Rusted Chains Novels & Stories

He gestured to Theodore's hands. Theodore scoffs, took a quick glance back at his hands which were chained behind him, anchored to the ground and slowly turned back to him. "You do realize if I tried hard enough, I could break out of these chains." "Oh really?" Roman chuckled, showing off half his teeth. "You can try all you want. But you must know, you can't break them. Those chains are made with pure silver, the more you struggle, the more it'll burn your wrists."

The sound of iron hitting the ground tells me to buy chains, “12 to 0.551 hexagonal link steel chain with titanium reinforcements, almost impossible to cut or break.” Steel chains? Impossible to cut or break? What do you need them for? Who are you going to subdue with them? Are you also seeking protection for your mansion? I huff, becoming overwhelmed again. “Perfect,” he sounds satisfied, it was what I needed, I'll have to find out why, “And the locks?” “Four combination locks, stainless steel, Sir. Just as you asked for them. Is there anything else I can offered you ?” The girl asked.

“I’ll tear him apart with my bare hands.” “You’re an idiot,” Coby shot back, his tone dripping with disdain. “Those chains are laced with wolfbane and silver. The more you fight, the more they’ll poison you. You’ll be dead before you even get the chance to see Ross.” I gritted my teeth, the burning sensation in my wrists intensifying with every movement. He was right, damn him. The chains were designed to weaken us, to keep us docile. But docile wasn’t in my nature. Not when my family was in danger.

I growl in response and try to rip off my chains. “Good luck with that,” Clay chuckles. “This entire cell was specially made for you. Those chains are made from tungsten, as are the bars. Not even a lycan can break free from tungsten.” I grunt and yank on the chains again. The metal shudders and Clay tsks.

Not metaphorically. Just the raw command. RUST. The links mid‑swing darkened. It started as freckles—tiny specks of orange marring the gleam. Then the spots bloomed, connecting, deepening, chewing into the metal as if centuries had just been fast‑forwarded. By the time the chain reached Corvin, the weakened section snapped under its own weight. The tail end fell short, slapping uselessly into the pages at his feet. He stared down at it, then at me, shock flickering across his features before the fight dragged his focus back to the next threat.

He tapped his chin as he took the items of torture from the bag, lining them neatly on the cot for Derrek to see. “Don’t worry, it’ll only last as long as Klara’s torture… What was it? Eleven years?” Marc stated as his hand trailed over the objects. “I helped her!” panic clutching at Derrek’s voice. “Yes well, what you call help. I call rape.” Marc picked up one of the pairs of knuckle dusters, these had no silver, they just hurt with their claw imitation. “What do we think?” He slipped them on approaching Derek. “I think you’re fucking crazy!” He struggled in the chair which caused his wrists to sizzle and burn as they touched the cuffs.

Fresh scratches mar the stone around the anchor plates, like something—or someone—pulled too hard on them. My stomach tightens. I step closer to one of the chains. The cuff attached to it is heavy when I lift it. Too heavy for a human. My fingers curl around the metal. It’s cold and rough, edges worn down by friction. I test the weight, let it fall. The thud echoes through the room, too loud. I flinch, then immediately freeze. Nothing moves. Okay. Breathe. Just breathe, Eris. I move to the next chain. This one is higher—shoulder level. Meant for restraining someone standing. My thumb brushes over a notch where the bolt meets the wall. The stone is cracked around it, four jagged marks dug dee

I let out a tired breath before lowering my gaze. Silver. Dozens of silver-forged chains wrapped tightly around my wrists, ankles, chest, and neck, each link forged with tiny silver blades protruding inward, digging into my skin every time I moved even slightly. Blood stained the metal. Mine. The scent of wolfsbane immediately invaded my nose, along with mistletoe, thick and bitter in the back of my throat.

They were the roots of the Chain, the infrastructure that made the law enforceable, the mechanism that made escape impossible. They shattered not from force but from resonance, from the frequency of the Chain's glow matching the frequency of the roots' rigidity and canceling it out. The iron roots had never encountered a frequency they could not absorb, a force they could not withstand. They had anchored the weight of countless debts, countless obligations, countless souls who had tried to flee and found themselves dragged back by the irresistible gravity of unpaid balances.

My back arched off the bed, chains rattling loudly. 👄