The Cut That Echos

For a moment, it was as if the world had stopped turning. The cries of the guards outside, the stench of decay in the air, the very fabric of the prison itself seemed to fade away. There was only Alex and Lily, two lost souls finding each other in the dark. Rachel and Penelope watched, their hearts in their throats, as the undead man and the living girl touched, the barrier between them as fragile as a spiderweb. The creature’s hand, so cold and lifeless, wrapped around Lily’s warm, trembling fingers. His eyes searched hers, a silent question hanging in the air. Was this truly his daughter? The girl he had held in his arms, whispered bedtime stories to, and promised to always protect? The girl who had grown up without him, in a world that had gone mad?

"You need to go," he rasped, his voice strained with the effort of speaking. "It’s not safe here." Penelope’s heart shattered at the words. “Alex, please,” she begged, her voice cracking. “We can help you.” But the spark of humanity in Alex’s eyes was fading, the hunger for flesh and blood rising once more. With a roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the prison, he shoved Lily away from the bars, his hand slamming into the metal with a bone-crushing force. “Leave!” he bellowed, his voice a twisted mockery of the man they had known. The group stumbled back, their hearts pounding in their chests. Rachel gathered Lily into her arms, her eyes never leaving the tormented creature that was her father. “We will,” she promised, her voice firm. “We’ll make this right. I swear it.”

They retreated to the control room, the weight of their encounter heavy on their shoulders. Marcus slammed his fist into the wall, his eyes burning with anger. “We can’t leave him like that,” he said, his voice tight with rage. “We have to find a way to save him.” Rachel held Lily close, her own eyes filled with tears. “We will,” she assured the girl. “But first, we need to make sure everyone is safe.” Penelope leaned heavily on her crutch, her mind racing. She knew Alex was lost to them in this state, but she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him like this. Her eyes searched the control room, seeking an answer. And then it came to her. The king’s mark—the very thing that had once bound her to the monster she had escaped—could be the key to saving Alex.

Her voice was steady, despite the turmoil within. “There’s a way,” she said, drawing the group’s attention. “The king’s mark… it’s more than just a symbol of ownership. It’s a bond. A connection.” Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “You think that’s what’s keeping Alex under his control?”

“If I can break the bond between the king and me, maybe it’ll weaken the grip he has on Alex.” Marcus crossed his arms, his skepticism etched deep. “You’re talking about going back to the city,” he said, his voice low. “Back to that… thing.” Penelope met his gaze, unwavering. “It’s the only way.” Marcus’s jaw clenched. “And what if it doesn’t work?” Penelope didn’t blink. “Then I die trying.” Rachel’s voice cut in softly. “Marcus, you know we can’t abandon hope. If there’s even a chance to save Alex…”

Marcus looked at them all—Rachel, Penelope, Lily—and the fight drained slowly from his shoulders. “Alright,” he muttered. “We’ll go back.” The group had grown close in a short time, and the thought of splitting up again was a knife to the heart. When Marcus called for volunteers, only eight stepped forward—battle-scarred, tired, but determined. The rest stayed behind to fortify the prison and protect the vulnerable. Penelope looked over the small band, a kaleidoscope of ages, faces, and histories, all united by the same purpose: to save Alex and others who might still be enslaved to the king’s will. Rachel handed out weapons. Penelope gripped a pistol with trembling hands. “We need to move quickly,” Marcus said, opening the door. “The longer we’re out there, the worse it gets.”

Penelope nodded. Rachel gave her a look filled with quiet strength and trust. “Stay safe,” she said. The night was cold and sharp as they stepped outside. The bus loomed behind them like a steel beast—both shelter and burden. Penelope’s mind churned. The king’s guards would already be hunting. The undead would never be far. The city called to her like a wound that hadn’t healed. “Hide in the bus,” she whispered to Rachel. “I’ll get his attention.” Rachel stared at her, then slowly nodded, helping usher the group inside while Penelope turned alone into the night, her crutch dragging lines in the dirt. The moans of the undead drifted like smoke through the trees, punctuated by the shrieks of the king’s enforcers. She stood under the stars, heart pounding, legs shaking. And then—she drew the knife.

The mark on her neck pulsed, a knot of heat and memory. Her breath hitched. She pressed the blade into the skin, just above the cursed sigil. It burned. It fought back. The steel bit deeper. Her breath left her in a ragged gasp as blood welled up and spilled down her collar. The mark writhed like a living thing, struggling against her defiance. She bit her tongue to stay silent, her hand trembling, her body swaying. The wind stopped. The trees stilled. Even the moans of the dead ceased. And then—it came. A voice—not from the earth, not from the sky, but from inside everything—rose like thunder. It cracked through the bones of the world. "PENELOPE."

The king's voice. Not a shout. A command. The sound rolled like a tsunami, breaking over her, rattling the bus, shaking the prison walls. She fell to her knees, blood dripping from her neck, the blade slick in her hand. Rachel gasped inside the bus. Marcus drew his weapon. Lily clutched her doll, trembling. The earth shook beneath her knees. The wind surged through the trees. Even the undead seemed to fall quiet in fear. And then she saw him. From the edge of the woods, something stirred. Leaves rustled. Branches cracked. And out stepped the king. He emerged from the tree line like death himself—tall, otherworldly, his eyes burning with betrayal. Shadows clung to him like armor. His expression was unreadable, carved from rage and madness and something darker than either.

Penelope staggered back, the knife slipping from her fingers. His gaze locked onto hers. The mark may have been broken, but the bond—it was still there.

And he was coming.