Killswitch: Battle of the gods

Escape...

He felt the chains loosen, the artefact was out, the magic had been disabled within the radius, it was like an EMP had been let loose, he cared not, it was his chance to escape. The escape realization hit Ben like a bolt of lightning. The artifact was gone, which meant that the magic that had held him prisoner was gone too, he was free. He had a chance to escape, but he had to act quickly. He took a deep breath, trying to slow his racing heart, “Atlantis my foot, this has to be somewhere in the rainforest, so, report to the police and get help is the plan,” he murmured. He gathered his strength and struggled to his feet. He could hear the guards in the hallway, talking and laughing. He knew he had to be quiet if he wanted to get out of there alive.

With magic gone, the cells were unlocked. As the cell door swung open, he began his escape. The dimly lit dungeon, with its cold stone walls and eerie atmosphere, had been his home for far too long. He was a weak and feeble prisoner at this point, deemed unworthy of thought anymore by his captors. Little did they know, they had wildly underestimated him. From what he now understood this was a medieval magic fantasy world, where mystical beings roamed and enchanted lands stretched as far as the eye could see, where the weak had always been at the mercy of the strong, but adversely he couldn’t stop thinking this was the modern world. Little did the captors know, hidden beneath his gaunt appearance was a brilliant mind, filled with wild imagination and a cunning spirit.

As he stepped out of his confinement, a gust of chilly wind whispered through his tattered clothes. The moon's pale light spilled onto his face, highlighting the determination etched across his weary features. He had spent many dark hours planning this very moment, gathering strength from the shadows and embracing the magic that lay dormant within him he pressed forward.

The corridors of the old castle were a labyrinth of twists and turns, filled with countless guards who relished their power and enforced their dominance with merciless brutality. But the prisoner had become intimately acquainted with the castle's secrets during his time of captivity, using his keen intellect to discern the unspoken patterns of the guards' routines, their statements and movements.

Stealthily, Ben moved through the corridors, relying on his keen senses to detect even the faintest sounds of danger. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows on the ancient stone walls, giving him brief glimpses of hidden alcoves and concealed passages. The magic of the world seemed to respond to his presence, guiding him towards his freedom, as faint whispers in his mind. He pushed the whispers as hallucinations.

Soon, he found himself at the heart of the dungeon, where the grand hall stood adorned with opulent tapestries and intricately carved pillars. It was here that the cruel Inquisitor held court, ruling with an iron fist and unchecked ambition. Ben knew that his escape would not be complete until he outsmarted the inquisitor himself. He grabbed an old rusted decoration sword, it was chipped and filthy, it's blade dark and dull. He pushed the inquisitors resting room doors open, guards screaming behind him trying to attack.

Drawing on his waning strength, he felt the whispers once more. He copied the same words the voices whispered, and he felt power circling within his body. Unbeknownst to him he summoned a magical enchantment he had never heard of, in a language he had never spoken. With a flick of his hand, a swirling vortex of energy materialized, causing the air to crackle with unseen power. The guards, who were once his tormentors, now stood, watched and trembled in fear as their weapons turned to dust, leaving them defenseless.

As the prisoner stepped back from the empty room into the grand hall, he faced the bewildered inquisitor, who could scarcely believe that a frail prisoner had dared challenge his authority. In a voice amplified by his newfound magic, the prisoner spoke with a confidence that belied his physical weakness. "Your reign of oppression ends now," he declared, his words resonating through the cavernous hall. "No longer will the weak cower in fear. It is time for a new era, where strength is measured not by the might of one's arm, but by the depth of one's heart."

In that moment, the magic that coursed through the world seemed to align with Ben's words. The guards, once loyal to the inquisitor, turned their backs on their malevolent master and ran. The prisoners, who had suffered under the inquisitor's tyrannical rule, found solace in the Ben's conviction and rushed towards the inquisitor, overwhelming him, stabbing as well as dismembering him. His escape from the clutches of darkness had sparked a revolution, transforming the cells he had left behind into empty cages. As Ben looked upon the newfound freedom he had fought so valiantly for, he knew that true strength lied not in physical prowess, but in the ability to overcome adversity with wit, courage, and an unwavering belief in oneself. He stared up to the sky, his mouth wide open as escapees ran past him, wyverns were flying overhead, and the prison guards were riding them, wyverns!.

