Samuel looked back, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest, each beat echoing the urgency of the moment.
His breaths came in uneven gasps, the air thick with tension and the metallic scent of fear.
Before him, Jace stood resolute, his body crouched low in a defensive stance, muscles coiled like a spring ready to unleash. The tremor in his arms betrayed the intensity of the situation, but his eyes—those fierce, unyielding eyes—were locked onto the Warden with a focus that seemed to cut through the chaos surrounding them.
In that instant, Samuel felt a wave of emotion wash over him. Beneath Jace's fierce exterior, he sensed a deeper truth.
Fear.
Real fear, raw and palpable, yet it was tempered by something else—something stronger.
Jace was afraid, but he was not backing down.
Samuel's mind raced, grappling with the implications of Jace's stance.
"Was he... trying to sacrifice himself?"
The thought sent a chill down his spine.
They all knew the Warden's reputation, the tales of destruction that followed in his wake.
Elliot's group had been obliterated, their screams swallowed by the darkness.
Even Wesley, who had charged in with a heart full of bravery, now lay broken and bleeding, a grim reminder of the Warden's merciless power.
And yet, here was Jace, standing firm against the tide of despair.
Samuel clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around Ava, who stood beside him, wide-eyed and trembling.
He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him, the gravity of Jace's choice hanging in the air like a storm cloud ready to burst.
But then—just a flicker—something shifted in Jace's eyes.
It wasn't desperation; it was determination.
A fierce resolve that ignited a spark of hope within Samuel.
His breath caught in his throat as the realization settled like a stone in his gut.
No.
Jace wasn't planning to die.
He had a plan.
He must have one.
He wouldn't take a step like this unless he believed—truly believed—that he could hold that monster off, even if just for a little while.
Samuel felt a swell of admiration mixed with fear.
He nodded slowly, a silent acknowledgment of the trust he placed in Jace.
This wasn't a goodbye;
It was a promise—a promise that they would fight together, even if they were separated for now.
With a final glance at Jace, Samuel turned away, the weight of his decision heavy on his shoulders.
He took Ava's hand, their fingers intertwining, as he led her and the others into the shadows of the corridor.
The darkness enveloped them, a shroud that concealed their escape, but
Samuel's heart remained tethered to Jace, who stood alone against the encroaching storm.
As they slipped into the shadows, leaving Jace behind, Samuel felt a flicker of hope ignite within him.
A reminder that even in the face of overwhelming odds, courage could still shine through.
And as they ran, Samuel vowed to return, to fight alongside Jace once more, to ensure that this was not the end of their story.
Samuel ran, gripping Ava's hand tightly, his legs pumping through the corridor like pistons, each step echoing like gunshots in the dead silence that followed the chaos.
The air was thick with the remnants of fear, a palpable tension that clung to their skin.
He could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, propelling him forward, but his heart was heavy with the weight of what they were leaving behind.
Beside him, Owen stumbled, breath ragged.
The panic in his eyes mirrored Samuel's own turmoil, but there was no time to dwell on it.
They had to escape.
They had to survive.
But then, Owen faltered, glancing back over his shoulder—and Samuel's heart sank.
What Owen saw burned into his memory like a brand.
Jace stood there, alone, a solitary figure against the encroaching darkness.
The air behind him shimmered with the Warden's ominous presence, that hulking silhouette stepping forward, its cloak dragging along the ground like the shadow of death itself.
Jace didn't move. He faced it. He chose to face it.
"Go!!"
Jace's voice thundered through the corridor—sharp, commanding, final.
It reverberated off the walls, a clarion call that cut through the chaos and reached deep into Samuel's chest.
"W-Why? Why is he staying!?" Owen's voice cracked with disbelief.
Samuel didn't answer.
The truth hung heavy in the air, unspoken yet understood.
Victor had already run—that coward who hadn't even looked back.
He sensed the Warden's power and fled the moment things turned real.
He didn't care about the group. He didn't care who lived or died.
Victor chose survival. He ran without hesitation.
And now—Jace was the only one left standing.
He could've run. He could've joined them. But he didn't.
He saw what the Warden was… and still chose to be the wall between them and death.
