The feast unfolded, food were eaten, wine and bear were drunken like there was no tomorrow.
Anika sat across from him, candlelight reflecting in her eyes. She smiled when expected, laughed softly at his stories—but she asked questions.
About the castle's foundations. About labor sources.
About why certain corridors were sealed.
Henry answered easily.
Confidence made him careless.
Around midnight the hall was empty, the people slept, just some mice were still seeking for food.
Just Anika were up, her tired eyes scanned the sleeping room. Her expression were exhausted, she was still a young and did not want to drink alcohol — besides the taste isn't to her liking as well.
So she carefully stepped towards the door, after Henry made the last standing men—now sleeping as well— , looking out for her servants, but even they were knocked out.
Her brows raised but shook her head.
„Oh, you are awake!"
Anika jolted and turned around, Henry stood right behind her, clearly drunken. He licked his lips and dusted of some food of his cloth.
„Henry…didnt you sleep?" she hissed, clenching her fists.
He torkele forward, but never once stepped on someone, „you look tired! Let me show you, your room!"
Anika, seeing that only he was awake, nodded. The view of relaxing, was greater than the feel of danger. Then with little steps did she follow Henry, though the dark castle.
„Come on! It's right here around the corner!" they took the turn and Henry opened a thick door for her, inside she could see a big and soft bed, a fluffy carpet and a wide window, through what she could see the moon shining high up in the sky.
She stepped in and turned around; „Thank you!" and wanted to close the door but Henry held it open!
„Not that fast! I think your thanks is not enough, we are a married couple in some days, shouldn't you—?" He reached out, touching her left breast slightly.
Anika stomped, slapped his fingers away, anger rising up in her and with disdain she spat; „Never! And don't you dare touch me you bastard!"
Henry was perplexed and just stared back at her.
„Why would I marry some ugly son of an dirty adventurer city located in the monster land? With the biggest slum I know of?" she crossed her arms, „don't take me for a naive young girl, I informed myself and I wouldn't even come here if my parents hadn't pressed me!"
She took a deep breath and continued; „I'm never going to marry you, Henry Tarakan. The punchbag of the magic academy! The heir with thousand forced woman's. The next lord of this abandoned fortress, with no nation! No connections! Nothing!"
„The only thing you are good at, is earth magic!" she wrinkled her nose and opened her mouth again, but before she could say anything else, Henry grabbed her by the throat and threw her in the room.
Her eyes were in shock and Anika lay gasping for air on the ground; „You…won't…dare!" she whispered.
Henry shook his head, his smile friendly but his eyes filled with enraged fire. He slowly walked in and locked the door behind him.
„These are not really nice things you are saying to your future husband! But I know you like me! So I don't care."
"Ha! Why would you say this shit?"
"Hmm? Why else would you be so nice to me at the feast earlier? " he kicked her in the stomach and looked at her flying body with a now lustful gaze.
"You know Anika." he said slow, „soon I'm going to be a big hit in Lyrania!"
With blood dripping out of her mouth, Anika chuckled; „A loser like you? Never! Exactly like I'm never going to be your woman or ever liked you!"
Henry stomped and a earthy fist let Anika roll infront of his feet; „You…!" he hissed and stomped on her face, pressing it into the soft carpet, „don't pretend! I show you how much you like me!"
He ripped of her cloth and held her innocent body into the moon light. She trembled what turned Henry on even more. So he let down his hose, showing his erect third pinky finger.
Anika, even though frightened, scuffed; „That is not going to hurt—„
Henry shut her up as he threw her on the ground, and said nothing. His angry eyes said everything. As if wanting to avoid the view, Anika looked to the side before turning her beautiful frightful eyes back.
His eleventh finger twitched even more as he saw her shaky teary eyes and —
*Clirr*
He jolted took a step back out of surprise and…
„AHHHH!"
…
The dungeon was quieter than usual. Henry had ordered it so, even the guards were hurrying away, just as Henry left the dungeon a few minutes ago.
Guests were present. Music echoed above already. Laughter. Wine. Applause.
Down here, he heard his breath and the iron chains from time time, when he moved a little.
His body bore scars that no longer fully faded—marks regeneration could close but not erase. His breathing was slow, controlled. His senses got sharper than they had ever been.
He listened. Footsteps above. Patterns. Guard rotations.
Something was different.
The air felt… looser.
„Maybe today…" he mumbled.
The runes binding his chains pulsed steadily, but the ambient mana feeding them was weaker. Redirected upward—toward celebration wards, illusion magic, protective enchantments for honored guests.
Sam noticed.
One or two hours later, the old mage came alone.
No guards.
He muttered as he worked, adjusting runes meant to limit Sam's regeneration during Henry's absence.
"Bloody nuisance," the mage grumbled already reeking of alcohol. "If you'd just die properly…"
„Fuck.." he tried to correct it but shrugged his shoulders as he saw Sam; „this rat isn't even strong enough to breath…hiek"
Just slightly. A rune misaligned.
Sam felt it immediately. Not freedom, But maybe a chance.
He turned to leave.
Sam did nothing. He continued hanging motionless in the chains, he heard the footsteps and waited even after the mage was far away for some unknown time.
It was silent. Just his own breath and his heart beat, getting stronger by the second. His mana starting to stir again, just a little bit.
Sam grinned, the mage released the magic restriction. Just a little, but enough for his body to feed on it.
The misaligned rune burned against his left wrist.
Just slightly off. Just enough.
Sam began with the smallest thing he could control.
His fingers.
He twitched one.
The chain responded instantly, tightening, runes flaring—but the feedback lagged. A fraction of a heartbeat too slow.
Sam stilled and waited some moments, but nothing happened. No one came down, no guard looked after him. As if he was forgotten.
His heart pounded, but he forced it down. Slow. Calm. He took deep breaths.
He tried again—this time curling two fingers.
Pain flared, sharp and immediate, but weaker than it should have been. The rune sputtered, its glow uneven.
Sam exhaled slowly through his nose.
There.
He began to work methodically.
Not pulling.
Not struggling.
Grinding.
He shifted his wrist a finger's width at a time, letting the chain scrape against bone and scar tissue. The metal heated. Skin split. Blood ran.
He welcomed it.
Regeneration kicked in, sealing the damage just fast enough to keep him moving—but not fast enough to stop the abrasion.
Pain became rhythm.
Shift.
Burn.
Heal.
Repeat.
Hours might have passed. Or minutes. Time meant nothing here.
Finally—
Crack.
Not the chain.
The rune.
A thin fracture ran through the etched symbol, light flickering like a dying candle.
Sam didn't smile.
He kept going.
When the rune finally shattered, the backlash slammed into him—raw mana surging into his arm like ice water injected into veins. He bit down hard, teeth cracking against each other to keep from screaming.
The left chain went slack.
Just a little.
That was all he needed.
He let his body hang fully, transferring his weight. Bone ground against metal. Ligaments screamed. Something in his shoulder tore.
He didn't care. It was not that bad.
The right chain tightened in response—but too late.
Sam wrenched his left arm free.
The sudden freedom sent him crashing to the floor.
He lay there, gasping, muscles spasming uncontrollably. Blood pooled beneath him. His vision blurred white, then black, then back again.
He laughed once.
"Still alive," he whispered.
No alarms.
No footsteps.
Henry had pulled too much mana upstairs.
Sam dragged himself upright, teeth clenched, using the wall for support. His legs trembled violently, barely holding his weight.
He tore the remaining chain loose with his freed arm, screaming silently as the iron ripped skin and muscle of his feet's.
"Your turn," he whispered.