Date: January 1, 2018 | Time: 10:51 PM
Location: The Black Ledger – Lower District
Perspective: Kaiser
I reached down, my fingers wrapping firmly but gently around Eve's trembling arm. I pulled her up, guiding her to stand behind the ruined corner of the desk, positioning my body like a shield between her and the filth in this room.
I could feel her small, cold hand clutching my wrist, her fingernails digging into my skin through the fabric of my sleeve.
She's shaking so hard I can feel it. That grip... it's the same desperate, drowning clutch Elfie had when the light started to dim in her eyes. Looking at Eve's terrified face is like watching a memory bleed into reality.
I won't let the ending be the same this time.
I turned my head toward Malakor, my palm open, extending it toward him..
"Give it to me," I said.
Malakor's eyes narrowed, the predatory smirk on his face faltering for a fraction of a second as he took in the change in my posture.
"Now you might be overstepping, Twinkle Winkle," Malakor hissed, his hand hovering over the ring.
Behind me, I heard the heavy thud of boots. Jax, Boris, and Pip moved in unison, blocking the only exit. I didn't blink. I didn't even turn to look at them
I kept my eyes locked on Malakor's, watching the way his pupils dilated as he realized the "cockroach" he'd been mocking was suddenly the most dangerous thing in the room.
"Lads!" Malakor barked, his voice echoing down into the basement.
7 more men scrambled up the stairs, the air suddenly thick with the smell of unwashed bodies and cheap oil. They weren't just street thugs; they were the Ledger's cleaners.
They carried weapons designed for messy, intimate violence: jagged cleavers, heavy iron maces, rusty morning stars, and notched short swords that looked like they'd tasted blood more than once.
"A-ah... Kaiser..." Eve whimpered, her voice a broken sob as she pressed herself closer to my back.
"There's... there's so many... please..."
One of the new arrivals, a man with a scarred lip, let out a low, whistling breath as he looked at Eve. "Forget the silvers, Boss. Look at that pink-haired doll. Skin like cream. I bet she's got a real pretty figure under those baggy clothes."
"Bet she looks even better without 'em," another sneered, his eyes roaming over her with a disgusting, slimy hunger. "Let the hero play. We'll take care of the girl once we've broken his legs."
"Maybe she'll last longer than those down there…"
I kept my gaze fixed on Malakor, whose eyes were darting between me and Eve. I could see the gears turning in his head—he was calculating the value of the "goods" versus the risk of a fight in his shop.
He didn't want the girl bruised; she was worth more to him in one piece.
"Can she go outside?" I asked, my voice terrifyingly level.
Malakor looked at me, then at the deep, mangled dent my hand had left in his steel desk. He waved a dismissive hand, a flicker of irritation crossing his face.
"Fine. The goods shouldn't be damaged over a cockroach like you. She can wait by the door."
I turned to Eve. She looked up at me, her face pale and streaked with tears, her pink eyes wide with a mix of terror and confusion.
"Go back to the Upper District, Eve," I whispered, my voice softening just enough for her to hear.
"Wait by the fountain near the spire. I'll bring your ring back. I promise."
"N-no! You can't!" she gasped, her hands tightening on my sleeve.
"There's too many of them! I can stay! I-I can help—"
I reached up, my index finger gently pressing against her trembling lips.
"Shhh."
She froze, her breath hitching as a subtle, startled blush crept into her cheeks. She stared at me, her eyes searching mine—searching for the blue they'd seen earlier, only to find the dark, cold void that had replaced it
She hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded slowly. She let go of my wrist, cast one last worried look over her shoulder, and hurried out the door into the night.
The moment the door clicked shut, the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
Jax and Boris stepped forward, drawing their weapons with a series of metallic snicks and grinds. Pip gripped a heavy lead pipe, his face twisted in a sneer.
"You're a brave one, I'll give you that," Malakor said, standing up and leaning over his ruined desk.
"But for underestimating us, you're going to pay in blood. And don't worry about the girl. She won't get far. Once we're done with you, she's coming right back here."
You should have let her go. You should have just given me the ring and let it end there.
But you had to mention her again.
Now, there isn't enough room in this shop for all the pieces I'm going to break you into.
