The world didn't move fast.
It snapped.
Victor stood still for a heartbeat too long — then unleashed hell.
Without warning, his left leg arced like a whip — and slammed into Owen's ribs.
The sound echoed, crack, a sickening collision of bone and boot. Owen's body twisted midair before crashing to the stone floor, a cry of pain forced out of him as he clutched his side.
"Agh—!"
Ava screamed — but she didn't move.
Not because she didn't want to.
But because her body wouldn't let her.
Samuel's eyes widened, a curse buried beneath his breath. He'd prepared for this moment — the confrontation — the reveal.
But not this.
Not Victor, already turning, already reaching into his coat—
The glint of silver. The key. No—something sharper. A blade. The utility knife he had gotten from Noa
And he was charging toward Ava.
"Let me take your sight," Victor growled, his voice a manic whisper as he lunged, "so you can die without knowing what hit you."
Ava still hadn't moved.
Frozen.
Trapped in the wake of betrayal. The world blurred around her. She was too slow — too human — to react.
The eyes that once looked at Victor with trust now only stared in disbelief.
And in that split second—
Samuel moved.
He surged forward, his body a blur of instinct and defiance.
"AVA—MOVE!"
He slammed into Victor mid-sprint.
The two crashed to the ground, a storm of limbs and chaos.
The blade scraped across the floor.
Ava blinked.
She was still standing.
Still alive.
But the world around her had shattered into pieces she couldn't understand.
Victor and Samuel hit the ground hard, dust and rage bursting into the air like smoke from a fire long overdue.
Victor grunted, rolling to his feet faster than a human should've.
"You shouldn't have done that, Samuel," he hissed, his voice twisted with something unnatural. "You don't know what you're getting into."
Samuel stood between him and Ava, fists clenched, breathing heavy but steady.
"You're right," he said through gritted teeth. "I don't know what you are."
"But I know what you're not."
"You're not walking out of here with that key."
Victor's grin returned.
Wider.
Hungrier.
And now, he wasn't pretending anymore.
He cracked his neck, his eyes glinting with something far more sinister than mere madness.
"Then come stop me, hero."
The battle had begun.
Victor didn't wait.
He was a storm — violent, calculated, and already moving before Samuel could even steady his stance.
Samuel charged first, his right arm drawn back, aiming for a clean, decisive cross.
But Victor wasn't there for it.
He read it.
Slipped low — and struck back.
A brutal left kick smashed into Samuel's side.
He brought his left arm up just in time to absorb the blow, but—
"Ghh—!"—The force rippled through his bones.
Like a hammer slamming into a wooden door, the sheer weight of Victor's leg twisted his body and sent him staggering to the right.
And Victor wasn't done.
Not even close.
The moment Samuel's foot slid across the floor—
BAM.
A vicious right hook collided with his jaw.
CRACK.
A follow-up uppercut from the left crashed into his chin, whipping his head back.
Before Samuel could even gasp—
Victor's hand gripped his face—
And then—
SMAAACK.
A skull-shattering headbutt slammed into the bridge of Samuel's nose.
Blood sprayed.
"AHH—!"
Pain erupted like fire behind Samuel's eyes, and his knees buckled. He stumbled backwards, one hand covering his face, the other barely keeping balance.
In battle, pain is a language. And Victor was fluent in it.
The air grew colder. Not from the temperature— but from the realization:
Victor wasn't fighting to escape.
He was fighting to eliminate them.
One. By. One.
Victor's breath was steady. His chest rose and fell like a calm beast waiting for the next move.
Blood trailed from Samuel's nose, warm and thick, tracing a line down to his lips.
His vision blurred for a moment—just a flicker of dizziness—but he blinked it away, jaw tightening as he forced his breathing to steady.
Inside his mind, thoughts collided like fists in a ring.
"This is bad—"
"He's skilled."
"Way more than I thought."
But then—
A hand grabbed his shoulder.
Samuel flinched, spinning—until he saw him.
Owen.
"Owen!"
"Yeah," Owen said, exhaling sharply, "don't worry. I'm alright."
Victor stood a few paces away, smiling.
Not the fake smile anymore.
The real one.
The kind that predators wear when the prey decides to fight back.
"So this bastard's got the key, right?" Owen asked, eyes locked on Victor.
Samuel nodded once.
"Yeah. It's with him."
Owen's lips curled into a crooked grin.
"Then we take it from him."
Victor chuckled, slow and deliberate.
"Cute. You think the two of you can stop me?"
He stepped forward once, the ground seeming to echo louder beneath his boots.
"I've already killed more than either of you has fingers to count on."
