Luke's back met cold stone. There was nowhere left to go. The jagged wall pressed into him, unyielding, reminding him just how trapped he was. His breath came sharp and uneven, every inhale burning through his chest as Grandmaster Malgarius dragged himself closer—inch by inch, bone by bone. The sound of his crawl was sickening, wet, and heavy with blood.
Desperation forced Luke's trembling hand to move. He reached toward his sleeve, feeling the familiar click of metal releasing—the hidden blade. Its once-pristine mechanism was scuffed and bent, but it still slid into place along his wrist, gleaming faintly under the dying glow of his phone.
Grandmaster Malgarius laughed. A low, rattling laugh that made Luke's stomach turn. Even crushed and half-broken, the man radiated confidence, an unshakable certainty that this was still his victory.
