Chapter 4: Bloodied hands

The stone floor underfoot made no sound as I carefully cushioned my feet, making sure to roll each step from my heels to my toes, without stomping.

I almost had sneaking down to a science. Growing up around a violent drunk came with its very own set of perks. I still remembered the mantra I taught my younger brother after he got his first beating. Move carefully, but not too carefully. If you move without intent and confidence, shoes squeak, floorboards creak; and bottles fly. 

I clicked my tongue and continued. Every so often, I plucked a pale blue thread to familiarise myself with the feeling. 

I keeled over with a gasp, hand pressed against my chest. 

“You over burden yourself,” Sera snickered from the dagger in my other hand. I glanced down at her with a smirk. The recoil pressed down on my chest like an anxiety attack. 

It part of my plan. What magician didn’t want to test their limits? With this, I clearly knew mine. Although, I could have just asked the grumpy reflection. 

The winding hallway hadn't felt so large the last time I jogged through, but now that I was taking my sweet time, it felt grand – majestic almost. With some natural light and a good decorator to spruce up the place, it would put most corridors back on earth to shame. 

The scenic walk did come with its fair share of downsides, though. Most of all, it was boring as hell. Boredom led to stray thoughts, and stray thoughts often led to a wrestling match with bottled up stuff better left untouched.

I fiddled with the knife in my hand, juggling it up and down. A pale blue thread still curled around its pommel in a knot. The thrill of doing something I shouldn’t, always helped get my mind off things, even if only momentarily.

I spared the paintings some attention. One of the models stood out. It was the staunch woman from the office painting. Her face was covered by the same conical helmet she was grasping in the office painting. She was seeping with a certain brutality. 

I wouldn't have recognised her if it wasn’t for the ruby-engraved misericord hanging in its sheath on her breast. It was unmistakably the one I was playing with.

The frame had runes of gold boldly engraved into it. I traced their protruding edges with the tip of my finger and mouthed, “Commander Seluvis of the Withered Sigil.” Saying things out loud always made them easier to remember. 

“Sorry,” I whispered and plucked a thread from the veil, the otherworldly haze seeped out of my wrist. The recoil pressed down on me once more. I gritted my teeth and pushed through the stabbing pain. The more I overused it, the worse it got.  

I attached one end of the thread to the painting and the other to the opposite wall. It was far from a perfect trap, but it would ensure the painting to come loose should anyone, preferably the jailor, run into it.

I resumed the solitary walk, and glanced at the painting before it faded out of view. This place is a fucking mystery… I thought. 

I knew that the name of the world had been lost to time. The underworld housed rebel forces of some kind, and Seluvis was a commander. 

Then there was the case of Sera feeling sorry for the people back home. It was an awfully ominous thing to say. Personally, I felt more sorry for myself, but then again I didn’t know if anything had happened back on earth. 

I focused. Whatever it meant, there was no more time for idle thoughts. The magnificent archway towered above me once more. 

With steps as light as snow, I stepped into the torture chamber, eyes fixed on one thing and one thing only. The exposed back of the weeping jailor. 

His wretched figure pulsed back and forth in a set rhythm, hands held aloft in silent prayer. He rubbed them, making the brass thimbles clink against each other. Dried blood crusted his dark garments. He must've knelt by the dais ever since discovering Sera’s actual corpse. 

I grinned, revelling in his misery. 

I hadn’t been awake for the branding, nor for being strung up on the hook, but that didn’t make it any better. The anguish of waking up in the cage was still fresh in my mind. 

He and I had a score to settle, and I had no qualms about doing so from the cover of dark. 

Flashes of crimson light escaped the cracked floor as I crept forward with practiced ease.

Once the wretch was finally in reach, I raised the dagger up high and gripped it tightly with both of my mismatched hands. Air parted before the blade’s wickedly sharp tip as I hurtled it toward the mound on the jailor's back. 

This is it. Burn in hell you fucking bastard, I mused, a wicked smile on my lips.

The lithe tip of Silent Scream effortlessly stabbed through the dark coat, but then unexpectedly clanked against something hard underneath. 

Without so much as turning to look at me, the jailor swung his brass-clad hand in a wide arc and swatted me away like a bug. 

The cold of his brass thimbles still lingered on my cheek as I skittered across the stones like a broken toy. Somewhere along the way, my jaw cracked, and come loose to hang in a way it definitely shouldn’t. 

I got up on shaky arms and knees, gasping for air. Sera’s reflection laughed at me from the red puddle underneath. I'll deal with you later, I noted and rubbed my chin.

“I should’a known it’d be you – you disgusting fecking git. I should’a bled you on the spot…” growled the jailor with his back still turned.

I got back to my feet, jaw hanging awkwardly to the side, dislocated. I forced it back into place with a jarring click and spat a mouthful of blood on the floor. We stared at each other in silence, my hatred for him renewed and intensified. 

The jailor’s bones creaked under the immense weight of his body. For the first time since I woke up in this wretched place, I was able to see the full size of the bastard. 

With a snort, he threw his ragged coat to the ground. A lustreless dark metal clad his body like a carapace. The mound on his back turned out to be a large engine spewing a sickly green smoke. 

What had made the jailor look like a hunched old man was obviously just the weight of a V8 diesel engine pressing down on him. 

“Ah… Fuck,” I muttered dejectedly, the fight pouring out of me. 

I put on a stoic expression and tightened my grip around Silent Scream’s handle and slowly circled the beast of a man. ”What in God’s name are you?” I asked, ever so slowly inching closer to the hall I came from.  

