Today is the day… once he comes through that door, it’s over. I’m going to watch the life drain from him.

Visrace quietly murmured in the dark of his cell. Despite having waited 7 long years for this day, he was completely unaware of how much time had passed since his incarceration. 

For over 2000 days, he had clawed at the metal chain around his ankle. 

Night and day, he scraped filings from it with his increasingly long fingernails, and although he never felt closer to achieving his goal, he never gave up, all while picturing the day he’d be able to reenter the world, unchained and uncontrollable. 

In the distance, a heavy cast iron door sluggishly heaved open as the familiar sound of footsteps echoed throughout the dust-covered walkway. Visrace clenched his teeth, his heart beating faster than it had since the day he was imprisoned in the moss-covered, blackened room. Silently tucking the chained leg underneath him, he sat against the wall. 

As the jangling of the keys became audible, a sound which once sent shivers down his spine, he drew a long, deep breath from the depth of his lungs.

“Still sitting, are we? What’ve I told you about my little visits and how I expect to find you?” the guard, a towering chunk of fat and muscle, laughed lecherously as he entered the room.

Without raising his head, Visrace gently rose to his feet, twisted toward the wall and placed his hands on the cold stone.

“There’s a good boy,” the guard said, chuckling as he began to unbutton his trousers.

“This ends now,” Visrace muttered under his breath. As the guard stepped toward him, Visrace raised his now-freed leg toward his chest before placing it firmly on the wall, pushing off of it while flipping backwards. With his hands touching the ground, the rest of his body glided swiftly through the air. Incredible force sent Visrace’s other leg crashing down onto the top of the guard’s skull, sending the burly man toppling forward to the floor. 

Just as the body slammed down, Visrace darted around onto his back, grabbing a tuft of hair in one hand as the other plunged the sharp end of what remained of the shackle deep into the guard’s neck. A gurgling noise filled the air, and a spray of crimson blood painted the walls as he yanked it from what was now a lifeless heap of a man.

For a moment, Visrace stood above the twitching body as the contents of the guard’s veins slowly filled the cracks of the floor. A wry smile came across his lips, and his heartbeat slowed to a crawl as he experienced a sudden burst of serenity.

A shame you got off so lightly, if only you could have suffered for a bit longer, Visrace thought to himself as he leant down to swipe the weathered club which dangled from the guard’s belt. 

Stepping over the body, he then exited the room that had been his home for countless months.

Don’t get complacent, this is just the beginning, now comes the hard part.

Having been brought to the room blindfolded in the dead of night many years ago, Visrace was surprised to see that his cell was the only one around. This, he decided, was a good thing as there would be no other prisoners in the vicinity to draw attention with their pleas and shouts of surprise. By his estimation, he had until either someone realised the guard was missing, or he himself was noticed.

Ample amounts of caution and speed, then, he thought, focusing his mind as he moved quickly but cautiously toward the iron door, the screeching of which had plagued his nightmares most nights.

As the door remained open ever so slightly, Visrace took a slight step back to immerse himself in the shadows before carefully peering out. On the other side of the door was a small rectangle-shaped room, dimly lit with a single lamp hanging next to a door opposite. 

The room was empty, save for a battered desk and chair. No cause for concern, he decided. Although, the light and noises coming from behind the fastened door leading out of the room held a faint air of danger.

The handle turned awkwardly like a stick through stiffened mud, jolting slightly as the door shifted away from its frame, bleeding a whisper of light into the room and onto Visrace’s barefoot. How long had it been, he wondered, since he’d felt the warmth of sunlight on his skin.

“You think this is clean? I’ve seen shitters cleaner than this!” a nearby deep voice bellowed. 

Visrace’s body stiffened as he closed the door ever so slightly to ensure he was as concealed as possible. By resting his cheek against the wall, he gleaned a narrow view of the area and the man to whom the voice belonged. 

Another guard, presumably more senior than the one whose body was growing cold on the floor of his cell given his pointed yet sleek helm and armour, stood within the outskirts of an open-air grassy square surrounded by an otherwise deserted covered walkway. 

The guard’s long and unkempt brown beard quivered as each vile word escaped his mouth. The nostrils of his bulbous, alcohol-reddened nose flared, and his eyes squinted and widened with every new insult. The scullery maid, who was apparently the source of his anger, hung her head, seemingly used to and yet still not comfortable with the berating. 

“Look at me woman!” he shouted, his hand driving across her face with a slap that echoed throughout the surrounding area. 

