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A low growl erupted from the back of my throat, a primal sound I hadn’t made in what felt like eons.
I vaguely registered the surprised gasp from Isla and the alarmed shouts from nearby inmates.
Landing on the behemoth, I allowed the beast within me to take control, using strength and agility I had long suppressed.
My nails dug into the prisoner’s rough, leather-like skin, drawing thick, inky fluid.
His surprised yelp was music to my ears, the salty-sweet whiff of his blood filling my nostrils.
To my side, I could hear the thuds and grunts of my guard as he engaged with the second prisoner.
The rhythmic clash of bodies and the symphony of battle cries painted a vivid picture of chaos.
Time seemed to blur, the sensations and emotions heightening every sense.
The sight of Isla’s terrified face, the echo of her panicked voice calling my name, the textured feel of my adversary’s skin as I continued to hammer at him with my bloodied fists, the rich smell of exertion and combat; it all fused together in an intense maelstrom.
With one final growl, I drove my fist into the prisoner’s jaw, feeling the satisfying crunch of bone.
He crumpled beneath me, unconscious or worse.
I didn’t care.
And I continued to batter him.
The clattering of boots echoed through the sterile corridors, signaling the approach of the prison guards.
The familiar essence of their uniforms wafted toward me, a blend of worn leather and metal.
Isla’s terrified gasps and the distant hum of the facility filled my ears as the guards rounded the corner, weapons raised.
But then they saw me.
Their pace slowed, recognition widening their eyes.
These guards knew me, not just as a fellow inmate, but as someone not to be trifled with.
Someone with power, influence, and the capability for violence beyond most prisoners’ imaginations.
Their hesitant steps and the sudden drop in tension in the atmosphere said everything.
They came to maintain order, but they weren’t willing to confront me.
Shared glances among the guards conveyed their unspoken agreement, and without a word, they turned on their heels and retreated.
The clang of their boots fading was almost deafening in its silence, leaving behind only the palpable energy of the aftermath.
My vision refocused on the creature beneath me.
The once intimidating prisoner was now reduced to a bloody, mangled mess.
My knuckles throbbed, streaked with a mix of his dark blood and my own brighter shade.
A disconcerting sense of pride mingled with my alarm — pride in my ability to defend and assert my dominance, and alarm at the ease with which I had unleashed such violence.
The corridor, dimly lit and eerily silent, seemed to stretch infinitely.
My guard, still by my side, watched me with a mixture of admiration and caution. “Boss,” he murmured, breaking the silence.