Before them, the others had scattered—Sierra, Riley, Noa, Evelyn—fled in pure panic, screams swallowed by the dark —Callen and Lawren—retreated at Jace's command, just after the first strike fell.
And now Samuel, Owen, and Ava were the last.
Leaving Jace.
Alone.
With it.
"We—we can't leave him!" Owen's voice broke, desperate.
Samuel's hand landed on Owen's shoulder.
"He told us to run because he's giving us a chance," he said. "Don't waste it."
Behind them—
The corridor rumbled. The air itself twisted.
A surge of unnatural energy rippled through the space, rattling lights, making walls groan.The Warden was coming.
And Jace—
Tightened his grip on the hilt of his weapon. Knuckles white.
His eyes burned like wildfire—unyielding, fierce, alive.
This wasn't a sacrifice. It was a stand.
A stand to prove that even in a world ruled by fear… one man's courage could still cast a shadow greater than death itself.
As the others vanished into the dark,
Jace stepped forward. Toward the storm.
He was not just a warrior— He was a symbol of resistance. A testament to the strength of the human spirit.
And as the corridor trembled with the weight of what was to come...
Jace prepared to fight. To hold the line. To be the shield.
Even if it meant standing alone against the tide.
Samuel had run. Ava and Owen with him.
Jace remained.
The corridor was eerily quiet now, the echoes of fleeing footsteps fading into silence. The only sound left was the low hum of tension vibrating through the air.
The Warden stared at him.
That grotesque leather bag covering its head tilted slightly to the left—curious, almost mocking—before straightening again.
It hadn't expected someone to stay.
Jace didn't flinch.
"What the hell are you looking at, huh?"
His voice cut through the silence like a blade.
A challenge.
The Warden responded in kind, lifting its rusted axe, extending it toward Jace in a slow, deliberate motion—an acceptance of the duel.
Jace smiled.
He lowered into a grappling stance.
Right arm slightly forward. Left arm trailing. Knees bent.
Right leg ahead. Left leg back. Balanced. Ready.
He took a deep breath, loosening his muscles, slowing his heartbeat.
Letting go of the noise. Letting go of their fear.
Only his fear remained.
And that was the key.
The Warden fed on fear—the fear in the air, the panic of many. The Warden was feeding on those fear making it stronger. But now since others are gone, Only Jace's fear remains limiting Warden's fuel.
If Jace could control his fear. He would be able to beat The Warden.
But that axe...
That damn axe.
Rusted, massive, lethal.
One strike could send him flying.
One smash could pulp his skull.
One slice could carve through his body like paper.
He couldn't let it touch him.
And the chains—those cursed chains. The Warden was skilled with them. Deadly accurate.
Unforgiving.
He had to guard his arms. His legs.
He had to keep moving.
He had to make sure his own fear didn't betray him.
Every possibility. Every consequence.
They raced through Jace's mind like lightning.
But still, he stood there.
Calm. Focused.
Alone against the monster.
Now it was time.
The Warden lunged.
A flash of motion—its axe raised high, the twisted blade gleaming beneath the flickering light.It closed the distance fast, but not fast enough.
Jace didn't panic.
He noticed it—the Warden was slower than before. Not sluggish, but not at full speed either.Jace's mind raced, calculating.
The axe came down.
Aiming straight for his skull.
Jace slipped to the side, narrowly avoiding the strike—the heavy blade slamming into the concrete with a thunderous clang. Sparks danced where metal met stone.
In the same breath, Jace countered—
A sharp uppercut to the Warden's chin, forcing its head to jolt back.
It staggered slightly.
Opportunity.
Jace moved in, gripping the creature's body, attempting to wrestle it to the ground—
But it didn't move.
Not even an inch.
The Warden responded immediately—its left hand slammed into Jace's liver.
A brutal, precise hit.
Pain exploded through Jace's side, sharp and nauseating, stealing his breath. His grip slipped.
Then—a kick aimed at his shin.
Jace reacted just in time, lifting his leg to dodge it.
But the Warden didn't let up.
Its body twisted, and the axe came swinging around again—this time from the side.
Jace lunged forward.
Both hands out—
He grabbed the Warden's arms, stopping the swing mid-motion.