The heavy iron bolt of the door slid shit with a definitive, metallic clank.
Pip leaned his back against the wood, a jagged, missing-tooth grin stretching across his face.
"Nowhere to run now, sweetheart," Pip sneered, hefting a thick lead pipe in his hand.
Malakor sat back, crossing his legs as he watched from behind his ruined desk. The 7 men from the basement fanned out, their weapons catching the dim, flickering orange light of the torches.
"So," Jax started, his tongue running over his teeth as he looked toward the door Eve had just exited.
"Who gets to break her in first? I call first dibs. A little flower like that… I want to see how long it takes for that pink hair to turn red."
"Don't be greedy, Jax," one of the basement thugs laughed, leaning on a morning star.
"Zeke is still down there playing with the 'toys' we picked up near the docks last week. Lucky bastard has been down there for hours. Maybe we should bring the pink one down and let them meet. She's got a real nice curve to her."
"I wonder what she looks like under all that modesty."
"Probably very sexy for her age," Boris added, rubbing his bruised wrist. "I want to be the one to keep her mouth shut while we defile her."
I listen to them.
"Boss," Jax called out, glancing at me. "Should we break his legs and keep him alive to watch? Or just end it?"
"Just break him," Pip continued, stepping forward. "He's been annoying me since he walked in with that stupid acting. I'm going to cave his chest in."
"Watch his grip, Pip," Boris warned, his voice slightly lower.
"It's abnormal. He almost crushed my arm like it was a dry branch."
The group erupted into mocking laughter. Pip scoffed, swinging his pipe in a slow arc.
"Boris, you just went easy on the cockroach because the girl was watching. He's a construction worker with a lucky grab. Watch this."
Pip lunged.
The lead pipe whistled through the air, aimed directly for my temple. To him, I was standing still. To me, he was moving through molasses.
I didn't just dodge.
I stepped into his guard.
My left hand shot out, catching Pip's shoulder while my right hand gripped his forearm. With a single, fluid twist of my hips, I forced his elbow to bend the wrong way. The sound of the joint popping and the tendons snapping was louder than the torches.
"AAAAAAAGH!"
His scream was cut short as I drove my knee upward, burying it into his chin. His head snapped back, teeth shattering, and the lead pipe flew into the air.
I caught it before it hit the ground.
CRACK.
I smashed the pipe into the side of his skull. Before he could fall, I did it again.
CRACK.
Again.
CRACK.
And once more, a heavy, wet thud. I didn't stop.
I drove my elbow into his exposed neck, pinning him against the desk, and delivered one final, overhead swing that buried the lead pipe deep into his forehead.
Pip's body slumped to the floor, his head a shapeless, bloody mess. The lead pipe was coated in thick, dark gore, dripping slowly onto my boots.
The room went deathly silent. Jax froze. Boris took a step back, his eyes bulging. Malakor's chair creaked as he stood up, his face losing every drop of color.
"P-Pip?" Jax stammered, his voice trembling. "What… what was that? How did he—"
A low, dry sound started in my throat.
"Heh… hehe… ha."
I tilted my head back, the sound growing, bubbling up from a place I hadn't touched in years.
"Hahaha… AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
The laughter was manic, jagged, and entirely devoid of sanity. I felt the mana in the room begin to warp, reacting to the sheer, unfiltered killing intent radiating from my skin.
I looked at them through, my eyes no longer blue, no longer human—just two abyssal pits of darkness.
"Thank you,"
"I haven't felt this… this need to kill in ages. My heart is actually beating again."
I tapped the bloody lead pipe against my palm, the sound echoing in the silence.
"I really have to thank you for locking that door. I was worried some of you might try to run before I was finished."
"But now… you're all trapped in here with me."
I stepped over Pip's corpse, my gaze locking onto Jax.
"You all shouldn't have talked about my Elfie like that."
"You shouldn't have even thought about touching Eve."
"You've committed a sin that only has one judgment."
I smiled behind the mask, a cold, predatory thing.
"The sentence is torture. The end is death."
"Who wants to be first?"
TIME: 11:19 PM - Aftermath
Tink. Tink. Tink.
