The boy ran.
His bare feet slapped against cold stone, lungs burning, heart hammering like a trapped beast. Around him, the screams of the dying painted the air in shades of terror.
Why me?
The thought was a razor in his skull.
Why this body? Why a slave? Why this damned Tower?
Each question fed the fire in his chest, stoking it hotter as he watched the golden monster move.
It didn't rush. It strolled.
A slave swung a rusted sword.
The creature flicked its wrist.
The man's head spun from his shoulders, body collapsing mid-step.
Another tried to flee.
The creature pulled.
The slave's limbs tore free like petals plucked from a flower.
Why? WHY?
The rage was a living thing now, writhing in his gut, scalding his throat. He wanted to scream. To charge. To bite.
Then the creature looked at him.
Golden eyes locked onto his.
And smiled.
It moved.
Faster than sight. Faster than thought.
A blur of gold, a hand outstretched.
"NO!"
Ingward slammed into the creature's arm, deflecting the blow with a force that shouldn't have been possible. The impact cracked the stone beneath their feet.
The boy staggered back, eyes wide.
Awakened.
It was the only explanation. Ingward's muscles strained, veins bulging, his green eyes burning with a light the boy had never seen before.
The creature's smile widened.
"Ah," it purred. "A little spark."
Then it attacked in earnest.
Fists like falling stars. Ingward blocked, dodged, countered, but the creature was playing. Each strike sent shockwaves through the air, each near-miss tore grooves in the floor.
Ingward was good.
The creature was perfection.
A kick to Ingward's ribs sent him skidding across the stone, blood spraying from his lips.
The boy reached for his dagger.
The creature was already before him.
Up close, it was worse. Its beauty was a weapon. Its breath smelled like honey and iron.
"You," it murmured, "are interesting."
Its hand lifted.
The boy couldn't move.
Then.
"MOVE, KID!"
Ingward tackled him again.
The creature's hand pierced through Ingward's chest instead.
Blood. So much blood.
The creature blinked, almost surprised, as Ingward coughed red onto its golden skin.
"Huh," it said. "That was... sentimental."
Ingward's knees buckled. The boy caught him, hands slick with his blood.
"Why?" the boy choked.
Ingward grinned, teeth stained crimson. "Told you... run or die." His hand gripped the boy's wrist hard. "So run... and make it count."
The creature sighed. "Boring." It ripped its arm free.
And Ingward collapsed.
The boy stared.
At the body.
At the blood.
At the monster that turned back to him, already bored.
The fire in his chest exploded.