Victor grabbed a sheet, wrapping it around himself as he bolted, his face pale with fear. Warren chased him to the stairs, the belt snapping at his heels, each hit a release for the rage consuming him. “Run, you coward!” he screamed, his voice breaking with the weight of his pain. Victor stumbled out, the Lamborghini’s engine roaring to life as he fled.Victor cursed as he drove away in anger and humiliation mixed together. He has never been this humiliated and promised to pay back in a 100 fold. A notorious playboy with ties to the city’s criminal underworld. They made the rules in the city. His father ruled ruled the city. Warren turned back, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with unshed tears and unrelenting fury. Rachel sat on the bed, clutching the duvet, her face a mix of shock and defiance. “What are you doing home so early?” she snapped, her voice trembling but laced with venom. “Do you know what you’ve just done? That was Victor Crane! You’re finished, Warren!” She spat a

Even the bailiffs was shocked. Blackthorn is the most dangerous and frightening prison ever built, feared all over the globe. Holding not just ordinary and mere criminals like Warren, but warlords, mafia leaders, terrorist, dangerous scientists, ex terrorist veterans that served years in war front, high level cultivators and those who had caused wide spread devastation all around the world. That was were Warren was going to be held for good seven years. For what? For drug mulling. Warren couldn't laugh or cry, he was stoic out of numbness. The bailiffs did their job and hauled him away, his wrists chafed raw by the cuffs.Some persons mustered in the court, "why blackthorn?" Blackthorn loomed on the edge of Ironspire, monolith surrounded by an iron clad built entirely from iron, high tensile metals and nothing else. It was a prison filled with despair. The transport van rumbled through its gates at dawn, the sky bruised purple. Warren’s belongings were stripped—wallet, phone, di

Warren dropped the bags, heart hammering. The yard was a chaos of movement, but no one would intervene. He backed toward the fence, scanning for an out. “I don’t want trouble,” he said, voice steady despite the fear clawing his gut.“Trouble wants you,” Dax growled, lunging. Warren dodged, his mill-worker reflexes saving him from the first swing, but the others were on him fast. A fist caught his jaw, another his ribs. He stumbled, tasting blood, and hit the ground. Boots slammed into his side, each kick a reminder of his powerlessness. The yard spun, inmates cheering like it was a sport. Hargrove watched from a tower, lighting a cigarette.Warren curled up, shielding his head, but something snapped inside. Not fear—rage. He grabbed a loose rock from the dirt, small but heavy, and swung it hard, catching one attacker’s knee. The man howled, collapsing. Warren scrambled up, swinging wildly, but he was no fighter. Another blow sent him reeling, vision blurring. Then, salvation: a riot

"Not a puppet. A partner. You wield my power, but your will shapes it. The prison bows to strength, Warren," The ring answered, "Show it". The voice softened, "no more fear, no more scraping. Respect. Power. A throne in the shadows", Then, Warren woke up all of a sudden. Everyone feared he was dead as he had suddenly collapsed and his heart stopped beating. The medical team were en route. " I passed out- that was a dream-" Warren realized. "How true were what he said? " He wondered. Warren’s collapse came moments after he walked past Dax and his crew. He quickly looked at the crown of the Abyss stucked onto his finger. "Only you can see me" The voice he had a conversation with when he passed out spoke to him again, and he retracted his hands immediately as he stood up like nothing weird just happened. The ring, an obsidian band etched with faintly glowing runes, pulsed with an unnatural heat, sending a jolt through his body. His vision blurred, his knees buckled, and the cold

The first butler’s aura-clad fist, glowing with the silvery sheen of Steel Monsoon Karate, tore through the air, aimed to rip Warren’s heart from his chest. The inmates held their breath, expecting a spray of blood to paint the mess hall floor. But Warren moved with an effortless grace that belied his bruised, battered frame. The Crown of the Abyss surged within him, its ki flooding his senses, sharpening his reflexes to a razor’s edge. He sidestepped the strike with a fluid motion, the butler’s fist grazing his sleeve, the aura’s heat singeing the fabric but leaving Warren unscathed.The hall gasped, a collective intake of breath that echoed like a storm. “He… dodged it? How did he just do that? ” a scarred smuggler whispered, his eyes wide with disbelief. The butler snarled, pivoting at supersonic speed for another Iron Tempest Strike, a barrage of aura-hardened punches that cracked the air like thunder. Warren’s body seemed to flow like water, each movement precise, almost casual.