Rise of The Abandoned Husband

Chapter 667 - 667 - Consciousness in Chains, continuing directly from the previous chapter while adhering to all the plot points provided.

# Chapter 667 - Consciousness in Chains

I drifted in and out of consciousness, my mind floating through darkness punctuated by brief, painful moments of clarity. The cold stone floor beneath me was my only anchor to reality. Every breath sent shards of pain through my battered body.

Across from me, Isabelle sat watching with haunted eyes. Her once radiant face was gaunt, marked by weeks of torment. Each time I managed to focus, I found her gaze still fixed on me—as if afraid I might disappear if she looked away.

"You shouldn't have come," she whispered during one of my lucid moments. "Not for me."

I forced my cracked lips into what I hoped resembled a smile. "I'd burn the world down to find you."

She pressed her hand against the energy barrier separating us. "And look what it's cost you."

Before I could respond, darkness claimed me again.

When I next opened my eyes, guards were dragging Isabelle from her cell. Her screams echoed down the corridor, each one cutting into me deeper than any physical wound.

"No! Not again! Please!"

I struggled to rise, my muscles screaming in protest. "Leave her alone!" My voice was barely audible, even to my own ears.

One guard paused, glancing back at me with contempt. "Orders from above. Daily extraction."

Isabelle's eyes found mine as they pulled her away. The raw terror in them set something burning inside me—a rage so pure it momentarily eclipsed the pain.

"I'll kill you all," I promised, the words scraping my throat. "Every last one of you."

The guard laughed. "Big words from a dying man."

Then they were gone, and I was alone with my failure.

Hours passed like centuries. I drifted between consciousness and oblivion, using what little strength I had to examine my condition. My meridians were shattered, my organs failing. Jackson's medicine was the only thing keeping me alive, and even that was wearing thin.

This wasn't how the plan was supposed to unfold. Getting captured was deliberate—but not like this, not in this broken state. Emerson's betrayal had blindsided me, throwing everything into chaos.

Footsteps approached, pulling me from my thoughts. A figure stopped outside my cell—Emerson Holmes himself, his face carefully blank.

"You're awake," he observed, voice neutral. "Good."

I summoned all my hatred into a single glare. "Come to gloat?"

His eyes darted briefly to the corridor ends before returning to me. "No cameras in this section. Old system. They're upgrading next month."

I frowned, confusion momentarily overriding my anger. "What?"

Emerson knelt, bringing his face closer to the barrier. "Listen carefully. I have two minutes before the patrol returns." He spoke quickly, barely above a whisper. "Your capture is proceeding exactly as planned."

"You betrayed me," I spat.

"I delivered you exactly where you needed to be," he countered. "Where Isabelle is. Just as we discussed."

Memory flashed through my mind—a hushed conversation days ago, contingencies within contingencies.

"You were supposed to help me walk in under my own power," I growled. "Not drag me in half-dead."

His expression remained impassive. "Plans change. After you killed Nigel Reyes, security protocols shifted. This was the only way in."

I tried to read his face, searching for deception. "Bancroft thinks you're his man."

"Let him think that." Emerson glanced over his shoulder again. "The Council arrives in three days. Bancroft wants you broken before then. He's using Isabelle to do it."

"I noticed," I said bitterly.

"What you don't know is they're accelerating her procedures. After what happened with Nigel, they're afraid of losing her too."

Cold dread settled in my stomach. "What does that mean?"

"It means they're taking more than blood now. Tissue samples. Bone marrow. They're mapping her entire genetic structure." His voice dropped even lower. "They're calling it Project Ascension."

"They're killing her," I realized, horror washing over me.

Emerson nodded slightly. "Slowly. But yes."

I forced myself to sit up straighter, ignoring the pain. "Then we move now."

"You can barely move at all," he pointed out. "Stick to the timeline. Three days."

"She might not have three days!" I hissed.

"If you try anything now, you'll both die." His tone was clinical, devoid of emotion. "You need to recover at least some strength."

I wanted to argue, but the truth of his words was undeniable. In my current state, I couldn't save anyone.

"What about Mariana? Has she—"

"No communication," Emerson cut me off. "For your safety and hers."

Footsteps echoed from the corridor—the patrol returning. Emerson stood swiftly.

"I'll return when I can," he murmured. Then louder, for the approaching guards: "Think about my offer, Knight. Cooperation could make your situation more comfortable."

With that, he turned and walked away, passing the guards with a curt nod.

One guard sneered at me through the barrier. "Made a friend? Don't get used to it."

I didn't respond, my mind racing with Emerson's revelations. Project Ascension. They weren't just using Isabelle's blood—they were dismantling her, piece by piece. The timeline we'd carefully constructed was crumbling.

Minutes later, they brought Isabelle back. Two guards half-carried, half-dragged her limp form into her cell. They dropped her roughly onto the floor and reactivated the barrier.

