Chapter 6
May 15, 2025
The iron bars clanged shut behind Ace, sealing her inside a dimly lit cell. This was different from the isolation of the dungeon—this time, she wasn’t alone.
At least twenty men filled the space. Some sat against the damp stone walls, others paced like caged beasts. Their eyes turned toward her, sizing her up. Some with curiosity. Others with malice.
Ace kept her expression neutral, masking the exhaustion dragging at her limbs. The Alpha must have had a reason for putting her here. Either Rowan was wary of her after she’d killed the lion, or he wanted these prisoners to finish her off. She wasn’t about to let that happen.
The air was thick with sweat and something fouler. The men, of all shapes and sizes—tall, short, muscular, and wiry—watched her with unreadable expressions.
Then one of them stepped forward. He was massive, with arms thick as tree trunks and a jagged scar running down his cheek. His dark eyes held amusement and challenge.
“You’re the pup who killed the lion?” His voice was a deep rumble.
Ace didn’t answer. She had no energy for idle talk.
The man smirked. “What, too good to introduce yourself?” He took another step closer, towering over her. “I asked you a question.”
Ace remained silent, leaning against the wall, her eyes half-lidded. The smirk disappeared. SLAP.
Ace’s head snapped to the side as pain exploded in her cheek. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth.
A murmur spread through the cell. Some men chuckled. Others shifted uncomfortably.
Ace exhaled slowly. Not now. She was running on nothing—no food, no rest, and battle after battle. If she fought now, she might not win.
The man raised his hand for another strike.
She dodged. His palm met the wall with a sickening smack, causing him to curse. That seemed to amuse the others. A few chuckled under their breath.
“You little—” He threw a punch. Ace stepped aside, but his knuckles brushed her chest.
A flicker of confusion crossed his face. His thick brows furrowed as if something felt off.
Ace’s breath hitched. He noticed.
She felt it too—the slight shift in his expression, the realization behind his eyes. He felt what shouldn’t be there.
Panic flared in Ace’s mind, but anger took over faster. Before he could react, Ace struck. Her fist smashed into his face with a crack. Blood spurted from his nose. He stumbled, cursing. Before he could recover, she slammed her fist into his throat. The effect was immediate.
The man gasped, clutching his neck, eyes wide in pure terror. He wheezed, stumbled back, gagging. His face turned red, then purple as his air supply vanished.
The room fell silent. The others backed away as the man collapsed, hacking violently. His body convulsed, fingers clawing at his own throat. Ace stepped back, watching. She knew her own strength. She hadn’t killed him—not yet.
She had two styles:
One to kill instantly.
One to make an opponent suffer—gagging, dizzy, slipping into unconsciousness.
She had used the second.
She turned away, exhaustion dragging at her limbs. The room felt hot and too small. She sank against the cold stone, her head dropping to her knees. Murmurs rippled through the prisoners. No one moved toward her. They had seen. They understood.
But, a scream tore through the air and Ace’s head jerked up. A group of five men crowded around the fallen prisoner. One of them turned, his face pale.
“He’s dead.”
Ace shot to her feet.