I'm whistling a jaunty little tune I heard a street performer playing three districts back. It's catchy. It perfectly matches the steady, swing of the heavy steel hammer in my hand.
Tink. Tink.
CRACK.
The shop has been redesigned. I've always thought the decor here was a bit too "low-life chic," so I decided to help with a bit of a home renovation.
The walls are now decorated with the Ledger's finest.
Boris is over by the far wall, his massive frame held up by four-inch iron spikes driven through his palms and his collarbone. He stopped twitching about 5 minutes ago. Jax is nailed to the floorboards like a discarded rug, a single nail through the center of his throat keeping him from complaining.
It's quiet now. Peaceful. Like a library, if libraries were only this peaceful
I turn my attention back to the desk. Malakor is pinned against the splintered wood, his eyes rolled back so far they're mostly white.
I grab his left hand, spreading his fingers flat against the oak.
"N-no... p-please... stop..." he wheezes, his voice a wet, broken gurgle.
"Calm down," I murmur, positioning the sharp tip of a masonry nail over his metacarpal. "It's not even that bad. You're making it weird, Malakor."
WHAM.
"AAAAAAAGH! MY HAND! GODS, MY HAND!"
"Aww that's gonna make me blush, don't scream like that~" I tilt my head, watching the blood well up around the iron head of the nail.
"P-please... I'll give you everything!" He's hyperventilating now, tears and snot mixing with the blood on his face.
"T-the gold... the ledger... I have secrets! Names! I can make you a king in the Lower District! J-just let me live! I-I'll leave Sylvaris, I swear! I'll never look at that girl again! I-I'm sorry! I'm so, so s-sorry!"
It's funny, isn't it? When the roles are reversed, the predators always turn into the most pathetic prey.
He's leaking from every orifice, begging for a mercy he doesn't even believe in.
"You want to live? Okay," I say, flashing him a wide, bright smile behind the mask.
"I'll give you 5 seconds to convince me. Starting now. Five."
"I-I have fifty gold in the back! More!"
"4."
"I-I'll tell you where the Boss keeps the real stash!"
"3."
"I-I'll serve you! I'll be your dog! Please!"
"2."
"G-GODS, SPARE ME!"
"1."
"PLEASE—"
"0."
I don't hit his hands. Instead, I move with a blur of speed, driving two long spikes through his kneecaps and into the heavy legs of the desk.
"WHYYYYYYY?!" he howls, his body arching in a spasm of pure agony.
"Because Eve was begging too," I say, my voice suddenly dropping all the humor.
"She was begging strangers for copper and silver just to save a child's life. She was willing to give up the only thing she loved—this ring—to help someone else."
"She was crying, desperate, and terrified, just like you are now."
I lean in close.
"But the difference is, she's a saint. And you? You and your little pack of dogs are the kind of trash that takes lives without a second thought."
"You looked at her kindness and saw a target. You listened to her heart break and saw an opportunity to 'have some fun' in a basement."
"W-wait... I didn't..."
"You shouldn't have underestimated me, Malakor, You had only 10 people" I whisper.
"And you definitely shouldn't have mentioned Eve's name in a place like this."
I pick up the last nail. I don't give him a chance to respond. I drive it straight through the center of his throat, pinning his neck to the back of the chair. The scream dies in a wet, choking rattle. He goes quiet.
The shop is finally lovely.
I toss the hammer aside. It hits the floor with a dull thud.
Well, that was productive. I feel much better. My heart rate is actually back to normal.
It's amazing what a little manual labor can do for the soul.
I start whistling again—the same tune—as I stroll over to the cash register. I hop over Pip's body like it's a puddle on a rainy Monday morning. I pop the drawer.
"Let's see here... is it technically robbery if I rob a thief? Or is it more like... aggressive wealth redistribution?" I shrug, my eyes widening as I see the glint of real gold.
"Scratch it. Who cares about the ethics when the overhead is this good?"
I count it out. 59 gold coins.
"Mine. Mine. Mine," I mutter, a smirk tugging at my lips as I sweep the coins into my pouch. The weight is satisfying.
It's more than enough to buy Eve a thousand rings, though I know she only wants the one.
