Chapter 150: Cry Louder
The room went sideways for a second. Darkness and panic filled the air, then a new sound cut through it all: a thudding, struggling noise as the shrouded figure suddenly collapsed and began to writhe on the floor.
Riley came in hot, chest heaving, hair sticking out in every direction but half-hidden beneath what he hoped passed for a hat. His clothes hung crooked under the weight of everything he’d been hauling, giving him the look of a man who had lost a fight with his own luggage.
He looked ridiculous and determined all at once. But more than that, he planted himself in the doorway while barking, "Cry louder!" at the kids.
For a beat, no one moved.
Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, the children screamed until their throats hurt and the air quivered. The sound was raw and miraculous. It filled the cell, it filled the corridor, it filled Riley’s ears and, crucially, it filled every dark corner with noise.
The shrouded thing convulsed harder. He couldn’t see it well yet, but Riley hoped the muscles of that thing—if it even had muscles—were bunching and releasing as it convulsed.
Riley pressed his palms to his temples and muttered every prayer he could remember, anything that might buy him luck. He was praying and improvising at once.
His plan was nuts, desperate, definitely illegal, and maybe very, very stupid.
But he hoped it would work.
The writhing figure finally tore away its disguise in a wet, slumping motion. Whatever glamour had clothed it had peeled like rotten paint.
Underneath, it looked less like a man and more like a lab experiment assembled on a bad day: mismatched limbs, a skin tone that was hard to name, and a breathing pattern that rattled like someone blowing through a reed.
"?!"
A Mutant?
A Chimera?
Chimera was the closest word he could really think of. While Riley’s knowledge of mythical biology wasn’t that bad, he could never claim it to be comprehensive, considering how everyone wanted to keep their identities a secret. So even when you think you know, you likely don’t.
But it was not the time to think about what this thing was. He did not have time to be a forensic expert,
However, he had time for his apparently reliable, newly purchased, and extremely expensive taser. He also had time for a sack. And had time for two hands and very poor impulse control.
Riley stepped forward, clipped the taser to life, and pressed it against the thing’s side. It sparked and shuddered again. The creature’s convulsions hit a new, frantic pitch. The children’s screams crescendoed into a single, ragged choir. Riley felt like a conductor with the world’s worst sheet music.
Then he did something that, on paper, read like a terrible idea. He reached into his pack, grabbed a heavy preservation sack he kept for emergencies or, apparently, unexpected horrors, and flung it open.
The kids blinked. The chimera convulsed. For a second, there was a ridiculous tableau: a man in odd clothes, a monstrous, twitching shape, and a ceremonial-looking bag.
Riley lunged. He shoved, he wrestled, he cursed, and somehow the sack swallowed the creature like a mouth taking a bad bite. The thing likely attempted to thrash inside for a moment, a muffled cascade of limbs and muffled sounds, then it stilled enough for Riley to pull the drawcord tight. Or maybe that was just his imagination after he did all that so that the chimera would fit inside.
Everyone froze. The silence that fell felt like a held breath.
"Is he... dead?" someone whispered, tiny and hopeful.
Riley crouched, chest heaving, hands steadied on the sack that was now flat once more.
He did not know. He did not care. He had no plan for dignified interrogations or moral debates about his version of dark magic, because he was fairly certain they had bigger problems.
"Sorry, kids, I’m not sure about that either. But right now he’s not here anymore, is he?"
The children watched him like he had folded the sky in half. Their faces were a storm of awe, disbelief, and a fragile, immediate relief. Finnian, still trembling, stared like someone who had just seen a miracle that smelled faintly of salt water.
Riley straightened, wiped his palms on his trousers, and tried to look both heroic and exhausted.
"Okay," he said, voice rough. "Who wants to play a little game of ’let’s get out of here alive?’"
Silence. No one answered with words. Instead, the kids pressed closer together, clutching each other like barnacles clinging to a rock in a storm.
For a moment, Riley thought he had completely botched the delivery. But then a hoarse voice, shaky yet firm, came from the corner.
"Me. I definitely want to play that with you."
Riley blinked, then turned. It wasn’t a child at all—it was the shackled adult.
Risa’s face was pale, her eyes red from tears, yet she gave him a brave nod.
"Yeah," Riley said, his throat dry. "Let’s try our best."
Because really, what else could he say? How dare he offer such a thing when he himself had no idea what was happening?
But then came a small yet courageous voice, "W-who are you?"
"Me?" Riley lifted a hand, feeling absurd. "I’m Riley. And ideally, I’m here to help you."
It wasn’t the most convincing introduction in history, but he couldn’t go around making promises he wasn’t sure he could keep, right?
See, right before they entered the water vortex, Kael had warned him with his eyes.
And he thought nothing of it when he took a breath and realized he wasn’t underwater anymore.
He expected that.
What he didn’t expect was the gut-dropping truth that hit him the moment he looked around.
There was no sign of the golden dragon lord.
Not a shadow. Not a trace.
Just Riley, standing in a cobblestone hallway, heart racing like it was trying to break out of his chest, realizing in full clarity that he was absolutely, irreversibly screwed.
Calling out for Kael would do him no good.
So, swallowing the panic, Riley did the only thing left to him—decided to take a few matters into his own trembling hands.
And that was when he heard it, the oddest footsteps.
Then the screams.