The five of them moved quickly, rushing through the cold metal flooring of the corridor. The old man walked at the front with steady and unhesitating steps — as if he'd memorized every turn, every junction, and every shadow of this place. Kael didn't know whether that was comforting or terrifying.
Behind them, the distant echoes of screams and screeches grew sharper, bouncing through the passageways. Whatever was happening in the courtyard was spreading — fast. They didn't have the luxury of lingering after that tense confrontation.
Kael kept pace as best as he could, clinking the shackles with every stride, and the empty rifle gripped awkwardly in both bound hands. The others moved with tense urgency, exchanging short glances but no words.
He wasn't stupid. They weren't heading randomly through the prison interior. And when he thought back to the way the old man's group acted… how coordinated they were… and the strange mention of a "treasure"…
'Yeah. They weren't here just to hide...'
Kael exhaled through his nose, narrowing his eyes. He had a feeling they came into this place for something else entirely — shelter was only the excuse.
He didn't get the chance to think further.
A shadow swept low from the upper rafters — a shrill screech tearing through the corridor — and a winged rat dropped down from a ventilation hatch above, landing just a few paces behind him.
"You've gotta be kidding—!"
"Keep moving!" the old man ordered, not even turning back. And at that, the group obeyed instantly.
The prisoner with the thick beard — the same one who'd pinned Kael earlier — didn't run. Instead, he pivoted on his heel, planting himself between the group and the abjection.
The creature lunged.
The bearded man caught it mid-flight by the throat.
Kael's eyes widened as he stumbled backward with the others, still running. The man squeezed once — a brutal, crushing twist — and the creature's neck snapped with a sickening crack. Before its wings even finished spasming, he slammed its body against the wall, splitting it open like a burst sack.
Kael stared, breathless.
'What… the hell…?'
His mind raced, barely keeping his feet moving. That wasn't normal strength. Not even close. That was—
"Is that… what a Gnosis could do to someone?" he muttered to himself, shaken.
Extraordinary strength. Inhuman precision.
The kind of power he'd only heard stories about.
Will he — once he completed this Metanoia — be able to do something like that? The thought flashed through his mind.
***
The group barreled through another junction. The corridor widened slightly as they neared the storage wing — rows of doors on either side, pipes overhead, the smell of rust and stale air thickening.
Then— A thud, followed by a high-pitched, chittering shriek.
Kael's head snapped upward.
From the narrow service crawlspace running along the ceiling — little more than a mesh-covered duct — more and more winged rats squeezed through the broken gaps, their claws clattering against the metal as they spilled directly into the hallway.
The whole room went to hell in seconds.
Screams erupted — human ones. From further behind
Kael twisted mid-run and caught a glimpse down the far corridor: inmates — dozens — rushing in from the courtyard entrance. Some bleeding, some armed with stolen pipes, others empty-handed. They crashed against retreating guards who were trying — and failing — to form any kind of defense line.
The whole mess was stampeding straight toward them.
'They got inside too…!'
Another vent above them burst open, showering dust, and a winged rat dropped straight into the chaos—latching onto an inmate's shoulder. The man shrieked, flailing, slamming himself against a wall to knock it off. Another guard tackled both of them, and all three vanished into a pile of flailing limbs as Kael was forced to look forward again.
"Do not stop!" the old man barked, his voice cutting through the panic.
But the group's formation was already beginning to fray. Panic did that. Even the ones who had been calm minutes ago were now choosing self-preservation first—spacing widening between each person, every man breaking into a desperate sprint.
Kael tried to keep up.
Tried — while his bound hands made him clumsy with every turn. His shackles clinked violently as he stumbled on a slight elevation in the floor. He nearly toppled—but forced his legs to keep moving.
Another screech ripped through the hall.
An injured winged rat—a smaller one—dragged itself out from under a discarded crate to his left. One of its wings hung crookedly, broken. But its eyes still blazed with feral hunger.
It lunged for Kael's ankle.
He didn't think — there wasn't time to.
His hands were still bound, and his rifle was empty and useless except as dead weight.
But his shackles—
Kael swung both arms downward with all the force momentum gave him. The heavy chain arced and caught the rat square across the skull with a metallic crack. Its head whipped sideways, smacking against the floor.
