NOVEL NEXT Chapter 170: The Mess Hall Massacre
Ethan swallowed the tasteless gruel, keeping his eyes fixed on the tray, but his mind was anchored on the sight of Jason. The humiliation inflicted upon his bodyguard was a direct message. The question drilled into Ethan's mind: Why hadn't they done anything to him this morning? His rapid healing must have raised suspicion. Were they waiting for the perfect moment?
Slowly, Ethan raised his gaze and found Jason's swollen eyes across the crowd. Jason returned to a look of steel, a slight nod, a silent communication that said: I'm okay. Don't move. It's not worth it.
Ethan took a final bite of his gruel, his mind focused on control, even as he monitored Jason. He had decided on patience, knowing he couldn't risk his cover for a minor skirmish.
But Lexington's guards weren't interested in a minor skirmish. They were interested in breaking the spirit of the two men who had humiliated a prosecutor.
Two large guards, their faces set in hard lines of hatred, ignored Ethan's table and walked directly toward Jason.
"You, Sparks' little pet! Stand up!" the first guard snarled, kicking Jason's chair.
Jason, his body already a mass of pain and bruises, struggled to rise. Before he could fully stand, the second guard shoved his head down.
"You think you're in a hotel, trash?" the guard mocked, and before Ethan could react, the guard grabbed the back of his neck and slammed his face into the metal tray, burying it in greasy gruel and bitter coffee.
"SWALLOW THAT! IT'S YOUR DINNER, ANIMAL!" The guard laughed.
José and Antonio tensed, their faces burning, but they kept their hands steady under the table, remembering Santiago's order.
The first guard grabbed his leg and began dragging him across the filthy dining room floor, yelling, "Clean yourself up, you fucking terrorist! We don't want your shit here!"
"EAT IT, YOU FILTH! YOUR CHIEF LEFT YOU HERE TO ROT, DIDN'T HE?" the guard screamed, grinding Jason's face down against the cold metal.
Jason muffled a cry of pain. He looked across the mess hall at Ethan one last time, his eyes swollen shut but communicating the same steel message: Stay down. It's okay. Don't move.
But Ethan saw the broken teeth from the previous night, the swelling, and the deliberate cruelty aimed at his loyal man. The composure built from eight hours of meditation shattered like glass.
Ethan thought: Never. NO MAN OF ETHAN BLAKE WOULD BE HUMILIATED!
Ethan didn't shout. He moved.
With a speed that defied the heavy shackles on his ankles, Ethan launched himself out of his seat, covering the ten-meter distance in a blur.
"NOW! FOR THE CHIEF!" José screamed, recognizing the signal, and he and Antonio immediately surged from their table, leading the charge.
Ethan reached the first guard holding Jason down. His first punch, fueled by pure, blinding fury and the Dao Martial Technique of the Fist, was a devastating masterpiece. It connected with the side of the guard's temple. There was a wet CRACK, the sound of bone giving way, and the guard pitched sideways, his eyes rolling back into his head before he hit the floor, motionless.
The second guard released Jason and whirled around, drawing his baton. "YOU SON OF A—!"
Ethan intercepted the baton, ripping it from the guard's grip. He swung the baton back with the force of a battering ram, striking the guard across the bridge of the nose. The sound was sickening, followed by a spray of blood, cartilage, and teeth. The guard dropped, screaming, clutching his shattered face.
"TEAR THEM APART!" José bellowed, and the mess hall exploded.
The chaos became systemic. José, Antonio, and their allies immediately formed a protective wedge around Ethan and the fallen guards, engaging any other officer they could reach.
"Lock down! Gas! Rubber rounds! NOW!" the chief officer on the platform shrieked into his radio.
The alarms blared, high-pitched and frantic.
The riot wasn't just against the guards; it was a full-scale prison war. Years of racial tension and vendettas erupted, triggered by the collapse of authority.
The Latinos gang vs. Guards focused on creating a clear path for Ethan, utilizing trays and metal chairs as weapons.
Aryan Brotherhood vs. Black Gangs inmates jumped tables, settling old blood scores with horrifying ferocity, smashing heads against steel benches. "KILL THE NAZIS!" "CLEANSE THE FILTH!" The air was filled with primal screams and the sickening thud of bodies hitting concrete.
Tear gas canisters began dropping from the ceiling vents, quickly filling the massive room with a stinging, choking cloud. The guards opened fire with rubber bullets, which slammed into the densely packed inmates, producing loud thwacks and bringing down men with broken ribs and massive contusions.
Ethan grabbed Jason, who was slumped over the bench, dazed but alive.
"Hold on, brother! We're getting out of here!" Ethan yelled, roughly slinging Jason's dead weight over his shoulder.
Ethan, shielding Jason's head and neck, navigated the raging, gas-filled battlefield. His Qi Breathing allowed him to withstand the gas far longer than anyone else, and his Fist Technique allowed him to punch through the chaos, leaving a trail of broken guards and terrified inmates in his wake. He had traded a tentative truce for absolute war, but his man was safe.
He gently set Jason down against the wall, shielding him with his body.
He knew he couldn't keep fighting while absorbing damage like a titanium block. The guards would know he was a threat beyond human capacity.
"System," Ethan grunted, dodging a flying tray, "is there a way to temporarily deactivate my Harder Than Steel ability?"
The System chuckled, its voice sounding delighted amidst the alarm sirens. [Now this is getting fun! Yes, Champion. Just think about deactivating it. It's a mental toggle; it's easy.]
Ethan took a ragged breath and concentrated. He felt the familiar, dense heat that protected his body instantly recede, leaving his skin feeling soft and exposed—painfully human.
He didn't hesitate. He pushed off the wall and ran back toward the thickest part of the melee, now fully vulnerable. He needed to prove he could be hurt. He needed to bleed.