Chapter 65 — Sunlight
Prince of Hell.
Grim opened his eyes.
Light.
Real light.
Not the flickering piss-yellow of cellblocks.
Not the sterile hum of security lamps.
Sunlight.
Raw. Untamed. And it hurt.
His wrists burned.
Metal cuffs. Wall-mounted.
Behind him, the building creaked—glass cracked, heat shimmered, wind peeled at the rooftop like it wanted him gone.
Twenty floors down: concrete.
Above, an airship loomed.
BASTILLE II—stamped in bleeding red across its hull.
Speakers hissed.
The Warden’s voice poured out—too calm to be human.
“My lovely prisoners... As you can see, you’re all restrained.
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When I say go, you’ll be released. And so will they.
Your goal is simple: survive the next eight hours. Enjoy.”
Click.
Chains dropped.
Hands free.
Then the screaming started.
Not his.
Lower. Farther.
Ragged. Wet. Ended too fast.
Grim stood.
Didn’t tremble.
Rooftop stairs—rusted, loud, suicidal.
The building? An old mall.
Glass domes.
Food courts.
Shattered stores gutted by dust and time.
Grim scavenged.
Rotting cans.
Maggot bread.
A crow pecked at something unidentifiable in the corner.
Didn’t fly away when he approached.
He found the bat in a sports shop.
Aluminum.
Solid.
He twirled it.
His grip remembered things his mind had buried.
Down.
One floor at a time.
Too quiet.
On ground level—movement.
He froze.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe.
A shadow lunged.
Grim spun—
CRACK.
The figure hit the tile, groaning.
“—what the fuck, man?!”
Grim lowered the bat.
The cellblock bully lay there, clutching his jaw.
Eyes wide.
“I’ve been freaking out, man. Thought I was alone.
Saw it was you and—bam! That’s how you say hi?”
Grim said nothing.
“Shit,” the guy muttered, checking his teeth. “What do you eat, bro?”
Grim looked around.
No screaming.
No blood.
Just sun leaking through shattered glass.
And for the first time in Bastille 2…
There was nothing to kill.
End of Chapter.
