Prisoners of the wilds

The Guard's Trap

"Get back to the portal right now," Marcus Vance shouted, rushing toward the spot where the blue energy hummed.

He didn't wait for Lyra to answer. He slammed his palm against the thin air, forcing his Vance blood to ignite the hidden rift. The starlight-blue vortex ripped open with a loud, tearing sound, and Marcus threw himself through the blinding light just as the world shifted around him.

He tumbled heavily onto the cold, hard stone floor of Cell 44, quickly sliding the loose brick back into the wall. The blue glow vanished into the shadows just a single fraction of a second before the heavy iron cell door blasted completely off its hinges with a deafening bang.

Smoke, fire, and shards of hot metal filled the cramped room. Marcus scrambled to his feet, coughing as the heavy dust coated his lungs. He stood right in the center of the cell, dripping with sweat and covered in the glowing, iridescent dust of the alien jungle.

Warden Thomas Vance marched through the thick smoke, flanked by five heavily armed guards with raised crossbows. Behind them walked a tall, terrifying man wearing long crimson robes and a thick black blindfold over his eyes. The blind man held a gnarled wooden staff that vibrated with a sickening purple light.

"Well, look what we have here," Thomas sneered, waving the smoke away from his pristine uniform. "The cell is completely empty of tools, yet you are standing there covered in strange dust, breathing like a broken horse. Where have you been hiding, Marcus?"

"I have been right here, uncle," Marcus said, keeping his voice steady despite his racing heart. "Your men just lack the intelligence to find a man in the dark."

"Quiet, you traitorous dog," Thomas barked, stepping aside to let the blindfolded man walk forward. "This is the Royal Inquisitor. He does not need tunnels or tools to find the truth. He will reach directly into your skull and rip out every single memory you are trying to hide from me."

The Inquisitor stepped into the center of the cell, his head tilting slightly as if he could hear Marcus's heartbeat. He raised his glowing wooden staff, pointing the tip directly at Marcus’s forehead. "State your true purpose, criminal," the Inquisitor commanded, his voice echoing with a strange, heavy psychic weight that made the air freeze.

"I have nothing to say to you," Marcus said, clenching his fists.

The Inquisitor narrowed his hidden gaze and unleashed a massive wave of purple telepathic energy straight into Marcus’s skull. The psychic force hit Marcus like a physical hammer, trying to force his mind open. But the moment the dark magic touched his skin, the silver dragon amulet beneath his tattered linen shirt flared with absolute fury.

The amulet did not just block the attack. It gathered the Inquisitor's own psychic force and multiplied it, blasting a massive wave of pure, absolute psychic frost right back down the magical link into the mage's brain.

The Inquisitor let out a horrific, blood-curdling shriek, dropping his staff as he collapsed onto the stone floor. He grabbed his head with both hands, his body thrashing violently in the dust as blood began to stream from beneath his blindfold. "The ice, the ice is burning my mind," the Inquisitor screamed, foam bubbling at his lips as he rolled around like a madman. "He is a demon. He has a frozen labyrinth in his skull. Kill him, kill him now."

Thomas gasped, taking three steps back in absolute terror as his prized mage went completely insane on the floor. "What did you do to him? What kind of dark heresy are you using, Marcus?"

"I told you, Thomas," Marcus said, his eyes flashing in the dark. "You do not know anything about my family."

"Briggs, shoot him," Thomas roared, turning to Guard Captain Briggs who was standing near the doorway. "Execute this monster right now. Shoot him between the eyes."

Captain Briggs stepped forward, raising his heavy, loaded iron crossbow, aiming it directly at Marcus's chest. But as Briggs looked at Marcus, he remembered the fist-sized mana crystal tucked securely inside his leather pouch. He realized that if Marcus died right here, his infinite source of unthinkable wealth would be gone forever. He would go back to being a broke, miserable prison guard under a cruel warden.

"I said shoot him, Briggs," Thomas screamed, his face turning red with rage.

"You know what, Warden?" Briggs said, a greedy, dark smile spreading across his face. "I think I am tired of taking your orders."

Before any of the guards could react, Briggs pivoted on his heel and pulled the trigger of his crossbow. The heavy iron bolt flew across the narrow room, piercing straight through the throat of the nearest guard. The man dropped to the floor without a sound, blood pooling in the dust.

"Briggs, you traitor," Thomas shrieked, drawing his own silver sword.

"Kill the captain," the remaining guards yelled, spinning their weapons around to face Briggs.

A chaotic, bloody shootout exploded inside the narrow stone walls of the cell block. Briggs dropped his empty crossbow, drew his heavy iron mace, and swung it hard into the jaw of another guard, sending teeth flying across the room. The other three guards fired their weapons, the loud cracks of black powder weapons filling the hallway with fresh smoke and flying lead.

"Get down, Briggs," Marcus shouted, seeing a guard level a rifle at the captain's back.

Marcus didn't even think about the consequences. He reached deep into his chest, tapping into the cold, electric power he had absorbed from the stone guardian golem in the Wilds. He thrust his hands forward, calling upon his bloodline magic.

Suddenly, Marcus’s own shadow on the floor detached itself entirely from his feet. The dark silhouette morphed into a massive, solid shield of thick black smoke, rising up five feet into the air right in front of Briggs. The guard’s rifle bullet slammed into the shadow shield, losing all its momentum and dropping harmlessly to the stone floor like a pebble.

The entire prison guard staff froze in absolute, paralyzing horror. The shooting stopped instantly as every eye in the room locked onto the writhing, living black mist protecting Marcus and Briggs.

"Look at his shadow," a guard whispered, his hands shaking so hard he dropped his weapon. "He is a sorcerer. He is using black magic."

Warden Thomas Vance stared at the independent shadow shroud, his face turning completely pale as the pieces of the puzzle finally clicked together in his mind. "The shadow manipulation of the kings," Thomas whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of immense fear and dark realization. "You actually found the gateway to the Wilds. You have the royal blood power."

Marcus didn't answer with words. He glared at his uncle, his anger boiling over as he remembered his murdered father. He flexed his fingers, commanding the shadow magic with his mind.

The black mist shot across the room like a striking viper. Before Thomas could even lift his silver sword, the solid tendril of shadow magic wrapped tightly around the Warden’s throat. With a single, powerful jerk of Marcus's arm, the shadow lifted the heavy Warden completely off his feet, pinning him against the high stone ceiling of the cell block as his legs kicked wildly in the empty air.

"Drop your weapons," Marcus commanded the surviving guards, his voice echoing with a terrifying, dual-toned power that made the stone walls vibrate. "Or I will watch him choke to death right now."