The creature twitched—hissed—and tried to crawl back up.
"Just die, would you!"
Kael followed up immediately, lifting his bound wrists high and bringing them down again—harder this time. The iron links smashed its skull with a wet crunch, silencing it instantly.
He stood there panting for a heartbeat.
Then a bitter, breathless laugh escaped him. A familiar dark orb flickered into existence soon after, but Kael didn't pay it any mind this time — he just kept running.
Up ahead—A lone guard stood planted in the middle of the passage, bracing himself against the wall. Blood seeped from a torn sleeve, but he still fired down a branching hallway, trying to hold back a wave of chittering abjections.
But then—
He glanced over his shoulder. And upon seeing the old man, his eyes widened in recognition. He jerked his head sharply toward a wide industrial door to his right. He smacked a hand against it—
"In here!" he shouted hoarsely. "Go—GO!"
The old man didn't question it.
"Inside! Move!"
They surged toward the heavy door, which the guard hauled open with both hands. A cavernous loading bay lay beyond — shadowy and vast, with metal racks and storage platforms. A defensible space.
One by one, the old man's group slipped past the guard and into the loading bay — the young man first, then the crooked-nose one. The bearded man followed last, pausing only long enough to make sure the others cleared the threshold.
Kael tried to close the distance, but the gap between him and the others only widened. His shackles dragged at him. His lungs screamed. The echoing panic behind him didn't help.
By the time he reached the threshold, the bearded man was already bracing the heavy door, his massive hands gripping its edge as he began to heave it shut.
"Wait!" Kael shouted, voice cracking.
The bearded man's gaze flicked toward him — sharp, unreadable, the same intensity he'd shown when he'd snapped the creature's neck earlier.
They locked eyes.
And in that brief, tense heartbeat, the man loosened his grip — slowing the swing of the door just enough to leave a narrowing gap.
An invitation.
Kael didn't stop to think. He threw himself forward—an awkward, full-body leap with bound hands clenched around the empty rifle. His shoulder slammed painfully into the floor as he rolled through, knocking the breath from his lungs.
The moment Kael was clear, the bearded man shut the door fully—BANG—and immediately reached for a discarded metal bar leaning against the wall. He jammed it through the inner locking brackets, forcing it down until the reinforced latch clanged into place.
Outside, within seconds—
Screeching. Slamming. Fists and claws hammered against the steel.
Then came screams — not from the creatures, but from people.
Inmates. Guards. Whoever hadn't made it behind the door.
"Open up! OPEN—!"
"Please— PLEASE— let us—!!"
"Don't shut—don't—!!"
A horrible sounds of desperation.
Kael stood frozen, staring at the rattling metal as the noises escalated — until they abruptly changed.
Wet, crunching impacts. The sound of tearing. Of bones splitting. Of bodies being dragged away. The screaming finally faded.
Only the scratching and the feeding remained.
The pounding outside dulled at last, replaced only by the distant, wet sounds of feeding. The loading bay fell into a tense, eerie quiet. Kael swallowed hard, trying to steady his breath.
That was when he noticed it.
The narrow-faced man—usually quiet, always lurking at the back—was slumped against a crate, one hand pressed shakily to his ribs. Blood leaked between his fingers, pooling darkly beneath him. A deep gash ran across his side, torn open by something far bigger than a winged rat.
He tried to hide it. He really did.
But when he attempted to stand, his leg buckled. He went down hard with a muffled grunt.
The old man slowly approached him, kneeling beside the wounded prisoner. His expression was unreadable — calm, steady, almost gentle.
The narrow-faced man looked up at him, trembling.
"...Old man," he whispered in a thin voice. "I… I can still—"
The old man placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Shh."
A soft, almost fatherly gesture, until his other hand moved.
In one fluid, practiced motion, he pulled something from the man's belt — a rusted knife — and buried it straight into his heart.
A sharp and wet thud.
The narrow-faced man convulsed once then sagged, until he finally went still.
Kael froze at the sight. His breath vanished.
The old man withdrew the blade, wiped it clean on the dead man's sleeve, and stood up slowly —weariness settling into his posture like it had always been there.
He didn't say anything either, he just simply looked at the remaining three of them… then at Kael.
And with the same steady calm he'd used all day, he said:
"Shall we continue?"