Boundless Evolution: The Summoning Beast
Chapter 51: Escaping Malakar

Chapter 51: Escaping Malakar

Kieran burst into his safehouse, quickly closing the windows behind him as he doubled over, struggling to catch his breath.

He had rushed out from the royal citadel as fast as he could so as to not have any trailing figures. The safehouse was hidden deep within the city’s slums, nestled between two crumbling stone buildings, accessible only through a narrow alleyway that reeked of damp rot and refuse.

From the outside, it was just another abandoned shack, forgotten by time and overlooked by the city’s patrols. It was only upon arrival, he began to recover his breath and fatigue.

The small, dimly lit room was barely more than a forgotten storeroom, a hideaway carved into the underbelly of the city.

Unlike the fragile, run-down shacks that littered the slums, the place had been reinforced with purpose. Heavy iron bars had been fitted onto the door’s frame, secured with a series of thick locks that could only be unlatched from the inside.

And the walls, though appearing old and splintered, had additional layers of stone hidden beneath their wooden exterior, ensuring they could withstand brute force, buying time in the event of an attack.

A cot in the corner, a rickety desk covered in ink stains, and a single flickering lantern were all that occupied the cramped space. The only exit, besides the door, was a small, dust-covered window barely large enough to slip through, its frame lined with reinforced iron, ensuring that it was not an easy way in-but, in an emergency, a desperate way out. It wasn’t much, but it provided all that he needed.

Gathering his energy back, he immediately sprung up from his makeshift bed and made his way to his desk and sat down.

The weight of what he had learned still clung fresh to his mind like a vice. He had to write it all down- everything. Each second that he did not do anything was a second lost to Eldoria in planning and immediately acting against the plot of Zavareth.

He pulled out a crumpled parchment, flattening it against the desk with shaking hands. The ink bottle on the top corner of the table wobbled as he uncorked it, dark smudges staining his fingertips as he began to write.

Every detail of Zavareth’s plans. The dragon. The hundred thousand souls. Titan’s gate. The undead legions. Ironwatch Keep. Riverward Bastion.

His quill scratched against the paper in frantic strokes, his breath coming faster as he recounted the atrocities he had overheard. His mind raced through everything, desperate to commit it all to parchment, as if writing it down could somehow make it less real. Less monstrous.

His hand moved frantically, scratching out the truths that could decide Eldoria’s fate and as he reached the halfway point, he stopped to swing his arms, trying to shake out the fatigue...

In a few seconds, he felt ready to write again...

Kieran’s breath slowed, his quill hovering just above the parchment as an eerie feeling crept up his spine.

Something was wrong.

Outside, the muffled sounds of the city carried on—distant footsteps, the occasional murmur of late-night merchants, the drunken slur of a beggar in the alley. But directly outside his door...nothing.

No footsteps. No idle chatter. Just... silence.

Then—

Three slow, deliberate knocks.

Kieran’s stomach twisted. That wasn’t a casual knock. That was confirmation.

They knew he was inside.

A voice followed, smooth, confident, laced with amusement.

"We know you’re in there, little rat."

Kieran’s fingers tightened around the quill. His mind screamed at him to move, but his body refused. He listened as the head guard exhaled slowly, his voice almost... disappointed, "All that running... and yet, here you are."

Kieran’s stomach twisted into a knot. They had found him.

For a fraction of a second, he remained still, paralyzed between instinct and reason. But then his body moved before his mind could keep up. He grabbed the parchment and, with shaking hands, brought it to the lantern’s flame. The dry paper curled, blackening as embers devoured the ink.

Gone. No evidence left.

His storage ring flared to life, a dim silver glow radiating from his finger, a single sealed letter appeared in his hand.

The voice then sounded again, "Come quietly, and maybe the King will let you keep your legs."

Cursing under his breath, Kieran extended his hand, his fingers tracing an intricate symbol in the air as he imbued them with magic. A flicker of energy pulsed around him as a summoning glyph formed, glowing faintly before coalescing into a swirling vortex of shadow and light.

From within, a black-feathered raven emerged, its form shifting as though not entirely tethered to the material plane. Wisps of dark mist curled around its wings before fading into nothingness. The raven let out a low, knowing caw, its intelligent eyes glimmering like twin onyx stones as it perched on Kieran’s wrist.

