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Part 9
— For fuck's sake… Stop looking at me like that! — he shouted, straining his arms again. His fingers trembled, and his breathing was ragged, but finally, the second lock gave way. Bruce collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily, his shoulders and arms throbbing with exhaustion.
The chains cracked as they released one of the dragon’s limbs, and without wasting a second, the beast stretched its massive neck, baring its teeth in anticipation of freedom.
Hunched beside the chains, Bruce heard the heavy steps of the dragons, as though they could hardly believe their luck. They immediately started roaring thunderously, stretching the long-stiff muscles in their wings and necks. Bruce instinctively pressed himself against the stone wall, feeling a wave of nausea from his nerves rising in his throat.
He stood frozen against the wall, his arms still aching from the strain, his heart pounding so loudly it felt like even the dragons could hear it. The enormous creatures, their claws thudding against the ground, began moving toward the exit.
— Hey, stop! Where the fuck do you think you’re going?! Listen up! — he shouted, gritting his teeth in frustration, but his voice was drowned out by the rumble of footsteps and the sharp, rhythmic beat of wings. Bruce tried to shout over the deafening roar of the dragons, but the massive beasts ignored his attempts to command them, continuing their determined march toward freedom. Not a single one looked back—he might as well have been invisible to them.
Suddenly, the ground beneath him shook, the air grew dense and prickly, and everything around him took on a hazy, distorted look. At first, the dungeon blurred as if his vision had lost focus. Cursing, Bruce tried to steady himself, feeling his body start to falter. He reached out to brace against the wall, but his fingers seemed to pass right through it. The shapes of the dragons, the walls, and even his own hands flickered from light to dark, as if the world was losing its color and solidity, then began to disintegrate into strange, glowing patches.
— What the hell… — he tried to yell again, but his voice cut off, like a record stuck on a skip.
His hands went numb, and it felt as though his body was being pulled downward, like he was caught in a whirlpool. A sickening weakness shot through him, and Bruce, feeling like he couldn’t stand anymore, dropped to his knees, pressing his palms to the floor. But he couldn’t feel the cold of the stone beneath him; instead of a solid surface, his fingers sensed only an odd, intangible emptiness.
Then that, too, disappeared. His hands seemed to sink through reality itself. He tried to clench his fingers, to grab onto something, anything, but it was like reaching for smoke—everything around him lost form and substance. The world dissolved, and the last thing Bruce felt was a deafening ringing in his ears and a weightlessness that swallowed everything into silence.
Then—darkness.