In Rue’s room, tension crackled in the air as she addressed the gathered group: Elowen, Arid, Caius, Renita, Lincoln, Clyde, Sera, and Lumi. Rue stood at the center, pacing back and forth with restless energy.

  “Alright,” she began, her voice steady but laced with concern. “I’ve called this meeting because I’m worried. We all know Melanthius ran off to the Punarean Kingdom after that bastard Henry fed him lies about finding answers there. The problem is, those answers might not even exist. And worse, he’s wandered straight into a kingdom notorious for killing outsiders on sight. I know Mel’s resourceful, but still… this doesn’t sit right with me.”

  Her pacing stopped, and she folded her arms tightly across her chest, glancing at the group.

  Elowen slammed her fist on the edge of Rue’s desk, her face flushed with anger. “This is all Anita’s fault!” she spat. “Why is she even dating that jerk in the first place? She knows what kind of person he is!”

  The group exchanged uneasy glances until Lumi, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, finally spoke up. “I don’t think it’s that simple,” she said softly.

  All eyes turned to her, and Lumi hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I was walking through the school corridors earlier this week. I saw Anita and Henry… they were arguing. Or rather, it looked like she was trying to get away, but he kept blocking her path. At first, I thought it was just… I don’t know, couple’s banter, but…” She looked down, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. “She looked desperate. Like she didn’t want to be there.”

  The room fell silent. Rue narrowed her eyes, her mind racing. “If what you’re saying is true, then Anita’s in just as much trouble as Mel.”

  Arid crossed his arms, his expression thoughtful. “Mel isn’t the type to run away for no reason. If he went to Punarean, it’s because something Henry said struck a nerve. If Anita is being controlled or coerced, Mel might’ve sensed it too. That would explain why he was so quick to act… even recklessly.”

  Back in the dimly lit hut in Punarean, Mel sat slumped in the cold, metal cage. His body ached from Silas’s torment, but it was his thoughts that hurt the most. Silas’s words replayed in his mind, cutting deeper than any needle ever could.

  “Am I really that desperate for answers?” Mel muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the crackling of the nearby fire. He stared at the ground, his fists clenched. “Is that why I surround myself with so many people? So I won’t have to be alone again?”

  He closed his eyes, and unbidden tears began to spill, streaking his dirtied face. The pain in his chest tightened as he thought of his time in Caldara Bastille. Suddenly, in the darkness behind his eyelids, a vision of himself appeared—his past self, the boy from the infamous prison.

  This version of him was ruthless and feral, his eyes hollow but burning with defiance. His hair was matted, his clothes torn, and his entire being radiated solitude. Most of all, he was alone. Always alone.

  The ghost of his past self sneered at him, arms crossed. “No, you dumbass,” the voice growled, low and harsh. “You don’t surround yourself with people because you’re desperate for answers. You do it because you don’t want to end up like me again.”

  Mel’s breath caught as he looked up at the projection of who he used to be—raw, angry, and isolated. The boy from Caldara Bastille stood before him, glaring, but there was no hatred in his eyes. Only a hard truth.

  “You think you’re weak for needing people? For caring about them? That’s not weakness,” Inmate Zero spat, his voice rising with intensity. “It’s strength. You’re fighting every damn day to make sure you don’t become the same broken kid rotting in a cell, waiting for the world to chew him up and spit him out.”

  Mel blinked, stunned into silence. The younger version of himself stepped closer, jabbing a finger at his chest. “You keep going, you hear me? Even if the answers suck, even if you get hurt, you don’t stop. You didn’t crawl out of Caldara Bastille to give up now.”

  “What do I do then? Tell me what to do—you, of all people, should know best,” Mel pleaded, his voice raw and desperate.

  “You dumbass,” Inmate Zero snapped, his tone sharp but unwavering. “You don’t need that damn smokey purple power-up to destroy a kingdom. Just show them who we are, and you’ll take over this damn place.”

  With that, the apparition began to fade, its presence dissolving into nothingness, leaving Mel alone with the echo of those final words.

  “Are you ready for the last answer? You’re going to love this one,” Silas taunted, reaching into the cage with the needle once more.

  But this time, Mel moved faster. He grabbed Silas’s arm, yanked him forward, and slammed the butler’s head against the bars of the cage—once, twice, three times—until Silas slumped, unconscious. Breathing heavily, Mel reached through the bars, retrieved the key from Silas’s belt, and unlocked the cage.

  As he stepped out, he stretched, his body aching, and let out a deep breath. Cool mist swirled around his fingers as he used a spell to heal his bloodied nails. His gaze landed on a pipe resting nearby.

  “No,” he muttered with a wry grin, shaking his head. “Inmate Zero never needed a weapon to take anyone down.”

  He walked toward the exit but stopped and turned, his eyes drifting back to the cage. In the dim light, he saw two figures: his younger self, fresh from Caldara Bastille and still carrying that grim determination, and Inmate Zero, smirking with unshakable confidence.

  “You coming?” Mel asked.

  “We’re already with you,” they both replied, their voices echoing as they faded into nothingness.

  Mel clutched his chest, a small, bittersweet smile playing on his lips. “I won’t leave you behind, Inmate Zero,” he whispered before stepping into the night.

