The shrill whistles cut through the heavy silence like shards of glass, closer now. Boots pounded the hard ground, converging on his location. Joshey didn't move. He stood, a lone figure in the dim light, his gaze fixed on the living ruin he'd created.
The man was making sounds, wet, ragged attempts at breath that were more horrible than any scream. Every gurgle a reminder of the life still trapped within a broken vessel, consigned to an unimaginable horizon of pain. Joshey had delivered a verdict.
In that instant of unbridled rage, the old monster from his past life had slipped its leash. Not the strategist, but the shadow that had walked the streets of another world. That part of him didn't believe in clean kills for men like this. A quick death was a mercy, an escape. True justice, the monster whispered, was to make them feel a fraction of the agony they had inflicted. To make them understand, in the most visceral way possible, the consequence of their actions. It was a dark, twisted form of honor—a eulogy of pain for the victims who could no longer speak.
He had done it before: made traffickers watch as their own body parts were dismantled, piece by piece, before turning the tools on them. Made sure the last thing a corrupt official felt wasn't the peace of oblivion, but the searing, personal knowledge of his own destruction. He had always told himself it was for the victims. Now, standing in the cold mountain air, he wondered if it was also for the part of him that had been forever broken by their existence. He became aware of a small presence behind him. Minna hadn't left with the old man. She had stayed, her large elven eyes reflecting the flickering coal light. There was a flicker of fear in them-a primal, instinctual response to the raw, predatory aura he had emanated. She had seen a monster unveiled. But that fear was dwarfed by one far more powerful emotion: relief.
It was a profound, soul-deep unclenching. The constant, gnawing terror that had been her companion for who-knew-how-long had simply… vanished. The monster who'd haunted her nights was now a broken, mewling thing on a wall. And the far more terrifying monster who had done it was standing between her and the rest of the world.
She didn't see a hero. Heroes were from stories. They brought light and hope. This man, Elias, had brought fire and blood and a silence more frightening than any scream. He was not a savior. He was a force. A cataclysm. He was the devil himself. But he was her devil. The handlers rounded the corner, their clubs drawn, their faces hard. They skidded to a halt, eyes wide at the scene. The mutilated man, the splintered wall, the blood, the smell of cooked meat. And in the center of it all, Joshey, standing calm, his hands hanging at his sides, his expression unreadable. One of them, the brutish Goran, found his voice first. "Damn, what a scene. Handler Elias what have you done?
Joshey didn't look at them. He finally turned his head and looked down at Minna. The fear in her eyes was still there, but it was now mingled with that undeniable, unwavering trust. She believed, with every fibre of her being, that this terrifying force would not be turned against her. He had become her heavenly devil, a being of nightmares whose wrath was reserved only for monsters that preyed on the innocent. And in a place like the Hollow Vaults, that was the only kind of god that mattered. The other handlers stared, their faces fixed in a mixture of horror and grim understanding. It was too much to absorb all at once, the man fused to the wall, the smell, the sheer brutality of it.
Goran was the first one to break the silence, and his voice was low and growly. "Elias. What in the blazes did you do?"
Joshey—Elias—shrugged. His face was a mask of cold annoyance. "The slave wouldn't listen. Got pissed off."
A few of the handlers grunted in agreement. Disobedience was a constant problem; violence was the universal language here.
But Goran was gesturing at the mutilated figure with his club. "I get that. But this? You turned him into mincemeat, man. Literally. Why?"
Joshey met his gaze, his own eyes flat. "I lost it." He shrugged again, a gesture of pure, practised indifference. "I'll accept any punishment."
It sounded like a credible story. This was a pressure cooker of misery; sometimes tempers ran high, and a handler simply snapped. The punishment would be harsh, probably a beating or docked pay, but it would not be a death sentence. Not for this.
It was then that a small, broken sound came from behind him. Minna. She was staring at him, her tiny body trembling. The pieces had clicked together in her young mind. The handler's tag he didn't have earlier… the way the others were talking to him… the sheer power he had wielded.
Devastation filled her large eyes, followed by the wave of shame. She had trusted him. She had believed his lie.
In a voice so small it was almost swept away by the mountain wind, she whispered in her musical tongue, her words meant only for him, * "Elias. anata wa hondō ni handler datta no ne. watashi o mamoru tame ni uso o tsuiteta no, gomen'nasai." *, which means: Elias. you were really a handler after all. you lied to protect me, I'm sorry.
Her tiny hand, which had been clutching the fabric of his pants for a sliver of security, started to pull away. It was a gesture of utter despair-of a hope she never should have dared to feel being extinguished.
Before her hand could fully retreat, Joshey's own hand shot down. But he didn't take her hand gently. He slapped it away, a sharp, dismissive motion.