"I hold the key."
"I hold the power."
"What do you hold?"
Samuel and Owen stood side by side now.
"We hold the line," Samuel said, eyes locked with Victor's. "We hold each other."
Owen cracked his knuckles.
"And we hold your fucking funeral"
Victor tilted his head and smirked, that cold, twisted grin still plastered across his face.
"Funny," he muttered in response to Owen's threat, like he was savoring every word.
Samuel didn't bother replying.
He turned his head slightly, eyes locking onto the one person who hadn't moved.
Ava.
Still frozen. Still trying to process everything that had just happened.
"Ava," he called, voice firm, but calm.
She flinched, snapping her eyes to him.
"Run."
"Go call the others near the exit. Call them here, tell them to be ready... just in case we can't handle Victor alone."
There was a tremble in her breath. Her lips parted as if she wanted to protest. But something in Samuel's voice made her stop.
He wasn't asking.
He was protecting.
Ava nodded. Slowly.
Still shaking — but she turned.
And she ran.
The sound of her footsteps echoing down the cold, empty hallway.
Samuel turned back toward Victor, the blood on his face dried into streaks of red.
"Let's get this started," he said, his voice like stone.
Victor's grin widened.
He tilted his head again, almost playfully.
And then—
"No, you don't."
With blinding speed, Victor lunged forward—
But not toward Samuel.
He darted toward the hallway.
Toward Ava.
Victor didn't hesitate.
He dashed forward, faster than either Samuel or Owen could react.A blur of movement — and he was already past them.
"Ava!" Samuel shouted, but it was too late.
She hadn't gotten far. Just a few steps into the hallway, still catching her breath, still trying to be brave—
When Victor's hand gripped the back of her head and yanked her back with vicious force.
CRACK.
A sickening noise snapped through the corridor.
A jolt of pain shot through Ava's spine as her neck twisted, her hands shooting up to grab at the source of agony.
She didn't even have time to scream.
WHAM.
Victor slammed his fist straight into her face.
Her nose burst instantly — blood spraying midair as her body collapsed to the floor like a rag doll.
Eyes fluttering shut. Limbs limp.
Unconscious.
Samuel's heart dropped. Owen's expression turned ghost-pale.
Victor stood over Ava now, one boot raised—
A silent threat.
One stomp. That was all it would take.
But before the heel could drop—
"RAAHHH—!"
Samuel charged.
Fueled by fury, by panic, by raw adrenaline.
Victor's boot never connected. He swayed back just in time, dodging the incoming tackle with snake-like grace.
But the moment was broken.
Owen dropped to his knees beside Ava, checking her pulse, eyes wide and trembling.
"She's breathing," he whispered to himself. "She's still breathing..."
But blood soaked her face. Her chest barely moved.
She was out cold.
Samuel threw a wild right hook, roaring in rage.
Victor parried it with his forearm and stepped inside his guard — but this time, Samuel didn't flinch.
He used his momentum, shouldered into Victor, and threw him back against the nearest wall.
"You don't get to hurt her!" Samuel's voice broke like thunder through the corridor.
Victor wiped blood from his lip where his head had hit the wall. He looked at it.
Smiled.
"Now we're playing for real," he said coldly.
Samuel didn't stop.
Didn't think. Didn't breathe.
He rushed Victor again with sheer force, throwing a brutal right cross—
Victor slipped to the left.
Another punch — a blur of motion.
Victor slipped right.
Samuel's eyes narrowed, teeth clenched in frustration. He raised his arm high and swung it down like a hammer—
A hammer fist aimed for Victor's skull.
But Victor was faster.
He slid to Samuel's left, ducking under the arc—
And drove his knee straight into Samuel's gut.
"Guh—!"
Samuel's body crumpled forward from the impact, air knocked from his lungs.Pain lanced through his torso, sharp and immediate.
Before he could even recover—
WHAM.
A clean right hook slammed into Samuel's face.
His head snapped to the side, blood spraying from his lip as he staggered back two steps, eyes dazed, jaw rattled from the punch.
Victor stood there, calm and composed.Not even breathing heavily.
Samuel clutched his mouth, tasting the metallic heat of blood, lips split open and swelling fast.
His knees buckled for half a second.
But—
He didn't fall.
His hand dropped from his face. His gaze locked onto Victor.
Still burning.
Still unbroken.
Blood trickled down his chin.
And then—
He charged again.
"Good boy," Victor sneered, watching Samuel charge through the pain, blood trailing from his lip.
His voice was mocking, venom-laced with that signature, psychotic calm.
"Keep coming."
