𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒 | 𝐃.𝐌

₄₆ ᴠɪᴄɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴜᴛᴀʟ

Sρσƚιϝყ ρʅαყʅιʂƚ ϝσɾ αʂʂαʂʂιɳʂ
ʅιɳƙҽԃ ιɳ ɱყ Ⴆισ
┈˃̶༒˂̶┈

Draco's hands were a bloody mess. He couldn't take this any longer. Ava is alive—Another punch to the hard cave walls of his confined cell. She is hurt—Another punch. He was in a cell and couldn't do anything. He couldn't help her. He is useless. His hands were covered in old blood and new, dripping into the darkness and dirty puddle of water.

Before, escaping seemed pointless if he was going to be escaping to a life of constant fighting and war, and a life without Ava. But now, Ava is alive. Ava is out there and he has to find her. He has to get to her.

So as he leaned his arms against the rough cave wall and lowered his head, breathing heavily as if he might erupt with fiery rage, his mind began crawling at a plan to escape.

It was going to be one hell of a mission but he would do everything to see Ava again. To be with her, touch her, hold her, protect her and everything else they had yet to do.

And like life itself was rooting for Ava and Draco, a large rock glistened with water droplets on the dark floor. Draco's head tilted. This was going to be easier than he expected.

He lowered himself and picked up the rock—it had to be a cruel figment of his imagination. Maybe his deathly hunger was finally getting to him, or maybe the cut on his forehead was creating illusions. But as he held the rock in his hands, it felt real. Firm. Strong. Hard. Everything that he needed.

Draco stood, threw it in the air and caught it with ease. Real. It's real. He walked over to the cell door and looked at the lock. He was weak and wobbly on his feet but oh, he would be strong. Vicious and whatever else he needed to be. He has always got his power from pain and suffering and in the end, it only made him more powerful.

With vicious speed, Draco began hitting the rock against the lock and with each wicked hit, he prayed the cell wasn't spelled shut.

┈˃̶༒˂̶┈

After two hours the lock on the door shattered. Literally shattered into a hundred pieces of broken metal. Not once did he stop. And not once did the power in his hit lesson. If anything, the more bloodier his hands got, the stronger he found he could hit the lock.

Draco stumbled back as he watched the cell door open slightly and with his chest heaving like thunder, a wicked smirk pulled ever so slightly at the corner of his lips.

He did it.

Keeping the rock in his hand he exited the cell.

The dungeons must be soundproof because not once did a soldier or an assassin come down there. Either soundproof or the caves were so deep in the castle that it would be impossible to hear. He had never been down here before he was imprisoned, so these dungeons must be a special place for those who really don't want to escape.

He almost laughed because he did escape.

His chest was a dirty, bruised and bloody mess with cuts and scales decorating his chiseled and defined chest. His hair was a disheveled platinum mess and Draco imagined he looked brutally terrifying as he strolled out of the caves, with nothing but his torn trousers and a rock in his hand.