The axe jerked, but couldn't find momentum.
They were locked.
Face-to-face.
Breaths heavy.
Muscles trembling.
It was now a battle of will.
The Warden was tall.
Too tall.
It towered over Jace like a dark monolith, shadow swallowing the light behind it.
Its presence was suffocating—a grotesque embodiment of fear itself, pressing down on him with overwhelming strength.
Jace grunted, his body trembling under the weight.
The Warden leaned in, slow and deliberate, shifting its massive body forward.
Its full weight bore down on Jace's legs, forcing him into a strained squat.
His knees cracked.
His thighs screamed.
His entire lower half was being crushed, bone and muscle alike feeling like they were going to splinter under the pressure.
"Gghhh—"
A guttural sound escaped his throat, a mixture of resistance and agony.
Jace held his ground, but he was struggling.
His fingers burned.
His wrists trembled.
Every ligament in his arms began to ache—biceps twitching, shoulders locking, trapezius and pecs tightening like a vice.
He could feel every tendon straining to keep his arms locked around the Warden's.
And still—it wasn't enough.
A sharp pulse of pain surged through his shoulder, and he nearly lost grip.
His palms were soaked—not from water… but from sweat.
Too much sweat.
It had pooled in his hands, made the Warden's arms feel slick, like trying to hold onto blood-slick steel.
His grip was slipping.
He knew it. The Warden knew it.
And yet… it wasn't done.
The Warden leaned closer.
Its massive, malformed body came down slowly, almost ritualistically. The axe still clutched in its right hand, trembling slightly—not from effort, but restraint.
And then—it stared.
Through the ragged, stitched-up leather bag wrapped around its head, where hollow slits formed the illusion of eyes…
It stared directly into Jace's soul.
Too close.
Way too close.
The space between them closed until Jace could feel it—
The Warden's breath.
And it wasn't warm.
It was cold.
Unnaturally cold.
Like something that had never been alive.
Like death itself was breathing on him.
The air between them dropped ten degrees in an instant.
His skin crawled. His back drenched in a fresh wave of sweat. His stomach twisted.
Terror crawled up his spine like ice-laced fingers.
His eyes widened. He tried not to flinch.
But he felt it.
The Warden wasn't just watching him.
It was studying him.
Learning him.
Like a predator staring at its prey not to kill it quickly, but to savor every twitch of fear before it would finally rip it apart.
And in that moment—
Jace understood what it meant to be hunted.
The fear inside Jace… ROSE.
It surged like a flood breaking through a dam—uncontrollable, primal, consuming.And with that rising fear came the Warden's power.
It fed off terror like a beast tasting blood.
The Warden moved.
Fast. Too fast.
With a sharp, precise motion, it kicked Jace's hamstring— right behind his knee, a brutal strike to a vulnerable tendon.
THWACK.
"GAHH—!"
Jace's leg buckled, his balance collapsed.
He staggered—one second still standing, the next crashing down to one knee.
But the Warden wasn't done.
It turned its axe.
No longer using the blade…
It swung the back of the rusted weapon—like a sledgehammer—straight at Jace's skull.
And then—
CRACK.
The sound echoed.
Bone against metal.
A sickening fracture.
Jace's head jolted violently to the side, but—
He had seen it coming.
He had moved with the blow, instinctively twisting his head in the same direction as the incoming strike.
That reflex, that split-second decision, saved his life.
If he hadn't—
A chunk of his skull would've flown off, revealing the grotesque, trembling mass of brain matter beneath.
A fountain of blood. A shattered mind. An instant death.
But still—
The pain was unbearable.
He screamed—
Rolled on the floor, clutching the back of his head with trembling fingers, blood now seeping through his hair, warm and sticky against his scalp.
His scream wasn't just agony—
It was raw, a sound ripped from the depths of survival instinct.
"AHHHHH—! Ghhaa—!"
His vision blurred.
Ringing filled his ears.
The world around him spun and cracked like glass.
He could barely think.
But he could hear it.
The footsteps.
Heavy. Slow. Deliberate.
The Warden was walking toward him.
Each step like a countdown to death.
Its boots thudded against the stone floor—
A heartless rhythm. A funeral march.