"Isabelle," I called once they'd gone. "Isabelle, can you hear me?" Forabetterreadingexperience,visit*).

She stirred weakly, her eyes unfocused. "Liam?" Her voice was barely audible.

"I'm here," I assured her. "I'm right here."

She rolled onto her side to face me. Fresh bandages covered her arm and neck. A new bruise was forming on her cheek.

"It's worse today," she whispered. "They took more."

I pressed my palm against the barrier, ignoring the shock it sent through my system. "Tell me."

She closed her eyes briefly. "They had a new doctor. He said... he said my blood isn't enough anymore." Her voice cracked. "They drilled into my hip bone."

Rage flared inside me, white-hot and consuming. If I'd had the strength, I would have torn through the barrier with my bare hands.

"This ends soon," I promised her. "Hold on a little longer."

A bitter smile crossed her face. "We're both prisoners, Liam. How exactly does this end?"

Before I could answer, heavy footsteps approached—more than just the regular patrol. Four guards appeared, flanking a smirking Dashiell Blackthorne.

"Well, well," he drawled, stopping between our cells. "The mighty Liam Knight, at last."

I said nothing, conserving my strength. Dashiell's expensive clothes and perfectly styled hair seemed obscenely out of place in the grimy prison corridor.

"Not so talkative now, are you?" He gestured to the guards. "Open it."

One guard hesitated. "Sir, Guild Master Bancroft's orders were—"

"My father outranks Bancroft," Dashiell snapped. "Open it."

Reluctantly, the guard deactivated my barrier. Dashiell stepped inside, looking down at me with undisguised contempt.

"You crashed my wedding," he said conversationally. "Embarrassed me in front of the entire city." His smile turned cruel. "I've been dreaming about this moment."

The kick caught me in the ribs, sending fresh agony through my already damaged body. I bit back a groan, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

"Dashiell, stop!" Isabelle cried from her cell.

He ignored her, delivering another vicious kick. "Where's your power now, Knight? Where are your miraculous techniques?"

Each blow landed with precision, targeting areas already wounded. I curled inward, protecting my vital points as best I could.

"Leave him alone!" Isabelle screamed, pounding against her barrier. "It's me you want!"

Dashiell paused, turning toward her. "You? You're nothing but a resource now. A blood bag." He laughed coldly. "Father says the Council is so impressed with the results, they might harvest your organs next."

I saw red. With strength I didn't know I still possessed, I lunged forward, grabbing Dashiell's ankle. He yelped in surprise as I yanked him off balance. He fell hard, his head cracking against the stone floor.

"You'll die for that," he snarled, scrambling away from me.

The guards rushed in, boots and batons finding my already battered body. I couldn't fight back—could barely protect myself as blows rained down.

Through the pain, I heard Isabelle's desperate pleas. "Stop! You're killing him!"

"Enough." A new voice cut through the chaos—authoritative, impatient.

The guards stepped back immediately. I looked up through swollen eyes to see Darian Bancroft standing in the doorway, his face a mask of controlled anger.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

Dashiell struggled to his feet, smoothing his rumpled clothes. "Just teaching the prisoner a lesson, Guild Master."

Bancroft's cold gaze swept over me, then back to Dashiell. "These prisoners are under Council jurisdiction. You have no authority here, Blackthorne."

"My father—" Dashiell began.

"Is not here," Bancroft finished. "You are trespassing on Guild business. Leave."

For a moment, Dashiell looked like he might argue. Then, with a final venomous glance at me, he stalked out of the cell.

Bancroft turned to the guards. "Seal the barrier. No one enters without my explicit authorization." His eyes narrowed. "And someone find Holmes. Tell him I need those documents immediately."

Once they'd gone, I collapsed fully against the floor. Fresh blood trickled from my reopened wounds. Breathing became an exercise in agony.

"Liam?" Isabelle's voice trembled. "Please say something."

I couldn't respond. Darkness clawed at my consciousness, dragging me down. My last thought before succumbing was that Emerson was right—I was in no condition to save anyone.

When I next awakened, the lights in the corridor had dimmed for night cycle. My body felt like one massive bruise, but something had changed. The pain remained, but a tiny spark of energy had returned. Jackson's medicine was still working, slowly healing the worst of my injuries.

"You're awake." Isabelle's voice was soft with relief. She sat close to her barrier, watching me.

I managed to nod slightly. "How long was I out?"

"Hours." She hugged her knees to her chest. "I thought you were dying."

"Not yet," I whispered. "Still have promises to keep."

She was quiet for a moment. "I heard the guards talking. The High Council arrives in two days now. They're coming early because of you."

Two days, not three. The timeline was compressing even further.

"What else did you hear?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain steady.

