The Hollow Kings

The stranger's approving nod felt heavy with unspoken promises. Walid's words, though resolute, seemed to echo in the silence of the dungeon, as if the cell itself had absorbed his resolve. The air grew colder, a sharp contrast to the heat of his rage.

The old man asked Walid to close his eyes and relax. Placing his hand firmly on Walid's head, he murmured words in a low voice. Walid began to feel an unfamiliar sensation coursing through his body. His blood felt like it was flowing differently—cold and strange. Gradually, the aches and pains that had plagued him started to fade, replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief. When he finally opened his eyes, he was astonished to find that all the bruises and wounds from his brutal beatings had vanished entirely, as though they had never existed.

"If you're truly prepared to embrace what lies ahead," the old man said, stepping forward, "we begin now. The path you've chosen is not one of ease or mercy."

With a swift motion, the stranger reached into the folds of his cloak, retrieving a small, jagged dagger. Its blade shimmered faintly in the dim light, etched with runes that seemed to pulse as if alive. Walid's gaze locked onto it, unease stirring in his gut.

"Your old self must die for the new to be born," the man continued. "This is not a gift, boy. It's a curse—one you must accept willingly."

The stranger knelt before Walid, the blade poised between them. "Take this," he instructed, his voice unwavering. "Carve a mark into your palm and let your blood flow. Only then will the pact be sealed."

Walid hesitated, his hand trembling as he reached for the dagger. The cold metal felt unnatural against his skin, almost as though it resisted his touch. His heart pounded as he raised it, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.

Memories of his grandfather flashed before his eyes—the warmth of his embrace, the kindness in his voice, the way he had shielded Walid from the world's cruelty for as long as he could. That man was gone, taken by the very people Walid now vowed to destroy. This was his only path forward.

With a deep breath, he gripped the blade tighter and pressed it against his palm. The sharp sting of pain was immediate, followed by the warmth of blood trickling down his hand. He carved a crude mark, a jagged line that bisected his palm, and held it out to the stranger.

The man's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he took Walid's bleeding hand in his own. His grip was cold, almost lifeless. Chanting in a language Walid couldn't understand, the stranger raised his free hand, drawing intricate symbols in the air. The symbols glowed faintly, their light growing brighter with each word spoken.

The cell seemed to shift around them, the oppressive darkness giving way to a surreal landscape. Shadows danced on the walls, their movements unnatural and otherworldly. A low hum filled the air, resonating deep within Walid's chest. The mark on his palm burned fiercely, the pain spreading through his arm like fire.

"Do not flinch," the stranger warned, his voice cutting through the growing cacophony. "The pain is your tether. It will anchor you to your purpose."

Walid clenched his jaw, his body trembling as the fire coursed through him. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse. But then, the pain began to shift. It no longer felt like it was consuming him; instead, it was reshaping him, forging something new from the fragments of who he had been.

The stranger released Walid's hand, stepping back as the glow of the symbols intensified. The light enveloped Walid, searing into his skin and leaving behind faint traces of the runes that had been drawn in the air. The hum reached a deafening crescendo before abruptly ceasing, plunging the cell into silence once more.

Walid gasped, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. The pain had subsided, replaced by a strange sensation—a pulsing energy that coursed through his veins. He felt stronger, sharper, as though his senses had been heightened.

"It is done," the stranger said, his voice softer now. "You have taken the first step."

Walid looked down at his hand. The mark he had carved had healed completely, replaced by a faint, glowing rune that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. He flexed his fingers, marveling at the power he could feel beneath his skin.

The old man studied Walid for a moment before speaking again. "Now, your first task awaits. Let us see if you are worthy of this power you've been granted—if you can tame it."

Walid's gaze hardened, waiting for the command.

"Do you see the guard by the cell door?" the man asked, his voice cold and steady. "The one asleep there? He is the same man who dragged your grandfather to the execution grounds."

Rage flared in Walid's chest. His hands clenched into fists, the power surging through him almost too much to contain.

"I command you, Walid," the old man said, his tone like iron. "Erase him from existence."

Without hesitation, Walid smashed the iron door of the cell with a single, thunderous blow. The guard woke with a start, only to find Walid charging at him like a bolt of lightning. The man barely had time to draw his sword before Walid's fist collided with his chest, punching clean through his body. Blood sprayed across the cold stone floor, but Walid wasn't finished. A twisted smile spread across his face—a smile that did not belong to the boy he once was but to something far more sinister. He laughed quietly, a chilling sound that grew louder as he grabbed the man's head.

Walid's eyes gleamed with a psychotic glee as he smashed the guard's head against the wall. The man's screams filled the dungeon, but Walid seemed to revel in them, each strike filled with a twisted delight. Again and again, he struck, his laughter echoing in the dark as the guard's skull finally gave way. Blood and bone splattered across the walls, but Walid didn't stop. Fueled by a sadistic fury, he tore into the guard's body, ripping it apart with his bare hands.

"Enough," the old man's voice cut through Walid's frenzy. "We must move quickly before the others come."

Walid stopped, his breathing heavy, his hands coated in blood. For a moment, he stared at the lifeless, mutilated body before him, the smile fading from his lips as the old man's words anchored him back to reality.

The old man raised a hand, and the wall of the prison crumbled away as though it obeyed his command. Beyond it lay a rushing river, glistening in the moonlight. "Jump!" he ordered.

Without hesitation, Walid followed the old man as they leapt into the river, the icy water engulfing them as they disappeared into the night.