  Moments later, Mel arrived back at the Orange Pub, greeted by the somber faces of the Kendall family. He removed the fox mask and leaned against the counter.

  “You won’t believe what I’ve been through,” he began, his voice tired but steady. “Listen, I’m about to leave, but…” He trailed off as he noticed their tearful expressions.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Jude cleared his throat, his voice cracking. “It’s Layla. She’s been put up for sale. The Lust Kingdom—they’re buying her. Our king… he makes money by selling girls—”

  Before Jude could finish, Mel slid the fox mask back on, his posture shifting as his anger ignited.

  “Just tell me where she is,” he said, his tone low and controlled, yet simmering with fury.

  They couldn’t see his face beneath the mask, but his presence radiated an overwhelming, unrelenting rage.

  In the grand hall of the castle, King Nathan lounged on his ornate throne, his rotund form barely contained by his royal robes. Around him stood a thousand knights, their armor gleaming under the dim torchlight. Some of them were busy shoving crying women into iron cages, their desperate pleas echoing against the cold stone walls.

  “Silas has captured Melanthius, Your Majesty!” one knight announced with pride. “The young master sent him here after being attacked by him.”

  King Nathan absentmindedly rubbed his bloated stomach, smirking. “Alright, then. Kill him. Duh. Bring me his head.” His dismissive tone carried over the sobs of the imprisoned women.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “And as for these girls, we need to send them to Lust before—”

  “Please!” Layla’s voice cut through the air as she fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face. “I just wanted to help my family!”

  One of the knights struck her across the face, sending her reeling to the ground. She whimpered but didn’t stop crying.

  “Family?” the knight sneered. “You’re a Kendall, aren’t you? Kendalls are at the bottom of the barrel. Your family owns the Orange Pub, but nobody drinks there anymore. You’re better off being sold to Lust, don’t you think?”

  King Nathan let out a booming laugh, his rolls of fat jiggling as he leaned forward. “He’s got a point! The Kendalls—what a pathetic bunch.”

  Suddenly, the massive doors to the hall creaked open, drawing all eyes to the figure standing in the entrance. A man in a fox costume stepped inside, his silhouette framed by the flickering torchlight. Across his chest, bold letters read, “Drink at the Orange Pub.”

  The room fell silent, save for the muffled cries of the women in the cages.

  “Who’s that?” King Nathan asked, his laughter fading as he squinted at the peculiar sight.

  “I think… someone’s advertising or something,” one knight replied hesitantly, unsure how to react.

  King Nathan scratched at his throat, his voice suddenly hoarse. “Well, I might as well get some drinks. I’m parched.”

  The grand hall buzzed with tension as a knight approached the man in the fox costume, holding out a handful of gold coins.

  “The king wants some ale,” the knight said gruffly.

  The fox silently turned around, reaching into an empty wooden box. Without warning, his leg shot backward in a vicious arc, striking the knight squarely under the chin. The force sent the armored man hurtling into the air, his body crashing down with a deafening clang.

  “Sorry,” Mel said, his voice cold as he adjusted the fox mask on his face. “We’re out of stock right now.”

  The hall erupted in murmurs of confusion and shock.

  “Who is this guy?!” King Nathan bellowed, his face red with rage. “Kill him! All of you, kill him now!”

  The sea of knights surged forward, their armor clanking in unison as they drew their weapons.

  Mel rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. “Looks like I have to become inmate zero for this one.”

  The first wave of knights rushed him, swords glinting. Mel moved like a shadow, fluid and precise. He ducked under a sword swing, sweeping the legs out from one knight and slamming his elbow into another’s helmet, denting it inward. Grabbing a fallen sword mid-spin, he hurled it with pinpoint accuracy, pinning three knights to the wall in one throw.

  A knight lunged from behind, but Mel twisted, delivering a sharp palm strike to the man’s chest. The force launched him into a group of his comrades, sending them sprawling like bowling pins.

  “You’re wasting your time,” Mel said, his voice muffled but menacing under the mask. He dashed forward, weaving through the knights with inhuman speed. One by one, they fell—some disarmed, others incapacitated by brutal yet efficient strikes.

  A group of knights attempted to swarm him, but Mel leaped high into the air, flipping over their heads. He landed with a thundering kick that shattered the ground beneath them, knocking them all off their feet. He grabbed a spear from a fallen knight, using it to deflect incoming arrows with almost mocking ease.

  The sheer ferocity and precision of his movements mirrored a predator among prey. Knights charged with blind aggression, but Mel dispatched them with almost surgical precision—slamming one’s head into the stone floor, snapping another’s sword in half with his bare hands, and driving his knee into another’s stomach so hard the knight vomited before collapsing.

  As the battle raged, Mel’s aura seemed to darken. His movements became even more ruthless, almost feral. With each strike, he sent knights flying into walls, pillars, and each other, creating chaos in their once-organized ranks.

  “Who is this monster?!” one knight screamed before Mel grabbed him by the helmet and hurled him like a ragdoll into a group of archers.

  King Nathan watched in growing horror as his once-thousand-strong army dwindled to a few dozen, their confidence shattered.