Her eyes met mine across the corridor. "They're going to execute you, Liam. After the Council extracts whatever information they want. They're afraid of you."

I almost laughed at the irony. They feared me when I could barely move. If they'd known what I was planning...

"Fear is good," I murmured. "Makes people careless."

Isabelle leaned closer to her barrier. "Why did you really come here, Liam? You must have known it was a trap."

I studied her face, memorizing every detail. Even haggard from weeks of torment, she was beautiful.

"Because I promised I'd find you," I said simply.

Tears filled her eyes. "And now you'll die for it. We both will."

I shook my head slightly. "No. This isn't how our story ends."

"How can you still believe that?" Her voice cracked with emotion. "Look at us, Liam. Look at what they've reduced us to."

"They see what they want to see," I told her. "A broken man. A defeated woman. That's their mistake."

She frowned, confusion crossing her face. "What do you mean?"

Before I could answer, footsteps approached—quiet, measured steps. Emerson Holmes appeared, carrying a tray of food.

"Meal time," he announced loudly, glancing pointedly at the corners where surveillance might be. Then, softer: "Eat all of it. You need strength."

He deactivated my barrier long enough to slide the tray inside, then moved to Isabelle's cell to do the same.

I examined the plain gruel on the tray. Hidden beneath the bowl was a small, folded piece of paper. I palmed it carefully, not letting it show.

"Tomorrow," Emerson said as he reactivated Isabelle's barrier. His eyes met mine briefly. "The Council arrives tomorrow now."

With that cryptic message, he departed, his footsteps echoing down the corridor until silence returned.

I waited until I was certain we were alone before unfolding the paper. On it was a single word: "Midnight."

Hope bloomed in my chest—dangerous, fragile hope. I quickly ate the gruel, forcing down each tasteless spoonful. Strength. I needed strength.

"Isabelle," I called softly. "Come tomorrow, be ready to move quickly."

She looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "Move where? How?"

I pressed my palm against the barrier, wishing I could touch her, reassure her. "Trust me. Please."

Something in my voice must have reached her. She nodded slowly. "I always have."

As the hours passed, I focused inward, using every meditation technique I knew to accelerate my healing. The spark of energy grew gradually stronger. Not enough for a fight—nowhere near enough—but perhaps enough to run.

Guards came and went. They took Isabelle away once more, returning her even weaker than before. I catalogued their patrol patterns, noting the gaps in their rounds.

Night cycle came again. The corridor lights dimmed. I tensed, waiting.

Minutes stretched into hours. Had something gone wrong? Had Emerson been discovered?

Just as doubt began to creep in, the distant sound of an explosion rocked the prison. Alarms blared. Emergency lights flashed red.

"What's happening?" Isabelle asked, fear and hope mingling in her voice.

"Our way out," I answered, forcing myself into a sitting position.

Footsteps pounded down distant corridors. Shouts echoed through the prison. Then, amid the chaos, Emerson appeared, breathing hard, a ring of keys in his hand.

"We have three minutes," he said urgently, unlocking my cell. "Can you walk?"

I struggled to my feet, legs trembling with the effort. "I'll manage."

He moved quickly to Isabelle's cell. "The west exit is clear. Mariana created a diversion at the east gate. Every guard in the complex is heading that way."

Isabelle stepped hesitantly from her cell, looking at Emerson with distrust. "Why are you helping us?"

"Questions later," I cut in. "We need to move."

Emerson handed me a small vial. "From Jackson. It won't heal you, but it will give you enough strength to escape."

I downed the contents without hesitation. Bitter liquid burned down my throat, followed immediately by a surge of artificial energy. My legs steadied beneath me.

"This way," Emerson urged, leading us down the corridor.

We moved as quickly as my condition allowed, following Emerson through a labyrinth of passages. Twice we ducked into alcoves as guards ran past. The alarms continued to wail, covering the sound of our escape.

"Almost there," Emerson whispered as we approached a service door. "Beyond this is a maintenance tunnel. It leads outside the complex."

Hope swelled in my chest. We were going to make it.

Then a voice called from behind us: "That's far enough."

We turned to find Darian Bancroft standing in the corridor, flanked by four guards. His cold eyes fixed on Emerson.

"Holmes. I suspected a traitor in our midst. I didn't expect it to be you."

Emerson stepped forward, placing himself between us and Bancroft. "Go," he said without looking back. "I'll hold them."

I hesitated. "Emerson—"

"GO!" he shouted, lunging at Bancroft.

I grabbed Isabelle's hand and pulled her through the service door. Behind us, the sounds of combat erupted—Emerson against five opponents. A fight he couldn't win.

The maintenance tunnel was narrow and dark. We stumbled forward, guided only by dim emergency lights. Each step sent pain shooting through my body, but the potion kept me moving.

"Liam, I can't—" Isabelle stumbled, her weakened body failing her