I hit it again. And again.
The rhythm turns frantic, desperate, every strike fueled by the sound of their breathing, by the sight of blood dripping faster now, feeding the carved lines in the floor. Sylvian slams his sword down beside my blade, over and over, his movements just as desperate, just as relentless.
“The knives… are getting deeper,” he says tightly.
“I know,” I whisper, even as my vision starts to blur.
Oberon lets out another strained breath as the blade digs deeper, and this time he doesn’t manage to hide it. Panic surges, sharp and suffocating. I hit the chain harder.
“Come on,” I mutter, the words breaking apart as I force everything I have into the next strike.
The metal cracks. Hope flares inside of me.
“Again!” Sylvian snaps.
I swing. The chain breaks. One wrist drops. Then the other.
“Almost,” I breathe, dropping lower, my hands shaking as Sylvian and I go for the shackles at his legs.
The blades are higher now. Too high.
“Hurry,” Oberon grits out, trying to shift himself off the blades beneath him, and there’s no hiding the pain in his voice.
“I’m trying,” I whisper, my voice breaking as I strike again, and again, each hit weaker than the last, my strength draining too fast, but Sylvian works on the same chain, taking turns with my blows.
Sylvian raises the sword and brings it down with everything he has left. The chain shatters. Then, with more effort, the other one around his ankle falls too.
Oberon collapses forward with a rough, broken sound, a ragged gasp tearing from his throat, and for a split second I catch sight of his back and legs, soaked in blood, the wounds deeper than I had allowed myself to believe. My chest tightens painfully,something close to grief threatening to rise, but there’s no time for it.
He forces himself to his feet anyway, jaw clenched, pain and fury warring in his expression.
“Now Ashton,” Oberon says through gritted teeth, motioning for me to move, urgency sharpening every word.
The three of us split up, working quickly on his chains, our hands moving with desperate urgency as time slips further and further out of reach. I hack at Ashton’s chains, each strike jarring through my arms as I fight to keep control, to keep focus. Blood loss has drained the color from his face, and he sways slightly, but he doesn’t complain, doesn’t waste breath on it, his strength holding even as his body threatens to give out.
When we finally get him free, Oberon slips an arm around his waist, catching him as he stumbles.
“Thanks,” Ashton mutters, his usual cocky tone dulled by exhaustion, the weight of everything pressing down on all of us.
But there’s no time to stop. Cassius is next.
And the moment I look at him, dread twists deep in my stomach. He is barely conscious, his head lolling forward, his body slack against the chains in a way that feels wrong, too still.
“Cassius!” I call, my voice breaking as fear claws its way up my throat.
He doesn’t respond.
“Move!” Sylvian barks, shoving me aside as he steps in, his urgency snapping me out of it.
I glance at Oberon, who nods once, sharp and certain, before turning back to the task. Together, we work, the blades rising dangerously deeper into Cassius’s body, each tick of the mechanism echoing like a countdown in my skull.
Cassius’s body hangs limp, bound by the chains that have become his prison. Blood trails down his sides, pooling beneath him, soaking into the grooves of the ancient carvings that linethe stone floor. The air is thick with the metallic scent of blood, suffocating in its intensity, making it impossible to think of anything else.
His life is slipping with it. I can see it.Feelit. But the only thing I can do is work harder. Strike the chains faster. And pray.
When the last chain finally breaks, Cassius crumples, his body giving out completely.
All four men lift him off the blades and bring him to his feet, but he simply crumples. Sylvian catches him before he can hit the ground, his arms wrapping around him, holding him up with a strength that looks like it is costing him everything he has left.