Without hesitation, Kieran retrieved the prewritten letter from his storage ring before rolling it tightly and securing it to the bird’s leg with practiced precision. His hands trembled, his fingers fumbling with the twine, the urgency pressing against his ribs like a tightening vice. However, just as he tied it onto the raven...

The voice ran out again, "Break the door down."

Another voice chuckled. "And if he tries to flee?"

"Then we remind him why no one escapes Zavareth’s grasp. Wounded or dead—he comes with us either way."

They weren’t asking. They were waiting.

They were going to break the door down.

The knocking turned to pounding. Heavy fists struck against the reinforced door, rattling the iron bars within its frame. Kieran’s breath caught as he heard the muffled curses of the soldiers outside.

"It’s holding," one of the guards grunted. "Damn thing is reinforced."

"Step aside," the head guard ordered, his voice devoid of amusement now. "If brute force won’t open it, magic will."

A pause. Then the unmistakable hum of arcane energy filled the air.

Without any room for hesitation, Kieran rushed to the window, flinging it open as the cold night air rushed in.

"Fly to Whitehold," he whispered urgently as he cocked his arm back and as full stretch, he flung the bird straight out the window and launched it into the night sky.

Boom!

The door exploded inward.

Wood splintered in all directions, the impact rattling the walls as armored figures surged into the room.

The head guard stepped in first, his boots crunching against the broken wood, his smirk never wavering. His posture was relaxed, exuding cold amusement, like a wolf toying with its prey. His sharp, calculating gaze swept across the room, methodical, confident—hunting.

Behind him, a squad of heavily armed soldiers followed, their armor glinting in the lantern light. Each one moved with rigid discipline, their weapons already drawn. Unlike common patrolmen, these were trained hunters, men used to tracking and capturing high-value targets.

"I expected more of a struggle," the head guard mused, tilting his head as he looked into the room.

Kieran’s breath hitched as his mind screamed at him to move, but for half a second, he stood frozen, locked in the piercing gaze of the head guard.

A smirk appeared on the head guard’s lip, "Ah... there you are."

In that second, Kieran leaped and the cold night air greeted him as he landed on the tiles and immediately dashed away.

The guards erupted into motion, barking orders as steel clattered against armour.

"After him!" the head guard commanded as he also leaped out of the window.

Kieran dashed through the narrow alleyways, his body flickering in a wispy deep indigo energy as he weaved through the shadows. The sounds of pursuit were relentless—armour clanking, boots slamming against the stone, the sharp orders of the head guard cutting through the night, "He’s fast, but he won’t outrun us! Close him in!"

Kieran’s pulse pounded in his ears as he pushed forward, his lungs burning with exertion. The streets twisted ahead of him, the paths narrowing into tight corridors between the towering buildings of Malakar.

His body flickered again, the space around him bending as he attempted another dash—only for the head guard to appear right behind him, unnaturally fast.

"It’s over," the guard snarled, his blade whistling through the air as he struck.

Kieran twisted at the last second, barely avoiding the slash as he skidded into a dead-end alley. His back hit the cold wall, runes faintly glowing along its surface. A trap? No—a plan. He had prepared for this.

The head guard slowed, his smirk widening as he stalked forward, sword at the ready, "Cornered. No more tricks. No more running."

Kieran straightened, catching his breath as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Then, slowly, he smiled. A knowing, confident smile.

"Goodbye."

"What—" the head guard’s eyes widened as runes flickered to life around Kieran’s feet. "NO—!"

Kieran twisted reality itself, his form warping for a split second before disappearing in a surge of spatial energy.

The guard’s outstretched fingers swiped at empty air. He clenched his fist. "Damn it."

Then, a slow, eerie chuckle rumbled from behind him.

"Run... run away, little helpless piggy."

The head guard whirled around, his breath catching in his throat. Archlich Ravos stood at the entrance of the alley, his glowing eyes fixed on the fading remnants of the teleportation runes.

Ravos extended a skeletal hand, brushing his fingers along the symbols as the glow faded into nothing.

"A well-crafted escape. But..." he let out a slow, amused exhale, "Only those gifted in spatial magic could have used these."

He straightened, his eyes gleaming.

"I did wonder... when I first saw him. That flicker of something—hidden. And now... here it is."

The alley was silent except for the faint echo of Kieran’s vanishing presence. The head guard exhaled, sheathing his blade, frustration simmering beneath his stoic expression.

Ravos smirked, "This one... is proving entertaining."