“You betrayed me!”


    My voice echoed through every corner of the room, just like the fury erupting inside me. Even the air I inhaled tasted like rusted iron. The room was suffocatingly hot, yet something chilled me to the core—the cold sting of betrayal.


    Across from me, my former boss, Merlin, lounged in his chair with a grin plastered across his face. Behind him, the massive wooden desk, the crimson velvet-lined walls, and the flickering candle beside him all paled in comparison to his shadow. This room felt like an execution chamber. And right now, I was the condemned.


    I wanted to rip that smirk off his face. No—more than that. He deserved to lose a tooth. His lips should be split open, his face painted in blood. It would suit him.


    My fingers curled into fists before I could stop myself. My nails dug into my palms, the pain grounding me, barely holding back the blade of rage carving its way under my skin. If I moved, blood would be spilled.


    But before I could act, Merlin made a small gesture with his hand. Two guards stepped forward.


    The shadows standing by the door came to life. Their footsteps echoed, heavy, disciplined—the calculated movements of well-trained men. Their boots tapped against the stone floor in a cold rhythm.


    But I wasn’t focused on them. I was focused on the cold sensation creeping up my spine.


    A touch—light as a mosquito bite. But deadly.


    A sting. A numbness. And then—a searing cold.


    The warmth in my body drained like water from a broken glass. Something icy slithered down my spine. First slow, insidious. Then sharper, clawing through my veins.


    No. I could barely hear my own voice anymore. This feeling… was it familiar? Was this what dying felt like?


    My muscles slackened. My knees buckled. My feet lost their grip on the ground. The air in my lungs turned to ice.


    What were they doing to me?


    My breath came in short, ragged gasps. My heart fluttered wildly, desperate. My pupils dilated. My arms felt like they were weighed down with lead. Someone caught me just as I collapsed to my knees.


    The world blurred. Sound dulled.


    The last words I heard froze me more than any poison ever could.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    “Should we kill them, sir?”


    Merlin’s voice slithered down my spine like a dagger.


    “No,” he said, calm as ever. “Let them live. Let them drown in their own regret.”


    And then, I fell into the dark.


    My legs were soaked. Warm. Sticky. Blood.


    I didn’t know how much of it was mine.


    The back alleys of the underworld… There weren’t many places more dangerous than this. Dying here was as ordinary as rotten apples at the market. If you fell, no one would pick you up.


    They had tossed me into the street. Like a trash bag. No—something even more worthless.


    My first breath stabbed my lungs like shattered glass.


    My muscles felt ripped apart. My body was a crushing weight, as if a steel block had fallen on me, pinning me to the ground.


    I tried to open my eyes, but my vision was blurred. The world… The world itself had distorted. Warped, twisted, unrecognizable.


    A warm liquid dripped down my cheek.


    Salty. Blood.


    My mouth was filled with the taste of rusted iron. I wanted to retch, but my stomach was empty.


    My head throbbed. A hammer pounded inside my skull.


    Thinking was hard. Where was I? What had happened?


    Right now, none of that mattered.


    But I knew one thing.


    I wasn’t dead.


    A single word slipped from my lips.


    “Shit.”


    Something burned inside me. I had survived. But this time, I wasn’t just going to be grateful for breathing.


    I clenched my teeth. Pushed myself up onto my hands. My entire body resisted. My muscles trembled.


    But I couldn’t look weak.


    In this city, weakness meant death.


    Slowly, I stood up. My knees ached like I was walking on razor blades.


    Staggering, I headed toward the one place I knew best—the bar I always returned to.


    People passing by glanced at me.


    A man, drenched in blood, stumbling, barely clinging to life…


    But no one stopped.


    No one cared.


    I was as remarkable as a rotting corpse.


    In this city, pain only mattered to those strong enough to endure it.


    When I pushed the door open, the sharp chime of the bell cut through my thoughts like a razor.


    Dim lights. Stained-glass shadows cast over wooden tables. The air thick with an old jazz tune…


    The only thing that had changed in here was me.


    The bartender caught sight of me and slid a damp rag from under the counter. Without thinking, I took it—didn’t even bother thanking him.


    As I wiped my face, I glanced at the dark stain spreading across the cloth.


    How much blood had I lost?


    Did it matter?


    No.


    When my glass was placed in front of me, that familiar burn slid down my throat.


    Did it feel good?


    No.


    But I was used to it.


    Before I even realized it, my glass was empty. I exhaled.


    My eyes met the bartender’s.


    A small pin on his collar read:


    “Ronald.”


    “You’re drinking faster than usual,” he said. “Not something I see often.”


    He must have noticed I wasn’t in the mood to talk, because he refilled my glass without another word.


    “Try not to overdo it, though, please. You’re already not in great shape. No need to let that headache of yours cause more trouble.”


    Hearing someone worry about me…


    It was a strange warmth.


    Ah, Ronald.


    You’re a good kid.


    How did you end up in a place like this?


    But I wouldn’t ask.


    Because everyone who ended up here had their reasons.


    My gaze shifted toward the men playing poker.


    Money.


    God, I needed money.


    “Hey, Ron,” I called. The second he heard my voice, his eyes flicked toward me.


    “You guys hiring?”


    For the first time, the redhead hesitated. His blue eyes widened just a little.


    “Unfortunately, no, Miss Aaralyn…” He paused, then added, “But I think someone was looking for new cage fighters.”


    Bingo.


    It wasn’t much different from horse racing. Pick a fighter, place your bets, win big if they survive.


    For the fighters, the only prize was making it out alive.


    But for me, it wasn’t just about the money.


    My body was still heavy, but I needed to fight.


    I needed to hit something. Feel the heat of blood, the sting of my fists, the adrenaline scorching through my veins.


    It was the only way to survive in this city.


    To fight.


    A smirk pulled at my lips as I stood. “Not a bad idea. Good thinking, kid.”


    My glass hit the table with a soft clink.


    “Well then, I’ll be off.”


    As I stepped into the darkness of the night, only one thought ran through my mind:


    This time, I won’t lose.