Chapter 71: The Beast Within

When Leon jolted awake, the room had already sunk into a heavy, suffocating dusk. His first thought was that he might still be trapped in some half-formed nightmare, because nothing felt real. The air was thick and stale, pressing against his lungs with every ragged breath.

A dim, yellow light leaked through the crack beneath the door. It came from an oil lamp in the corridor, its flame flickering wildly as though it too was struggling to survive. The unsteady glow slithered into the room, casting long, distorted shadows that danced across the walls—grotesque silhouettes that writhed like hungry specters, ready to devour him.

The shrill quarrel of Celeste had vanished, dissolved into memory. The raspy, mocking voice of the treacherous driver was gone as well. Only silence remained—thick, oppressive, unnatural. It was the silence of a grave, as if the world outside had been buried alive and the earth was sealing itself shut above him.

Then came the pain.

A sharp sting burned into his wrists where the ropes had chewed through skin to raw flesh. Dried blood cracked with every move, while the coarse fibers bit deeper, sending fire racing through his arms—like a thousand blades carving him open. Each strained shift made his bones grind with a sickening crunch.

He tried to steady his breath, but it only came in harsh, uneven rasps. The air was poisoned with the stench of damp rot, the sweet-sour decay of wood, and the unmistakable metallic tang of blood. It coated his throat, bitter and suffocating. Sweat poured down his temples, stinging his eyes, and slid salty into the corners of his mouth.

He pulled at the bonds with a sudden violent jerk. Muscles surged, bulging beneath skin stretched taut like cords ready to snap. His shoulders twisted, tendons straining, bones grinding. The ropes held fast. Blood welled anew, hot and sticky, streaming down his arm and soaking into the shredded fabric of his sleeve. A flash of despair cut through his eyes—but he bit down hard, teeth sinking into his own lip until blood filled his mouth. He would not yield.

Time dragged mercilessly. Half an hour. An hour. He had no way of knowing. Sweat dripped from his chin, splattering onto the floor, merging with the stain of blood that spread beneath him in dark, ugly blotches. His chest heaved, each heartbeat pounding against his ribs like a war drum, so loud he swore the guards outside would hear it. His vision dimmed at the edges, narrowing to the ropes that imprisoned him.

And then—when he thought his strength had bled away—one rope around his right wrist slipped loose.

“Kh-hhh…” A hoarse gasp tore itself from his throat. His freed hand shook violently, every nerve screaming as blood surged back, stabbing needles of fire into his palm and fingers. Leon clenched his jaw, forced his other wrist free, then bent low, hands shaking as he fumbled at the knots around his ankles. Each movement ripped muscles raw, tore open skin, painted the floor in fresh streaks of blood.

When at last his legs were unbound, he slumped forward, body trembling, lungs dragging in air like a drowning man clawing toward the surface.

Silence still cloaked the corridor beyond the door. He staggered closer, pressing one ear to the crack. Footsteps scraped faintly against stone. Two shadows loomed just outside, stretched grotesquely long by the flickering lamp. They stood still—like predators at rest, patient and merciless—unaware that their prey was no longer helpless.

His gaze swept the barren room. Empty. Except—there, in the corner—a decrepit chair, its paint peeling, wood splintering like rotting flesh. He seized one of its legs, wrenching it loose with a muffled crack. His knuckles whitened around the makeshift weapon, muscles trembling not only from pain but from the surge of fury coiling inside him.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

He slammed the chair leg against the door, the booming echo shaking the corridor.

“What’s going on?” one guard barked, the sound muffled but near. Keys rattled, the lock clattered.

The instant the door cracked open, Leon roared. It was not the cry of a man—it was the explosion of a beast cornered, fury unchained.

CRASH!

The chair leg came down with savage force, splintering against the first man’s skull. The sharp crack of bone split the air. Blood sprayed hot across the walls, the guard’s body twitching once before it crumpled bonelessly to the floor.

The second guard lunged, eyes flaring crimson with rage. He charged like a bull, teeth bared. Leon swung again, but this time iron fingers clamped around the wood, crushing it in his grip.

THUD!

The brute’s boot slammed into Leon’s knee. A sickening crack reverberated through his body. Agony shot up his leg, white-hot, blinding. His vision went black around the edges as he staggered, the chair leg slipping from his hands and splintering uselessly against the ground.

“Die!” the man snarled, hurling punches like hammers.

THUMP! THUMP!

Each blow smashed into ribs and shoulder, forcing air and blood from Leon’s lungs. He staggered beneath the assault, vision swimming, mouth filling with the coppery flood of blood.

SMASH!

His back slammed into the wall, pain detonating along his spine. The next fist hurtled toward his face—Leon jerked aside at the last second and rammed forward, driving his skull into the man’s gut.

“Ughhh!” The guard coughed, body folding, but still he did not fall.

The two grappled, locked in brutal rhythm—breath rasping, fists colliding with flesh and bone, the sound of violence echoing in the stone chamber. Leon’s body reeled, battered nearly to collapse. His strength was bleeding away fast.

And then—through the haze, through the dark drowning his vision—one thought pierced like a blade.

Camila.

The name burned, searing into his mind. The reason he could not fall.

“For Camila…” he snarled, forcing himself to parry the next strike. He twisted sharply, driving his elbow down on the man’s temple.

CRACK!

The brute staggered, eyes rolling back, blood leaking warm and dark from his ear. Still he clung to life, growling through broken teeth.

Leon’s gaze caught the splintered shard of wood at his feet. Summoning everything left within him, muscles convulsing with pain, he bent low, seized it—

CRUNCH!

The jagged edge smashed into the guard’s skull. His body collapsed at last, limbs twitching once before stillness claimed him. Blood fanned outward in a spreading pool across the stone floor.

Silence swallowed the room again, vast and deafening. Leon stood swaying, breath ragged, chest heaving as though each inhalation would tear him apart. His hands clenched around the blood-slick wood, knuckles bone-white.

Both bodies lay motionless. For now, lifeless.

Leon forced himself upright, spine trembling, pain radiating through every inch of him. He turned toward the corridor, the dim lamp outside casting monstrous shadows that swayed along the walls like mocking phantoms.

His heart thundered. His eyes burned with a savage, unyielding light.

And in his mind, one voice rang out, fierce and undeniable:

Camila.

His fists clenched tighter. His body was broken, shattered in ways no one could see—but his will blazed hotter than fire.

Whatever the cost—he would find her.