"Let's see how far that anger gets you."
Samuel didn't slow down.
"I WILL KILL YOU!!" he roared — a voice torn straight from the core of his soul.
A war cry.
Not of vengeance — but survival.
Their bodies collided again like crashing waves.
Victor moved, but this time—Samuel anticipated it.
He feinted the right, but twisted into a brutal left elbow instead — the bone connecting cleanly with Victor's cheek.
CRACK.
Victor stumbled back half a step— grinning even wider through the pain.
"Yes... that's it."
"Show me what you're really made of, Samuel."
But Samuel wasn't done.
He tackled Victor full force, slamming him into the nearby wall, fists raining down — wild, desperate, furious.
Fist after fist collided with Victor's arms as he tried to shield his face — but Samuel didn't stop.
Because he couldn't stop.
Because Ava was lying on the floor, bleeding.
Because Jace was still missing.
Because the key was still in this traitor's hand.
"I'm ending this!" Samuel shouted—
But then—
Victor laughed.
Through bloodied teeth and a swelling cheek—
He laughed.
"You really think you're the hero here?"
"You don't even know what you're fighting against..."
Samuel's fist came crashing down—
But it never landed.
Instead—
SHINK.
A sharp pain tore through his hand like lightning.
"AGHH!!"
His eyes widened in horror.
Blood poured from his palm.
There it was—
The key.
Its jagged edge now embedded in the center of his fist.
Victor had waited—calculated the moment—
And just as Samuel brought his hand down, Victor had pulled the key free and stabbed it straight through him.
Samuel staggered back, clutching his hand in agony, breath ragged, pain clouding his vision.
But Victor didn't wait.
He lunged.
A brutal kick slammed into Samuel's stomach, doubling him over—
Then came the fists.
One.
CRACK.
Two.
CRACK.
Three. Four. Five—
Jab. Cross. Hook. Uppercut.
Each punch landed clean—each one carving deeper into Samuel's already bloodied face. His nose split open, his jaw rattled, teeth red.
And then—
Victor grinned.
His voice low, cold, deadly.
"Time to fly."
He twisted his body—
And in a savage, practiced motion—
He gripped Samuel's shoulder and hip—
And performed a one-arm shoulder throw with bone-shattering force.
BAMM.
Samuel's body slammed into the concrete floor, the echo booming through the prison cell like thunder.
His back arched in pain—his breath caught in his throat.
The room spun.
He couldn't move.
Could barely breathe.
Pain was supposed to remind you you were alive—but right now, it only whispered how close death really was.
Victor stood above him. Calm. Cold.
Dripping with blood.
And still holding the key.
Owen stood frozen, his eyes locked onto the wreckage of Samuel's broken body.
Every muscle in his body screamed at him to act—but what could he do?
"Shit, he absolutely wrecked Samuel."
His thoughts raced, but his legs didn't move.
His gaze flickered over to Ava's motionless form.
She was still breathing—barely—but unconscious, vulnerable.
Victor, standing tall and untouchable, turned his eyes toward Samuel's battered body.
A quiet smile stretched across his lips as he watched the aftermath of his violence.
"Pathetic."
He muttered, but it was clear he wasn't finished yet.
Then, he turned to Owen.
His gaze sharpened, a predator sizing up a prey that had nowhere to run.
Owen froze, terror locking his limbs.
He wasn't a fighter—not like Samuel.
He'd never been.
He knew he couldn't win this.
"Hey, hey, hey—" Owen stammered, his voice weak, but desperate, trying to mask the fear behind it.
"Chill, I'm not fighting."
He raised his hands in a half-hearted gesture, as if trying to pacify the storm before him.
Victor's smile twisted into something darker, more amused.
It was a predator's grin, one that saw the fear in Owen's eyes and savored it.
"But aren't you Samuel's good little pet?" Victor mocked, his voice dripping with disdain.
"I can smell the fear on you."
Owen's chest tightened.
He wasn't wrong.
Samuel was the hero, the brave one.
Owen was the coward—
The one who always stayed in the background, hiding behind others when things got rough.
Victor's eyes bored into him, reading him like a book.
Every hesitation, every weakness. It was all laid out in front of him.
He knew Owen was scared.
He knew Owen wouldn't fight.
"You think I'm gonna let you run? To run to the others, to warn them?"
Victor took a step forward, his voice low and threatening.
"You're not going anywhere, pet."
Owen's heart pounded.
His back was pressed against the wall.
And yet, his mind raced, looking for a way out.
But he had no weapons, no advantage.
He was nothing.
Just a pathetic spectator in this game of death.