I walk back to the desk and reach into Malakor's cold, dead hand. The Sea of the Heart ring is there, still glowing with that soft, ethereal pink and cobalt blue. I pick it up, holding it to the light.
It's beautiful.
I slide it into my pocket, feeling its presence through the fabric.
I turn to leave, but then my eyes catch the basement door.
The heavy iron-bound wood. I remember what they said.
Zeke. The toys. 'Luckier than us.'
My grip tightens on the handle of my dagger. The "need" hasn't quite been satisfied yet.
"One more chore before I go," I whisper to the empty room.
I kick the basement door open and start to descend.
As I descended the final step, the basement opened up into a space that was clearly designed for a different kind of "business."
There were card tables littered with stained decks and half-empty bottles of alcohol, a pool table with its green felt torn and blackened by cigarette burns.
It looked like a lounge for the damned. I walked past the main lounge area, my boots clicking against the stone floor, and pushed open the heavy oak door leading to the back corridor.
A soft, jagged sob caught in the air.
I stopped.
In the corner of a dimly lit alcove, huddling on a thin, filthy mattress, was a girl. Her clothes were little more than rags—silk and lace that had been violently torn away by hands that didn't care for buttons or zippers.
As I approached, she flinched so hard she nearly hit the stone wall.
Her hands flew up to cover her face, her shoulders shaking with a violent tremors. That's when I saw them.
Two velvet-soft, black cat ears pressed flat against her skull, trembling in fear.
She was a beastkin.
"P-please..." her voice was a ghost of a sound, breathless and hollow. She wiped her eyes with the back of a bruised hand, refusing to look up.
"A-are you the new one? The new member?"
Her voice... it's not just scared. It's the sound of someone who has had their spirit broken and rebuilt into a shape that only knows how to comply. It's the vocabulary of a slave. Every word is a plea to minimize the next blow.
"I-I just finished... with the others..." she whispered, her black eyes darting to my boots before snapping back to the floor.
"Please, sir... give me just a little time to rest. I-I had to go three times in a row... I'm so tired... please, just 10 minutes..."
Tears began to spill over, dripping onto the ragged fabric over her knees. She looked so small, so fragile.
She looks to be 15 years old…
"How long have you been here?" I asked. I kept my voice low, stripping away the edge, trying to sound like a person instead of the monster I had just been upstairs.
She flinched at the question, her ears twitching. "A week? Maybe a week and a half? I... I don't know the sun anymore." She looked up then, her gaze settling on my face.
"Why are you asking that? Did I do something wrong? I-I'll do better, I promise!"
She suddenly lunged forward, not to attack, but to grab my wrist. Her grip was weak, her fingers cold.
"Wait... please," she sobbed, her eyes wide. "Is it my sister? Are you here for my little sister? Please... I'm begging you, don't go to her. She's so young... she's been hurt today, she's so bruised... she can't take it."
"Please, I don't need the rest! I'll go again! I'll do anything you want, just stay away from her!"
My eyes sharpened.
"Where is your sister?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"I'll go! I'm ready!" She began to frantically pull at the remnants of her dress, her movements mechanical and desperate.
"My name is Bibi... I'm Bibi... please, come with me, don't go to the rooms… You can use me…"
"Stop." I caught her hands, holding them still.
I reached up and slowly tilted the mask, letting her see my face. My eyes were no longer the abyssal black of the massacre above; they were a deep, piercing blue—clear and steady.
"Stay still, Bibi. I'm not here to hurt you. And I'm certainly not here to use you."
She froze, staring into my eyes as if she were seeing a miracle or a hallucination. The frantic energy left her, replaced by a stunned, breathless silence.
"I'm going to get your sister," I said. My voice was calm, but the air around me began to vibrate with a murderous, suffocating pressure.
"Where is she?"
"Room 3..." she whispered, her voice trembling.
"By the end of the corridor. Zeke... he's in there with her."
I stood up. Every step I took toward the corridor felt like the tolling of a funeral.
Zeke. You're the one they called 'lucky.' You're the one who likes 'toys.' I hope you've said your prayers, Zeke. Because I'm about to show you exactly what happens to people who use children.
I reached Room 3. The door was slightly ajar, and the sound of a child's muffled whimpering leaked out into the hall.
I'm going to torture you.