Kurt and Sam found the basement entrance hidden behind a servants' stairwell and it was a heavy iron door with a lock that looked newer than the rest of the mansion's fixtures.
Kurt crouched, examined it, and pulled a thin piece of wire from his coat.
"You know how to pick locks?" Sam whispered behind him as her eyes shifted frantically to different directions, making sure they weren't caught.
"Apparently," Kurt muttered, working the wire into the mechanism.
The lock clicked open with a soft snick, and Kurt eased the door open only to be hit immediately with the smell of sweat, blood, shit and something acrid like burned flesh.
Instantly Kurt's face tensed into something between curiosity and anger.
Sam on the other hand, covered her nose and mouth, trying to block away the smell as she wondered what it could be. "Oh god..."
Unfortunately, Kurt had an idea as he descended the stone steps first, his hand instinctively moving to the knife at his belt. The stairwell was narrow and dark, lit only by flickering torchlight from below.
With each step they took, the air grew heavier, more thick and oppressive.
At the bottom, the basement opened into a low-ceilinged room lined with stone walls where hains hung from iron hooks embedded in the ceiling, and in the center of the room, illuminated by the wavering light of several candles, was the girl.
Mary.
She was tied to a wooden chair surrounded by her own piss and shit, her wrists bound behind her back and her ankles strapped to the legs. A gag had been shoved into her mouth, muffling her sobs.
Her body was covered in bruises, purple and black marks blooming across her arms, her thighs and her ribs with burns crisscrossed on her skin, some fresh and blistering, others scabbed over.
But it was the details that sent a chill of anger down Kurt's spine.
Metal pegs had been clamped onto her nipples, the cruel teeth biting into the tender flesh. Candle wax that was hardened now covered her inner thighs and the curve of her stomach, but the worst of it was between her legs, where someone had dripped molten wax directly.
The skin was red and raw, blistered in places, and Mary's muffled cries were not just constant but desperate and broken.
Standing in front of her, holding a lit candle and grinning like a child with a new toy, was a man.
He was short, barely five-foot-two, and grotesquely fat, his belly hanging over his belt in rolls that jiggled with every movement.
His face was round and flushed, his small eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he tilted the candle, letting another drop of wax fall onto Mary's thigh while she screamed into the gag, her body jerking against the restraints.
"There, there," the man cooed, his voice high and nasal like he was talking with his nose held closed. "Don't fuss, darling. You brought this on yourself."
Kurt's vision narrowed in something that went beyond mere anger. His fists clenched, and for a moment, he couldn't hear anything except the roar of blood in his ears.
His piercing blue eyes dilated, the irises shrinking to pinpricks, and the rage that filled him was cold and absolute.
Sam, standing just behind him, sucked in a sharp breath from witnessing Kurt's reaction. She'd never seen him look like that.
From her perspective, his entire presence had shifted. He was no longer the charming, cocky bastard who talked his way out of trouble. He was something else. Something dangerous.
Kurt took a single step forward, and his voice was dangerously low.
"You can do a lot of terrible things in this world," Kurt said, his tone deadly calm. "But this? This I don't abide."
The man who went by Benji Harrow, spun around as his eyes went wide, startled by their presence, the candle nearly slipping from his pudgy fingers and then his expression twisted into indignation.
"Who the hell are you?" Benji demanded with a shrill and pathetic voice. "This is private property! You're trespassing!"
Kurt didn't answer. He just stared, his blue eyes locked onto Benji like a predator sizing up prey.
Benji's face flushed deeper, and he gestured wildly at Mary in a bid to justify what they just walked into. "I would have given her anything she wanted! Jewels, dresses, a life of luxury! But did she want any of that? No! The ungrateful whore turned me down. Rejected me!" He laughed in a high-pitched tone. "So I took what was mine and I didn't even have to pay."
He snickered then frowned, like as if somehow putting on a serious face would make him seem more justified. "She's mine now, and I'll do whatever I want with her!"
But Kurt wasn't hearing any of it as he simply took another step forward, and Benji's laughter faltered.
"She's yours?" Kurt took another step. "You think you have the right," Kurt said softly, "because you've got money? Because you moved to a district where no one can touch you?" He tilted his head, and his smile was cold, the kind of smile that promised pain.
"Let me explain something to you, mate. You don't have the right. You never did. And now you're going to learn what happens when you take things that don't belong to you."
Benji stumbled backward, his bravado crumbling. "I—I didn't—wait—"
Kurt took one more step, and Benji hit the wall, his fat body pressing against the stone. He looked up at Kurt, and whatever he saw in those cold blue eyes made him whimper.
"Please," Benji whispered, his voice breaking. "I'll pay you. Whatever you want. Just—just don't—"
Kurt leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow felt louder than a shout. "You don't get to beg. Not after what you did to her."
Benji's legs gave out, and he slid to the floor, trembling, his hands raised in a pathetic attempt to shield himself. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'll let her go! Just don't—"
And then Benji's fear shifted. His eyes darted to the stairwell, and his trembling lips curled into a smile.
"Baran!" Benji screamed, his shrill voice sounding even more desperate. "BARAN! KILL HIM!"
Kurt straightened him, his expression completely neutral, and turned toward the stairwell where heavy footsteps echoed from above, and then a figure appeared at the top of the stairs.
Baran.
He was tall but not as tall as Kurt, easily six-foot-three at least and built like a weapon. His body was lean, every muscle defined beneath his dark clothing, and his face was emotionless with cold and calculating eyes, an obvious trait of a psychopath.
A sword hung at his hip, its hilt plain and unremarkable, but the way he moved silently, made it clear he knew how to use it.
Baran descended the stairs without a word as his gaze locked on Kurt.
Even Sam could sense the bloodlust and danger as she grabbed Kurt's arm and said in a panicked voice. "Kurt, we need to go. Now."
Kurt didn't move. He just stared at Baran with a calm expression and at the notifications that emerged in the air.
[NEW SYSTEM QUEST]
- Defeat Baran
- Reward: +10 points
[NEW SYSTEM SUBQUEST]
- Defeat Baran without dying
- Reward: +5 points
[The Host will trigger no penalty for failing subquest]
Baran reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He didn't speak. Didn't need to. The air in the room shifted and everyone was aware.
Benji scrambled to his feet, his confidence returning now that his mercenary guard was here. "Kill him, Baran! Kill them both! And make it hurt!"
Baran's yellow eyes moved to Sam for a brief second, then back to Kurt and he drew his sword in one smooth motion, the blade gleaming in the torchlight, then he sheathed it back.
Kurt stretched out an arm without looking back, shoving Sam gently to a corner as his eyes narrowed.
***
A/N: I hope you're enjoying this so far. Add to Library and send a power stone or two if you're.
And a review or two would mean something to me! Thank you and peace!