Arc - 1 Sands and steel

  Chapter 11 (Captured)

  Eren woke to the sound of chains.

  Cold iron pressed against his back, ribs aching as if someone had tried to hammer his bones flat. The air stank—rot, rust, and something far worse. He opened his eyes slowly.

  Bars.

  A cage.

  Not just one.

  Dozens lined the cavernous chamber, identical iron cages stacked along the walls. Some held children huddled together, too quiet. Others held women with hollow eyes. A few contained nothing but bodies—bloated, rotting, already being picked clean by rats that scurried fearlessly across the stone floor.

  Eren exhaled through his nose.

  “Amazing hospitality,” a voice said.

  He turned his head. Avelin sat against the wall opposite his cage, already awake, knees drawn up, eyes sharp despite the grime smeared across her face.

  “Hey,” she added. “Finally awake.”

  Eren groaned, lifting a hand to his head. Pain detonated behind his eyes.

  “Feels like my skull lost a debate with a hammer.”

  Avelin tilted her head. “How many darts did they shoot you with?”

  “Five… maybe six,” Eren muttered. “Stopped counting after the third.”

  She snorted. “Show-off.”

  He swallowed and forced himself upright, chains rattling softly. “How long was I out?”

  “No idea,” she replied. “I woke up not too long ago myself.” Then she nodded to his side. “But he’s still out cold.”

  Eren followed her gaze.

  Silas Mercer was slumped against him, head resting on Eren’s shoulder, mouth open. A thin string of drool ran down his chin onto Eren’s already filthy shirt.

  Eren stared at him for a second.

  Then shoved him.

  Silas rolled sideways, tumbling straight into a pile of bones and an old ribcage that collapsed under his weight with a dry crack.

  He didn’t wake up.

  “…Impressive,” Avelin said.

  Eren wiped his shirt with visible disgust. “I’m charging him extra if we survive.”

  Silence crept back in. Somewhere in the dark, something skittered.

  Avelin’s voice dropped. “So. What’s the plan?”

  Eren didn’t answer immediately.

  “They aren’t going to do nice things to us,” she added quietly.

  “No,” Eren agreed, standing slowly. The chains binding his wrists pulled taut. He examined the cuffs—cheap metal, bolted carelessly to the bars.

  He took a breath.

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  Then dislocated his thumb.

  The sound was soft. Wet. Wrong.

  Avelin flinched. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Eren didn’t respond. He worked his hand free through the loosened cuff, jaw clenched, sweat beading on his brow. With a practiced twist, he popped the joint back into place.

  He flexed his fingers once.

  Then looked toward the guard stationed outside the cells.

  “Hey,” Eren called lazily. “You forgot to handcuff me properly.”

  The guard stiffened.

  “What?” he snapped, standing and storming toward the cage, firearm raised. “Sit down!”

  Eren met his eyes.

  And flicked his gaze—just for a second.

  Avelin moved.

  Her chained leg lashed out, hooking the guard’s foot. He stumbled backward, balance gone, weapon firing uselessly into the air—

  —and fell.

  Straight into the iron spike protruding from the cage bars.

  The metal punched through the back of his skull and burst out through his left eye.

  The body twitched once.

  Then went still.

  Chains rattled.

  Eren and Avelin stared at the corpse.

  No words.

  Just breathing.

  Eren stepped forward, unclipped the keys from the guard’s belt, and unlocked Avelin’s restraints. She flexed her wrists, eyes never leaving the dead man.

  “Efficient,” she said.

  They freed themselves quickly.

  Avelin glanced at Silas, still unconscious among the bones. “What about him?”

  Eren looked down at the merchant. “We find his sister first. We’ll wake him later—if he’s still breathing.”

  They moved down the row of cages, unlocking doors one by one, scanning faces.

  No sign of her.

  Eren stopped, then turned to Avelin. “Split up.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ll find our weapons,” he continued. “You look for his sister.”

  Avelin nodded once. “Don’t die.”

  Eren smirked faintly. “Try not to kill everyone before I get back.”

  They separated, vanishing into opposite ends of the prison—

  leaving the cages creaking softly behind them.

  Eren pressed his back against the damp stone wall, peeking just enough to see down the hallway.

  Long. Narrow. Poorly lit.

  At the far end stood a reinforced steel door—thicker than anything else in this place. Three guards posted in front of it. One leaned against the wall with a rifle slung loosely in his hands. The other two stood alert, spears planted on the ground like they actually believed that would save them.

  His eyes narrowed.

  Only one guard for the prison… and three here, Eren thought to himself. For a gang this size, that imbalance means one thing.

  An armoury.

  He glanced down, picked up a loose stone, weighed it once—

  —and tossed it gently into the open.

  Clack.

  The sound echoed louder than it should have.

  The guard with the gun straightened. “What was that?”

  He stepped forward, rifle raised, eyes scanning the floor. The other two stayed back, spears steady.

  The guard crouched near the stone.

  That was the moment Eren moved.

  No rush. No shout.

  Eren slid forward like a shadow, closing the distance in two silent steps. His hand snapped onto the rifle barrel, twisting—not yanking, twisting—redirecting the weapon off-line while stepping inside the guard’s balance.

  The guard barely had time to gasp before Eren drove his elbow into the base of the man’s jaw, snapping his head back. As the body went loose, Eren flowed with it, wrenching the rifle free and using the weapon’s stock to crush the man’s throat.

  Bone cracked.

  The guard collapsed without a sound.

  Eren didn’t look back.

  Instead, he straightened and tilted his head toward the remaining two guards.

  “Your turn,” he said calmly.

  One of them screamed and charged, spear thrusting forward in a wild, desperate motion.

  Eren stepped sideways.

  The spear slid past him, and with a short redirection of his forearm—unbalancing, not blocking—he guided the weapon straight into the stone wall to his left. The shaft wedged tight.

  Before the guard could react, Eren lifted his left leg and slammed his shin down onto the wooden shaft.

  Crack.

  The spear snapped in half.

  The guard’s eyes widened.

  Eren didn’t hesitate.

  He surged forward, palm striking under the man’s nose, snapping his head back, then followed with a short, brutal punch to the throat—fingers relaxed, impact focused.

  The guard dropped, choking, dying before he hit the ground.

  The third guard froze.

  Then dropped his spear.

  “Wait—”

  He rushed in barehanded.

  Big mistake.

  The guard swung wildly, untrained fists cutting through empty air. Eren didn’t retreat—he stepped in. Always in. Closing distance, stealing balance.

  The first punch glanced off Eren’s shoulder. The second never landed.

  Eren trapped the man’s arm, rolled his shoulder into it, and twisted—dislocating the elbow with a sharp, controlled motion. The scream was cut short as Eren drove a knee into the man’s ribs, then swept his leg out from under him.

  The guard hit the ground hard.

  Eren followed him down, placing one hand on the man’s chest and the other under his jaw.

  A single, precise jerk.

  The neck snapped.

  Silence reclaimed the hallway.

  Eren stood slowly, breathing steady, blood splattered across his knuckles.

  Three guards.

  Gone.

  He turned his gaze to the reinforced door at the end of the hallway.

  “Let’s see what you’ve been hiding,” he muttered.

  And stepped forward.