Visrace’s fists clenched as he became enraged. His mind flittered to the possibility of darting out from the room to beat the man senseless, and yet, his ability to escape hinged completely on remaining unseen. Just as he resigned himself to inaction, the guard’s hand found its way around the maid’s neck. 

Gripping firmly as the muscles in his exposed forearm popped, the maid’s feet left the floor as he raised her toward the ceiling. She did not attempt to free herself in any way, the sight of which and the sense of dread that was clear from her quivering eyes pushed Visrace to move. Without even opening the door, his slender body slipped through the crack and darted toward the guard. 

Club in hand, he rushed furiously and at the last minute, lurched onto his knees, sliding across the marbled floor toward the guard. The guard’s attention was drawn but not quick enough to avoid having one of his kneecaps shattered by Visrace as he swiftly struck him from the ground. 

The guard wailed, dropping the maid to the floor who just as quickly flurried away to safety. Howling in pain and fury, the guard’s gigantic hands swooped down, catching Visrace by his unkempt and overgrown hair, which once a golden blonde had turned to a muddied worn-down grey. With all his might, the guard flung Visrace across the floor and into the air. 

Slamming hard into a stone pillar, his breath disappeared in an instant. With unbridled rage, the guard stomped toward him. 

I’ll breathe when I’m safe, he decided, springing to his feet. 

“I’m gonna smash you into mush!” the guard shouted as he limped toward Visrace with the intensity of a raging furnace. 

Visrace’s youth proved advantageous, as he sprightly dodged the guard’s swinging fist coming toward his face before grabbing the outstretched arm and pulling himself onto it to bring his assailant down. The guard hit the floor face first with a look of astonishment. 

Visrace quickly determined he had only one option to escape the dilemma he had found himself in, and with that, wrapped his right arm around the guard’s forehead, clenched all the muscles in his body, and rolled sharply to the side, snapping the guard’s thick neck with a horrifyingly stodgy crunch. 

No time to stop, have to keep going, Visrace thought, still struggling to catch his breath. 

Surveying the area, he noticed a double door on the opposite side of the square. An exit? As good a choice as any, he decided, racing toward it with aplomb. 

Again, he pressed the doors open gently, doing his best not to arouse any potential attention on the other side. Upon doing so, it seemed, his luck had run out. There was no empty corridor or quiet outdoor space. Instead, what lay behind the door was a large hall with at least five armoured guards, all of whom appeared to simply be waiting for something to happen. 

There’s only one way out.

Visrace took a deep breath, pushed the door open and ran toward the closest guard he could find, swiping the blade from his belt before placing it firmly against his neck and holding him from behind. Silence fell on the room as all eyes turned toward Visrace.

One guard dropped his drink and stood in open-mouthed awe of the audacity of such an action while another rubbed his bleary eyes as if trying to wake from a dream. Visrace sharply thrust his knee into his captive’s back, strongly encouraging him to walk toward the door. The closest guards drew their swords clumsily. 

Visrace knew his only way out was through the shedding of more blood and quickly sliced the throat of the guard in his grasp. The others, shocked, raced toward him. The most confident of all swiped his blade downward but, in doing so, left himself open to a side-swipe which Visrace gladly took advantage of, slicing him from back to front with ease. 

The second followed almost directly behind the first, shouting as he came closer to the young man. His thrust did not meet his target, however, as the manoeuvre was anticipated and deflected, sending the blade hurtling into the air while its owner’s stomach received a mortal gash. 

In horror, the third stumbled away, his moment of hesitation sealing his fate at the sharp end of Visrace’s sabre, whereas the fourth and fifth hurtled out of danger, signing their death warrants at the hands of their employer in the process. 

The sea had parted, and the door that lay directly ahead of Visrace was reached in just a handful of long, swift strides. 

With haste, he barged it open with his shoulder and despite being almost blinded by the light outside, maintained his composure and pace out of the building, down its numerous steps, and out onto the cobbled streets where he dived into small winding lanes away from prying eyes.

- Later that day, The Throne Room of the Corscelia Empire -

“I have news, my lord,” the King’s squire shouted, hurrying into the room with such aplomb that he almost tripped over himself.

“Haven’t I heard enough from you for one day,” the King, a towering, scarred man adorned with a thick light green cloak and a crown that rested precariously on his balding head, replied gruffly.

“It is… well, I am very sorry to say this sire…” the squire hesitated.

“Get on with it man! Or I’ll have your head on a spike for the gulls to pick and peck at,” he shouted, spitting on the floor.”

“Well, you see, it is, the, uh, prince, sire, the prince has escaped…”

A deft silence, thick and stifling like the smog in the lower lands, fell on the room as the King's eyes grew frighteningly fierce.