She nodded.
All eyes turned to Julian.
The swordsman remained contemplative. His handsome face was etched with thought, his finger tapping a rhythm on his bicep. He was the linchpin. Without his strength, they wouldn't make it past the elevator.
"You talk of Level Six," Julian said slowly. "But you speak like children planning a picnic. Do you know why I have stayed on Level One for three years? Do you think it is because I enjoy the woods?"
He leaned forward, his ruby eyes darkening.
"I have scouted the elevator shafts. I have seen the logs. To get to Level Six, we must cross the others."
He held up a finger. "Level Two: Crimson Lake. It is not water. It is a biological runoff, an ocean of blood and enzyme that boils the flesh off your bones if you don't have the right protective gear. It is inhabited by Hydras and Sirens."
He held up a second finger. "Level Three: Scorching Desert. The temperature is sixty degrees Celsius in the shade, and there is no shade. The sand is infested with Dune-Worms the size of trains. You dehydrate in an hour."
A third finger. "Level Four: Blazing Hell. Volcanic terrain. Fire Elementals. The air is ash. You can't breathe without filters."
A fourth finger. "Level Five: Eternal Darkness. Total sensory deprivation. Shadow Stalkers that attack your mind, not your body. Most men go mad within ten minutes."
Julian lowered his hand, staring intensely at Adam.
"You want to free a monster? Fine. But first, you have to walk through hell four times over. We are not ready. You struggling against a Chimera proves that. If I hadn't stepped in, you would all be dead."
The reality of the gauntlet hit them hard. Harry looked like he might vomit. Even Jones looked troubled.
"And there is another thing," Julian added, his voice dropping. "The Kinslayer. He murdered his entire family. Three hundred vampires. Men, women, children. He is not a revolutionary, Adam. He is a psychopath. How do we sure he doesn't kill us the moment we break his chains?"
The question hung in the air. Why did he do it?
Adam sat back, his mind racing. He thought about Xy'lar, the demon taskmaster in the mines. He thought about the cruelty of Vex. He thought about the power of the High Seats that Tom had described beings that defied physics, beings that ruled sectors of the galaxy.
Why would a Prince of the Vampires, destined for greatness, suddenly snap? Why leave no survivors?
"Maybe," Adam said softly, staring at the table.
He looked up, locking eyes with Julian.
"Maybe he didn't snap. Maybe he was pushed."
"What do you mean?" Julian asked.
"Tom said the High Seats are powerful. Rank Nine, Rank One… godlike power," Adam reasoned, his voice gaining strength as the theory formed. "What if the Bloodrose clan was planning something? A coup? Or a deal with a rival Demon Lord? And what if a High Seat, maybe Azazel himself didn't want to fight a war?"
Adam leaned over the table. "What if they used him? Mind control. Possession. A curse. We know demons use dark magic. What better way to destroy a powerful vampire house than to make their own heir do it for them?"
A ripple of speculation ran through the group.
"It fits," Tom muttered, his eyes widening behind his lenses. "The records said 'unknown reasons.' If it was simple madness, they would have said so. If it was a power grab, they would have said so. But 'unknown'? That implies a cover-up."
"If he was mind-controlled," Astrid whispered, "then he's not just a monster. He's a victim. Just like us."
"A victim with the power to crack a moon in half," Jones added.
Adam nodded. "It would explain why he's considered a Kinslayer, but also why they kept him alive to torture him. It's not just punishment, it's containment of a weapon they created but can't fully control."
Julian sat back, the skepticism in his eyes warring with intrigue. It was a terrifying thought that even the strongest could be made into puppets but it offered a narrative that made sense. It offered a sliver of hope that Edward Bloodrose might be reasoned with.
Julian remained silent for a long moment, watching Adam. He saw the fire in the young man's eyes. It wasn't the manic fire of a zealot, it was the steady burn of a leader.
Julian sighed, a sound of resignation and resolve.
"It is a pretty story, Adam. I hope for all our sakes it is true."
He looked at Astrid, seeing her grief. He looked at Lee, seeing his pain. He looked at the empty seat of Pao.
"I am tired of this forest," Julian admitted quietly. "I am tired of being the King of a cage."
He placed his hand on the table, palm down.
"Alright. I will consider it. I will join this… pact."
Adam felt a rush of relief, but Julian raised a hand to stop him.
"But we do not go tomorrow. We do not go next week. We need to train. We need to harvest cores from the beasts in the Woods to strengthen our bodies. We need to scavenge gear for the heat and the acid. We need to become a unit that doesn't need saving."
Julian looked at Adam. "I will teach you the Flowing Water forms. But you will bleed for it."
Adam didn't hesitate. He placed his hand on top of Julian's.
"I'm ready to bleed."
Astrid placed her hand on the pile. "For Pao."
Jones added his massive hand. "For freedom."
Ylva followed. "For glory."
Lee, Tom, and finally a trembling Harry added their hands.
"For survival," Harry whispered.
Panchenko placed his hand on top, smiling a sad, grim smile. "For the absolute madness of it all."
They sat there for a moment, nine hands bound together in the center of a prison cafeteria, surrounded by enemies, plotting the impossible.
"Tomorrow," Adam said, his voice low and dangerous. "We stop surviving. We start hunting."
"The Woods won't know what hit them," Julian said, a faint, terrifying smile touching his lips.
As the horn rang for lockdown, they broke apart, not as cellmates, but as a vanguard. The path to Level Six was open in their minds. The ascent would be brutal, but for the first time since arriving in Kazakhar, Adam didn't feel like a prisoner.
He felt like an executioner in training.