“I am a’ honoured executor of a broken faith…” he snarled. The engine on his back roared to life, flickering red and hot. Billowing smoke grew thick and abundant as the he stared at me with murder in his eyes, not deigning to say another word. 

A cruel whip had found its way to his hand some time between throwing off the coat and finishing his one liner. The whip curled menacingly on the floor beneath him. Its metal teeth glimmered as sparse rays of sunlight found their way all the way down to the floor. 

Quick as a flash, he cracked the whip. It fluttered into the space separating us and came just short of my nose. I couldn’t follow the whip, nor the jailor’s movements with my eyes. Not even after being strengthened the blessing. 

I gulped, and hastened my shuffle to the hallway. 

The jailor calmly followed, still cracking the whip in the surrounding space. It smacked against the floor and the bars of the cages. I hadn’t heard a gunshot outside of movies, but I imagined it would sound something like this. 

No matter how my mind scrambled, I couldn't think of a conceivable way out of this. None but retreat, and even that was a serious gamble. 

Silent Scream had bounced off the engine without leaving so much as a scratch, and I didn’t think it would fare much better against the lustreless armour. 

Suddenly, the jailor broke the stand-off by bursting toward me. His feet made the ground beneath splinter and crack with a thunderclap. The whip moved like a viper, effortlessly cutting through the air with a high-pitched whistle. 

Blood splattered against my cheek. I didn’t even feel the whip strike me. All I felt was shock, enough shock to numb my every sensation. I was in over my head. Way over my head. My heartbeat drummed palpably against my ribs. 

“Shit,” I exclaimed. Finally realising the depth of the pool of shit I had dived head first into. I pressed my free hand against the wound on my shoulder and winced. It wasn't very deep, but it hurt like hell now that the shock faded.

The jailor regarded the whip’s red stained teeth with a blossoming smile. His disfigured face contorted like that of a villain in a cartoon. I half expected his lips to reach his ears. 

My voice cracked, “I’m sure not even your mother could love a face like that,” I smirked and threw Silent Scream at him.

In the instant after the dagger left my hand I turned my heel to him and ran away. I didn’t wait long enough to see whether or not the dagger dealt any damage, but I seriously doubted it. The sound of metal clattering against stone further solidified my belief.  

The floor vibrated underfoot as the giant set off to give chase. The desperate attack had bought me a few moments at most. Hopefully that was all I needed. The jailor was quick as a flash, but he also wore a full suit of metal armour – not to mention the engine attached to his back. A full on fucking engine! There was no way he’d be able to keep up that explosive pace for long. After the initial burst of speed was gone, I was sure my endurance would trump his. 

Surely. 

Maybe. 

Hopefully. 

Now, the only thing that remained was to test if my hypothesis held true in practice. 

Judging by the fact that I was still alive and running after seconds passed, I felt my confidence bolster and swell. Inspired by a smudge of courage I turned around to catch a glimpse of the whip-wielding giant. Just as I hoped, he was panting wildly, struggling to keep up. His steps left snaking cracks on the pristine floor of the destitute hallway. Despite his ragged condition, sudden bursts of speed helped him gain on me every now and then. 

I gritted my teeth and whipped my eyes forward. In the distance, the painting of Commander Seluvis came into view. 

I willed forth Silent Scream, thread still tied around its pommel. My chest tightened like I was having a panic attack. I used too much magic again, the recoil was sure to follow. My chest stung as if besieged by an army of fire ants. 

Just a tiny bit more, I prayed. 

Sweet relief washed over me as I zipped past the painting. I threw the dagger toward the jailor without looking, then solidified the string and pulled on it. The satisfying clamour of the dagger skittering against the floor echoed through the corridor.  

I glanced back. The jailor inevitably threw a quick glance to judge if the approaching dagger would pose a threat. 

The momentary laps of judgement made him unable to see the tripwire I tied to the painting earlier. 

Seluvis portrait came loose as the giant barrelled into the string. It didn’t snap like I had feared in my heart of hearts. Instead, the counterweight of the painting made the string spin itself around the giant’s legs and trip him like the Walker robots on Hoth.   

I skidded to a halt as the dagger flew past the jailor’s stumbling body. It landed comfortably in my hand. I gritted my teeth and threw myself toward the scrambling, sadistic, sad sack of shit. 

“Fuck!” I screamed and thrust the dagger at his face.

His eyes widened as he wriggled, I was too close for him to strike me with the whip, and he was falling too fast to dodge out of the way. 

He growled and threw his arms around me. The desperate effort managed to save him from having his eye gouged out, but the dagger still pierced deep into his face, just below the cheek-bone. The blade sunk further into his face until I could feel his warm breath on my hands. 

It impaled him down to the hilt. 

Shivers ran down my body. His eyes never left mine. Not even as I saw the tip of my dagger protrude on the other side of his skull.

I cringed, you never got used to stabbing someone. It was way too personal. 

The brunt of his momentum pressed down on me, there was no way to avoid the fall. The air left my lungs as we crashed to the floor in a cohesive mess of limbs. 

So this is it, I thought, pinned beneath his monstrous weight. 

He didn’t move. 

My arms and legs screamed in agony as I pushed him off me. A feat of strength I had thought myself incapable of beforehand. I pulled the blade from out of his face and crab walked until I felt the wall against my back. 

The jailor lay motionless on the ground, still entangled by magical thread and the wreckage of a once beautiful portrait. I raised an eyebrow and panted while studying his deathly still figure.  

“Fuck… you?” I mumbled.