LEGACY OF THE FORBIDDEN ARCHMAGE

4

The iron door slammed shut with a thud that left his ears ringing. Michael Dorian lay sprawled on the floor, smelling the stench of urine and damp cement in the isolation cell. His breath was short; every inhalation of oxygen felt like breathing in sawdust.

"Enjoy your night, Dorian. By tomorrow morning, you won't be a student anymore. You’ll just be a pile of meat on Lucien’s dissection table," the warden spat through the small bars before his laughter faded along with his footsteps.

Michael didn't answer. He just stared into the darkness.

"Hey, kid. Still alive?"

The voice came from the next cell. Hoarse, like a throat that hadn't tasted water in ages. Michael regulated his heavy breathing.

"Who?" Michael murmured.

"Nobody. Just a dead man they forgot to bury," the voice laughed drily. "Word of advice: don't move much. Your heart sounds terrible—like a rusted water pump about to blow."

Michael closed his eyes. He focused deep within his chest. "I know what's broken in this body."

"Knowing isn't enough. In this place, without high-grade regeneration serum, you're just on borrowed time."

"I don't need their synthetic trash," Michael replied coldly.

Michael began to adjust his sitting position. He started dissecting his leaking heart valve through his mind. Ichor Astralis: Sanguine Protocol. A searing heat began to spread. It felt as if his chest were being sliced open with a dull knife without anesthesia.

"Ugh..." Michael groaned softly, his hands gripping the concrete floor so hard his fingernails bled.

"What are you doing? Your breathing is getting worse," the voice from the next cell sounded anxious. "Don't die now—at least not until I don't have to smell your corpse tomorrow morning."

"Be quiet, old man," Michael growled through his gritted teeth.

Michael forced his mana to sew the heart muscles. One by one. Each pull of mana felt like a razor blade slicing his flesh from within. But it wasn't enough. His body lacked fuel. He looked at the flickering neon light on the ceiling. Electricity.

Michael stood on trembling legs and approached the cell wall. He pressed his palm against the concrete, feeling the vibration of the high-voltage cables behind the wall.

"What are you doing? Get away from there! There are high-voltage power lines behind that concrete, do you want to kill yourself?" the man in the next cell shouted.

Michael just gave a thin smirk. "Kill myself? No. I just want to borrow a little power."

Michael bit his fingertip, then drew an ancient symbol on the wall using his blood. Instantly, the corridor lights dimmed. A strong electrical hum began to fill the room.

"Dammit! What’s happening with the lights?!"

Electricity was forcibly pulled into Michael’s pores. His body jolted violently. A foul-smelling black liquid oozed from his pores—a forced detoxification that burned away the fat and pollution-grime in his body. His once-thin muscles began to harden and become denser.

The cell door suddenly burst open. The warden from before returned with another man, pointing electric weapons at him.

"What the hell are you doing?! Get your hands off the wall!" the warden shouted. "You trying to fry the building’s power grid?!"

Michael released his hand. He turned slowly. His eyes now glowed a faint purple, very thin yet piercing. He was still a mess, but his aura had shifted.

"The grid was already broken," Michael said shortly.

"Bastard! Shoot him!"

The warden pulled the trigger. A bolt of blue electricity shot toward Michael. However, Michael didn't dodge. He raised his right hand, catching the electrical current as if it were just tap water, then spun it in his palm before crushing it until it extinguished.

The two wardens froze. Their weapons were still smoking, but the target was still standing tall.

"Is that it?" Michael stepped forward.

"Monster... what kind of artifact do you have in your body?!" The warden tried to reload his weapon with trembling hands.

Without a word, Michael lunged. He didn't use fancy magic, just a pure punch to the first warden’s solar plexus. The sound of a cracking rib was clear. Michael snatched the warden’s electric weapon, then slammed its handle into the second warden’s temple until he passed out.

Everything happened in five seconds. Michael didn't need a long-winded dialogue.

He turned to the next cell. "Old man, you want to stay in there or are you coming out?"

Silence. The man in the next cell could only gape at the bars of Michael’s cell, which now seemed utterly meaningless. "You... are you really that weak student, Michael Dorian?"

Michael didn't answer. He took the keys from the unconscious warden’s belt, tossed them toward the next cell, and walked out into the dark corridor. He didn't feel great; he just felt hungry. He needed more energy before Lucien Osiris realized his toy had escaped its cage.