  Mel finally stood amidst a sea of groaning, defeated knights, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. His fox mask, now splattered with blood and dirt, tilted toward the trembling king.

  “Y-You think you’ve won?!” King Nathan stammered, trying to regain his composure. “There’s no way you can—”

  Mel silenced him with a single, sharp motion. The fox mask tilted down slightly as Mel cracked his knuckles. “I’m not here to talk,” he said.

  He took a step forward, and the few remaining knights hesitated, their weapons shaking in their hands.

  Mel stood before King Nathan, the echoes of battle fading into silence. The king clutched his throne’s armrests, his face pale as Mel removed the fox mask, revealing eyes burning with fury.

  “You think you can sell lives and sit on your throne like it’s nothing?” Mel’s voice was low, almost a growl. He tossed the mask to the ground and advanced on the terrified king.

  “I’m going to show you what happens when you treat people like cattle,” Mel said, his tone as cold as the steel of the fallen knights’ weapons.

  “Wait! This is all because of the girls?!” King Nathan’s voice cracked as he threw his hands up in desperation. “No! No! You don’t know who you’re messing with!” he sputtered, his frustration giving way to panic. “We don’t do this for ourselves! We do it for the Lust Kingdom! You have no idea what they’re capable of!”

  Before Mel could respond, two knights suddenly grabbed him from behind, their ironclad arms locking around his body like vices.

  “We got you now!” one of them sneered, his grip tightening.

  The other knight squeezed Mel’s neck with brutal force. “You’ve got no idea who trained us! You’re done for!”

  Mel remained eerily calm, his breathing steady despite the pressure. His voice cut through their taunts like a blade. “Are you saying…”

  With a sudden burst of power, Mel drove his elbow backward, smashing one knight into the stone floor with enough force to crack it. Without missing a beat, he twisted and slammed the other knight into the wall, leaving him slumped and unconscious.

  “…your master is stronger than mine?” Mel finished, his tone cold and unwavering.

  The remaining knights froze, the confidence draining from their faces as they exchanged nervous glances.

  Mel rolled his shoulders, flexing his fingers as he adjusted his stance. A faint smirk played on his lips. “I hate the bastard, but I’ll admit—his fighting style is amazing.”

  Dropping into a stance that mirrored Goldman’s signature posture, Mel’s movements became sharper, more refined, each motion radiating deadly precision. His feet slid into position with a predator’s grace, his fists coiled like spring-loaded weapons.

  “I’ll show you how he fights,” Mel said, his voice low and dangerous.

  The tension in the room was palpable as the knights stared at him, paralyzed by the intensity of his gaze. The air crackled with the promise of violence, and in that moment, they knew they weren’t just facing a man—they were facing something far more terrifying.

  “The fox is bluffing! Take him down!” King Nathan screeched, his voice cracking with desperation.

  Two knights lunged at Mel, their weapons raised. Without hesitation, Mel stepped back, dodging their strikes with fluid precision. In one swift motion, he grabbed their heads and smashed them together with a sickening crack.

  “It’s more brutal than my own fighting style,” he remarked nonchalantly, tossing their unconscious bodies aside like trash.

  “You need to be athletic,” he added, almost like he was giving a lesson, as three more knights charged at him.

  Mel met them head-on, his movements a blur of calculated violence. He ducked under their strikes, countering with devastating punches that dropped each of them in quick succession. Pinning one knight to the ground, he planted his knee firmly on their chest and delivered a series of punishing blows until they fell unconscious.

  The room descended into chaos, but for Mel, it was a controlled storm. One by one, he dismantled the remaining knights, his strikes precise, ruthless, and unrelenting. Each movement carried the weight of experience, each blow a testament to his training and fury.

  When the dust settled, Mel stood alone in front of King Nathan, the bodies of defeated knights sprawled behind him. His fox costume was smeared with blood, but he didn’t bother to take it off. It had become part of the fear he instilled.

  Mel’s piercing gaze locked onto the trembling king. His voice was cold, devoid of mercy. “Punarean Kingdom... you’re no longer a kingdom.”

  King Nathan erupted into laughter, his cackling echoing through the now-silent throne room. “You dumbass!” he spat, his voice filled with venom. “I know exactly who you are—Melanthius Shadowbane!”

  He staggered to his feet, his bloated form shaking with amusement. “You think you’ve won? My son, Henry, is already sealing the deal with that Anita girl! She’s practically sold to Lust as we speak! And you know what else?” His grin widened maliciously. “My son and his little friends are going to rain hell on that precious school of yours! You won’t even see it coming!”

  Mel’s eyes narrowed, and without a word, he grabbed Nathan by the neck, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. The king’s triumphant smirk faltered as he clawed desperately at Mel’s hand.

  “From the start,” Mel said, his voice low and icy, “I knew something was wrong.”

  Nathan’s breath hitched as Mel tightened his grip, lifting him higher. “That’s why,” Mel continued, his lips curling into a dark smile, “before I came here, I called someone strong. Someone reliable. Someone who doesn’t talk, doesn’t ask questions, and will do anything for their family.”

  Mel chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down Nathan’s spine.