Jace turned his head slightly, eyes half-open, blood dripping down his cheek.
And there it was.
The Warden. Approaching.
Its towering frame unshaken.
The axe now back at its side.
Its leather-covered face still staring—no eyes, no features, but somehow… it stared.
It was enjoying this.
It didn't run.
It didn't need to.
It knew he was down.
The predator was taking its time.
The Warden kept walking.
One slow, deliberate step after another— like death itself with a heartbeat.
Its boots echoed across the chamber floor, that same sick rhythm, each footfall a warning. A promise. A gravebell.
Jace lay there—half-curled, vision swaying, pain humming through his skull.
Then… he saw it.
His palm.
Blood.
Thick. Warm. Sticky.
It soaked into his fingertips, webbed between the lines of his hand.
Not just pain. A reminder.
That he was bleeding. That he was alive. That he was still here.
Jace blinked.
No fear. Not anymore.
Only rage.
Burning. Erupting. Consuming.
His teeth clenched, his heart pounded like a war drum.
His lips curled into a snarl—not of weakness… but fury.
"YOU FUCKING LEATHER-FACED SHIT!"
The scream tore from his lungs—
Raw. Loud. Pure hatred.
He rose.
Fast. Explosive. Instinctive.
The Warden had already closed the distance—
Its towering body now right in front of him.
Too close. Perfect.
Before the Warden could react—
BOOM.
A monstrous right cross—
Driven from the ground up.
Through the legs. Through the hip. Through the shoulder.
All of Jace's weight, rage, and strength launched into that single punch.
FIST MET FACE.
Or rather—leather.
The Warden's head jerked violently sideways from the impact—
The sound of the punch cracked through the chamber like a gunshot.
And then—
THUD.
The Warden hit the ground.
Hard.
Its body crashed down, one leg kicking slightly, arms flung back, the massive axe skidding across the floor behind it.
It wasn't dead. Not yet.
But Jace had landed a hit that no one else ever had.
He stood above it now—his chest heaving, his body trembling, his blood dripping to the floor, but his rage towering higher than the Warden itself.
This wasn't over.
But for the first time…
The Warden was the one on the ground.
"DON'T UNDERESTIMATE ME, FUCKER!!"
Jace roared, his voice cracking with rage, echoing through the stone walls like a siren of war.He stood above the fallen beast, chest heaving, every inch of him burning with adrenaline and defiance.
He had done the unthinkable—he had dropped the Warden.
But it wasn't over.
Jace didn't wait.
He ran.
No hesitation. No strategy. Just raw, ruthless instinct.
He sprinted forward to end it—one more punch, one more strike— but something yanked him back.
Hard.
His foot.
He looked down mid-run—
And his blood ran cold.
Chains.
Thick, rusted, coiled around his ankle like a viper.
"FUCK!!" he shouted, stumbling as the weight pulled against him.
The Warden had planned this.
Even while grounded—it had set the trap.
The chains pulled taut.
Jace's body was yanked mid-lunge, losing balance— but he didn't fall just yet.
The fear inside him? It was waning.
The dread that once made his legs tremble was burning away in the fire of defiance.
But without fear fuel, the Warden was still...
Strong.
Inhumanly strong.
Jace twisted, turned his hips, and fired off another brutal right cross toward the Warden's face—but the creature was already up.
It moved with a sickening smoothness— ducking the punch, slipping past it like a shadow slipping through cracks.
And then—
YANK.
The Warden gripped the chain with both hands and pulled—with bone-snapping force.
Jace's feet came off the ground.
His world tilted sideways.
"SHI—!"
Before his back could crash against the floor, he raised one arm, shielding the back of his skull, his palm absorbing the impact— but the pain still blossomed like fire down his spine.
He gritted his teeth, his body curling instinctively, breath knocked from his lungs.
And as he looked up—
There it was.
The Warden.
Standing. Towering. Unscathed.
Its head tilted slightly.
Through the folds of the leather bag, Jace couldn't see its eyes.
But he could feel them.
It looked at him.
Not like prey. Not like a threat.
Like a game piece.
A message etched into its posture.
An unspoken taunt whispered through its stance.
"Checkmate."