The other handlers watched, confused by the foreign words but understanding the gesture. Just a handler being rough with a troublesome slave. Standard procedure.
But the words Joshey growled down at her, in the same, secret language, were not standard at all. They were harsh, grating, spoken with the tone of a man annoyed by a persistent insect. "Shō ga nai darō! Ore wa omae o mamoru. Yakusoku shita darō? Takusan tabemono o ageru tte!" * (It can't be helped, can it! I'll protect you. I promised, didn't I? That I'd give you lots of food!)
To the watching handlers, it was just more harsh, unfamiliar sounds, perfectly matching his rough action. But to Minna, the meaning was a lifeline thrown into her sea of despair.
He wasn't rejecting her. He was reaffirming his promise. The harsh tone was a shield, a performance for their audience. The words themselves were a vow, repeated in the secret language they shared. I will protect you. I will feed you.
The despair in her eyes shattered and was overtaken by a spark of fierce, desperate comprehension. She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Her lower lip was trembling. She understood the game; she would play her part. Joshey turned back to Goran and his face was once again the picture of a man who had just lost his temper. "So? What's the punishment?" Inwardly, though, the cold, hard diamond of his resolve had found a new, sharper facet. His cover was compromised, not blown. The mission was infinitely more complicated now. Yet, as he stood there, the little elf girl silently playing her own role beside him, he knew in that instant that the objective had just irrevocably changed. He wasn't just here for Michael anymore. He was here for her, too. And he would burn this entire mountain to the ground before he let this place have her. The walk back to the main guard post was tense, as the other handlers continued to shoot glances over at Joshey, a mixture of unease and a grim, grudging respect. The initial shock was finally wearing off, being replaced by the need to fit the event into their brutal worldview. A lean man with a perpetual sneer was the first among them to speak. "Alright, Elias. Spit it out. What did the bastard do to deserve. that?" He jerked his thumb back towards the scene they'd left. "We hate the filth, sure. But they're goods. You don't smash a valuable vase just because it's ugly. You wait for it to crack on its own."
Joshey didn't miss a beat. He stopped and turned, his face a mask of cold logic. "Does that old baldy look like a valuable vase to you?" he asked, his tone flat. "Looked more like a cracked chamber pot to me. Useless, and starting to stink up the place." A few of the handlers actually chuckled. It was a harsh, cynical sound - but it was agreement. The man had been old, human, and patently not prime stock. In the cruel calculus of the Vaults, his value was nil.
Joshey pressed his advantage, gesturing back to where Minna had been led away. "That's why I left the girl alone. She's elven. Young. She has potential for high value. I'll be handling her." He spoke it with a merchant's tone, laying claim to a promising piece of inventory, his voice cold.
The handlers exchanged a look. The logic was sound. Protect the valuable assets, cull the weak. It was the mountain's first law.
The sneering handler leaned in, his voice dropping down to a conspiratorial, ugly whisper. "Just. hope you don't mean 'handling' her in that way, eh?" He waggled his eyebrows. "We got some freaky men here, going after the young boys and girls. Disgusting, if you ask me."
A cold fury, so strong it felt like a blow to the chest, slammed into Joshey's chest. He kept his face perfectly still, a monument of disgust. "God, no," he spat, the words dripping with genuine revulsion. "Do I look like I would?" The man raised his hands as if in mock surrender. "Just checking! It's not our business anyway, long as the goods aren't damaged before sale." He shrugged, a gesture of absolute moral bankruptcy. Inside, Joshey was screaming. Casual, matter-of-fact discussion of such depravity, utter indifference to the suffering of children, was a poison in the air. He let none of it show. He gave a curt nod, accepting their twisted world as his own.
It was Goran who delivered the final, almost absurd verdict. He laid a heavy hand upon Joshey's shoulder. "Alright, Elias. Here's the deal. Vorlag will have to hear about this. Your punishment will be discussed with Lord Viggo himself." A spark of fierce, cold triumph ignited in Joshey's gut. Viggo. He was going to get a direct audience with the man he needed to undermine. This was an opportunity, born from a moment of uncontrolled violence. But then Goran continued, his voice modulating to one of sincere, bureaucratic irritation. "But the main reason we're writing you up? It's for not wearing your handler's ID. That's a strict rule. Can't have you wandering around without proper identification. Causes confusion."
Joshey just stared at him. The universe had a sick sense of humor. He'd just mutilated a man, carved him into a wall and left him as a living warning, and the official reprimand was over a dress code violation. He fought the hysterical laugh bubbling in his throat. He nodded again, the perfect picture of a chastised employee. "Understood." The image of Minna's tiny, understanding nod seared itself into his brain as they led him away. The path was more twisted and dark than he had ever imagined, but he was on it. And he was now one step closer to the king of this rotten mountain.