The air was still heavy with the residue of spatial distortion—space hadn't fully healed yet.
The grass near the crater was flattened in spiraling directions. Bark peeled from nearby trees. The earth looked wounded, as if it had been folded and crushed by a god's hand.
Alex lay motionless in the center of it all, a broken figure barely breathing, steam rising faintly from his skin where spatial energy had seared his veins. His clothes were shredded, his face streaked with blood and sweat. One hand still curled weakly in a fist, twitching as if dreaming of the final blow.
Then..... footsteps.
The remaining bandits—six of them, hardened and bloodied from skirmishes on the outer perimeter—emerged from the trees in a loose formation. The moment they laid eyes on the ruin that used to be a part of the forest, they felt cold.
Their jaws dropped.
Ash drifted through the air like snow.
"...Wh-what the hell happened here?" one muttered, eyes wide.
" Isn't that… Brennar?" another whispered, stepping forward.
They all turned.
And saw him.
Brennar, the so-called Warlord of the Duskhollow Roads, the Chainwolf feared along three kingdoms—now kneeling in a pile of scorched earth, covered in dirt, blood, and soot. His chains were shattered. His cleaver broken. His breathing labored and strained, one eye swollen shut, fur scorched off in entire patches across his arms and face. He looked less like a beast—and more like a man beaten raw.
Darnel, knelt beside him quickly. "Boss—boss, how did this happened?. Are you alright? Should I call a healer?.
Brennar's head lifted slowly, lips peeled back in a bloodied snarl. He said nothing for a long moment, his glowing red eyes narrowing at the unmoving boy collapsed in the crater.
"This…" he rasped, voice deep and cracked, "…kid gonna get me rich."
They stared at him, stunned.
"this kid, really?"
A younger bandit staggered toward Alex's body. "This runt? I agree his strong for his age but that nothing too special,you gotta be joking—"
"DON'T touch him." Brennar's voice cracked like a whip. The bandit froze mid-step.
"He nearly tore space apart. That… that was a spatial collapse. He's a bloody spatial awakener—high tier. That alone makes him worth more than all raids we've ever done combined."
Darnel wiped sweat from his brow. "Then what do we do?"
Brennar slowly forced himself to his feet. He groaned. His body trembled. But his pride kept him upright.
"Chain him," he spat. "Get the suppression links from the chest.
The ones from that mysterious person?."
"No the one we got from your mom, fucking dumbass!!"
The bandits moved fast now, shaken into obedience.
Two of them hauled a heavy chain wrapped in etched, obsidian-black links. Runes pulsed faintly on each segment—chains made to suppress awakened talent. The moment it touched Alex's wrist, the magic around him fizzled. His skin twitched, mana withdrawing as though hiding in fear.
"Put three loops around his arms and one around his neck. Tight."
"Yes, boss."
"And if he twitches—cut a tendon. He doesn't need to walk to sell."
They nodded grimly, bound Alex like cargo.
Darnel looked at Brennar again. "Where do we keep him?"
Brennar grinned slowly, blood caked in his teeth.
"Throw him in the wagon. The one with the refugees."
He spat on the ground. "They'll be slaves by sundown. Might as well let him rot with the rest of them."
"But boss," the younger bandit murmured, "if he causes a ruckus —"
"If he causes a reckos," Brennar growled, eyes burning low, "I'll rip his spine out myself. Now move."
They lifted Alex's unconscious body and dragged him roughly across the ruined soil. His limbs bounced limply. The chains clinked as they dragged across rocks and broken armor.
Moments later, the back of a rusted, cage-covered wagon groaned open. Inside, dozens of wide-eyed refugees huddled in fear—women, children, elders, all bruised and dust-covered, some weeping softly into their sleeves.
They flinched as Alex's body was tossed unceremoniously into the straw-padded floor.
The bandits slammed the door shut behind him. The lock clanked.
Then silence.
A girl no older than fifteen, covered in soot and bruises, crawled toward Alex slowly, eyes wide with terror—but also curiosity.
"Is he… dead?" she whispered.
"no, his just unconscious and badly wounded" an aged man replied haven inspected Alex body.
When will he wake up?" Asked the girl
"That I don't know" the old man sighed "it's depends on the kid".
Oh, I hope he wake up quickly " the girl said downcast.
Hmmm
Despite being in the cage they had all seen how Alex had faught and they assumed he was trying to save them.
....
Brennar's boots crunched through the ash-laden soil as he limped away from the ruined part of the forest, his muscles aching and stiff with half-disintergrated flesh. The bandits parted silently before him, none daring to speak. He didn't need to hear their thoughts to know what they were thinking.
He'd lost. Not in name, not officially—but any bastard watching the crater knew exactly who came out on top.
And it was a goddamn kid.
He pulled aside the flaps of his tent, staggering in like a dying bull. The canvas smelled of old sweat, steel oil, and smoke. A lantern flickered low on a rusted hook. Maps lay scattered on the table, a bottle of cheap liquor half-drained nearby.
A hooded figure stood waiting inside. The healer.
"good," Brennar grunted, collapsing into a creaking iron chair. "Fix me."
The healer stepped forward silently, pale hands glowing faintly green with healing essence. As she worked, her magic knitting layers of scorched muscle and sealing burst capillaries, Brennar's breath began to even out.
He winced as his eye began to uncake itself from dried blood and bruise.
silence.
The healer said nothing, knowing better than to speak to him unless ordered.
Brennar's thoughts spiraled, deeper and darker.
That chain…
He glanced toward the old weapons chest in the corner of the tent—the one they'd cracked open today.
A few days ago, just before the raid, that chest had been empty. Locked tight. He'd checked it himself.
Then suddenly—the chain was inside. Folded neatly. Etched obsidian links still glowing with suppressed heat. Runes carved so finely only a master enchanter could've done it.
Brennar wasn't a man easily surprised. But that day, he'd sat for nearly an hour staring at the thing.
A talent suppression chain.
Something only noble houses or royal black sites had access to.
Something he shouldn't have. Couldn't have.
And yet there it was.
No note. No scent. No mana trace. No indication of who had left it.
He'd asked Darnel. Asked the sentries. Threatened to break fingers, pluck out tongues, crack skulls.
No one knew. Or if they did, they were too scared to speak.
Now, as the pain dulled and his mind cleared beneath the healer's magic, he found himself grinding his teeth.
"Why give me that chain?" he muttered aloud, voice hoarse. "how did you know we'd encounter him soon?why help me contain someone like him?"
He wasn't stupid. He'd seen talent before, heck he have even killed a few. But this boy was something else entirely.
Something beyond common sense.
"No one gives away a suppression chain unless they're trying to keep someone very alive… or very contained," he muttered, eyes narrowed.
The healer paused briefly, sensing the shift in his tone.
Brennar didn't notice.
He stood slowly, stretching, testing the repaired skin on his shoulder. It was still pink and tender, but serviceable. He moved to the weapons chest, dragging it open once more, staring down into its hollow belly.
Empty again.
No hint of the presence that had delivered that chain.
He clenched his fist, veins pulsing dark beneath his calloused skin.
"Who are you… and why do you care about the boy?" he growled to no one.
Then, quieter, more troubled:
"…and what the hell did I just chain up?"
He turned back to the tent's exit, pulling on his tattered cloak.
Outside, night crept in over the treetops. Fires still crackled. The bandits laughed nervously, drank, bragged to hide their fear.
But Brennar didn't speak. Didn't join them.
He just stared into the forest beyond the camp—toward the horizon, where stars blinked faintly in the dark.
His animalistic instincts screamed something was coming.
And the worst part?
He had a feeling it had already begun.