Immediately he heard a voice, different from the whispers he had heard before ring in his head.

Sage god system activated: Entity Ben, recognized as conqueror, passing appraisal skill- granted, current tittle- true hero…

Then the voice went silent. Ben started to run, following the other escapees, the rusted sword at his hilt. As he stumbled into the slums, clothes tattered and body weak, Ben tasted the bitter tang of freedom on his lips. Escaping the clutches of the dreaded dungeon, he had expected respite, but what he found was a medieval world engulfed in poverty and despair. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, hunger for both food and the basic comforts of life. The slums he found himself in were a far cry from the grandeur of the dungeon he had been imprisoned in. Dilapidated buildings stood like weary sentinels, their crumbling facades mirroring the broken spirits of the destitute souls dwelling inside. Ben's heart sank at the sight, realizing that his escape from the dungeon was merely the beginning of a grueling battle for survival.

The narrow, winding streets were teeming with people, desperate figures who fought tooth and nail for a morsel of bread. The air reeked of decay, a byproduct of poverty and neglect. Each step Ben took brought him closer to the stark reality of the slums, where lives were measured in hunger and scarcity. Food was a rare luxury in this medieval wasteland. For the next days, Ben foraged for sustenance in bins and market stalls, trying to salvage anything edible from the refuse left behind by the fortunate few. Stale bread and scraps became his daily sustenance, barely enough to keep his weakened body from giving up its fight.

The days proved harsh and unforgiving. The sun beat down relentlessly, mercilessly reminding Ben of the unbearable hunger that plagued him. He witnessed countless souls, gaunt and emaciated, wandering the streets like specters of desperation, he saw the dead bodies in the alley ways, the violence fighting for scraps. They scavenged, bartered, and fought for survival, their hollow eyes silently begging for mercy that this stark world denied them. Sleep eluded Ben like a distant dream, as the slums offered no solace or respite. Nights were filled with the eerie echoes of distant cries and the haunted silence of empty stomachs. The moon cast a cold, blue shadow over the slums, but offered no comfort to the famished souls who huddled in dark corners, seeking shelter and warmth. Yet, amidst the harshness, Ben found hope in unexpected places. The slums were not devoid of kindness, and he encountered indomitable spirits who defied their circumstances and shared the little they had. They formed a tight-knit community, united by their shared struggle, their determination to survive not completely extinguished.

Days turned into weeks, and the hunger continued its relentless assault - a constant reminder of Ben's plight. Each day, he witnessed the tenacity of the people, their resilience in the face of adversity. A fire ignited within him, a fierce desire to rise above his circumstances and help those who shared his struggle. His wanted posters were plastered across the city, some new and others old, he had to leave, if someone knew this Alsies, that someone had to be in the capital, he had no choice, he had to go to the so called capital. As he finally bid farewell to the slums, Ben carried with him the memories of those harsh and hungry days into the f*******n enchanted forest, a shortcut to the capital, dangerous as it was, it was safer than the roads especially since he was a wanted man. Within himself he vowed to use his newfound magic and freedom to fight for justice and equality, to ensure that no one would have to endure the agony of hunger and despair in his world, until he found a way back to his. After all, within the slums is where he learned everything he knew of this new world, this Atlantis.

Walking away from the slums, Ben knew that his journey had only just begun. Armed with the strength forged in the crucible of hunger, and a rusted sword on his hilt he went into the forest. Ben took off within the birth of morning running, his heart pounding in his chest with fear of the unknown. He knew he had to put as much distance between himself, the slums and the prison as possible. He ran through the narrow streets of the slums, dodging carts and people as he went. When he reached the edge of the city, he didn't stop. He plunged into the forest, crashing through the undergrowth. The trees were dense and dark, he felt like he was running blind but he pressed on.

As he passed the tree line from the slums, a chipped sword on his hilt, the weak young man ventured deeper into the mighty forest. The air was heavy with the scent of moss and ancient secrets, and the dense canopy above blocked out most of the sunlight, casting an eerie shadow on the forest floor.