Author's Nightmare: Chapter 136 (Patreon)

Shango POV: Day 105

Current Wealth: 221 gold 18 silver 30 copper

Byror’s forces- not really an army, but not really not an army either- didn’t take too long to leave after the “negotiations” were finished. They’d fucked off within half an hour, leaving a nice surplus of breathing room around the mansion. Solitaire, I noted, seemed a bit disappointed to not have seen any of his defenses used.

Somehow, I got the feeling he would.

Well, that was a concern for later. The celebration was a concern for now. I looked around at the jubilation on display and felt…None of it. That was to be expected, I was still in a thinking mood. Still in a doing mood. That didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate my friends’ joy as I saw it happen around me. 

Argar was the loudest, and seemed to be undergoing a new form of training where he did his best to find the absolute limits of how much alcohol a single liver could process without melting. Helena was careful to stop him from getting too rowdy, and mostly failed. Elizabeth seemed to find it all amusing. Ardin was more relieved than happy, wrung out and drained the way I usually got after a close call. Magnus was almost matching Argar for enthusiasm, Corvan calm as ever, and Arthur-

Well, Arthur was eying me with a silent hatred. He was a smart man, he’d realised what I’d done by having him be the one to handle the kid. The kid wouldn’t give much of a useful testament- I was certain of that. It had all been too quick and too jarring for the boy, Elizabeth’s work done perfectly in keeping him asleep for so long. But as far as Arthur knew he was pinned to us by the threat of other people’s revenge. Not the best bond to have in a subordinate, I knew, but a smart one could be trusted not to try any stupid betrayals. It was better than having him leave, and take half our fighting power with him.

Phelia sat down beside me. It was abrupt and untelegraphed, but I wasn’t surprised. When I got like this I tended to keep my focus unaimed and scattered, watching everything at once. She hesitated as I turned to her, voice a small and uncertain thing. She began with something she hadn’t come over to say. 

“You got me back.” Phelia noted, going exactly nowhere with the remark and, I suspected, only giving it voice to give her mouth something to do while she continued thinking about how to broach the apparently uncomfortable topic she’d actually come over to bring up. I could hardly blame her, and played along. 

“I had to.” I replied, which I knew made it sound more formal and dutiful than it was, but didn’t bother correcting. Phelia seemed to take it well, though a distance grew between us. That distance made it easier for her to say what came next.

“I would like to speak about our child.”

I eyed her.

“Are you…?”

“No.” Phelia hurriedly replied. “No, not, not yet, no I’m talking about…You know, our efforts to try for one.”

“Right.” I gestured for her to keep going, and she did. 

“I’d like to put them on hold.” Phelia said at last. “For now, at least, given the…Danger around us, I wouldn’t feel comfortable bringing a child into the situation until we know it’s improved.”

She stared at me as she said it, suddenly intense and searching the way a woman being threatened might look. That, I’ll admit, did confuse me. 

“That’s your choice.” I said slowly. “If you don’t feel ready we’ll wait.”

Her face sort of…Melted, going from stiff and hard to all…Runny around the edges. I was confused, for the briefest instant, then recognised the relief on display. Relief and…Gratitude?

Right. She was a woman living in the fucking Middle Ages. 

“Thank you.” Phelia sighed. 

Thank you? Yes, of course, thank me by all means. It is after all my due, to be thanked for deciding not to rape you. How kind of me, how decent, how superlative in moral character and integrity. I surely deserve a prize. 

I didn’t let any of the thoughts show on my face of course, just nodded again as Phelia took her leave back across the room. She passed Solitaire on the way, flinching back as usual. He didn’t so much as glance at her, fortunately, and came to stop just before me. He spoke with none of her hesitance. When Solitaire had something to say, it got said. Especially if it was sexist. 

“How’d you do it?”

Well, he obviously had bigger things on his mind than a bit of misogyny now. I hadn’t really expected any different. 

“Charm and cleverness.” I smiled. “I knew Byror couldn’t kill you, because then he’d have no leverage, so I didn’t give anything up to incentivise him holding on. Let him think he might get what he wanted another way.”

Solitaire smiled too, just as hollowly as me. He could’ve made it more convincing, but didn’t. Deliberate then. Meeting me falsity for falsity. 

“You’re lying.” He noted. 

I let my own mask slip to make him feel more at ease. Empaths did so hate being lied to. 

“I am.”

He eyed me, not angry but certainly far from pleased.

“And you can’t be convinced to tell the truth?”

No. Never. Not with this. 

“I can’t.” I replied. “Regardless, I’ve given you the story that’s going to float around.”

“The one that suits you best to be floating around.” He observed. I shrugged, no point denying the obvious. Solitaire sighed as I started to take my leave, waiting just a moment before he spoke next.

“I’m sorry Shango. For everything.”

I didn’t pause. But I didn’t ignore him.

“I know.” Was all I said, then I left.

The entire sky had been eaten by night by the time I reached the alley, which was just as I’d planned. The place was conveniently close and conveniently far- I could sprint back to base if I had to, and wasn’t at much risk of being stumbled onto while I concluded our business. As expected, Byror was waiting for me there.

He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t slept when we last spoke, a few hours ago, and he hadn’t slept since then either. The fatigue had grown, not lessened, and whatever vitality had been remaining in the man before was fully wrung out of him now. He looked just fragile enough to…

Well, to meet me in a dark alley alone.

“My son.” Byror snapped. “Where is he? I demand to see him.”

He wasn’t shouting anymore, but there was still that odd weight to his voice. The pressure of words formed by a man who expected obedience. Even now. It was inappropriate to say the least. Byror’s power lay in wealth and influence, not physicality. Within this alley, within the reach of my hands, he was no more potent than any peasant in the city. Less even. 

I wasn’t a fighter, but I’d collected levels in just the same way my brothers had. I wouldn’t lose to a normal human. Wouldn’t even struggle. 

“He’s not here.” I replied, watching the terrified spasm across Byror’s face for a moment. “He’s already back at your mansion, dropped off, safe and unhurt.”

Byror exhaled as if someone were squeezing his lungs empty, and didn’t appear able to speak for a good long moment. When he did, it was with anger.

“So this is some sick joke?” He snapped. “You dragged me over here just to get your jollies?”

I was calm, still, when I replied. Never calmer. 

“I don’t find anything that’s about to happen funny.”

Byror’s feet left the ground when I hit him, his head snapping back and mouth exploding in a spray of blood and teeth. He landed hard, and confounded. 

I’d brought a knife to do what needed doing next, but somehow that didn’t make it any easier for me. Nothing would’ve made it easier, because it wasn’t hard to begin with. It just needed to be done. 

The blade came down and up while Byror was still gasping in confusion, slicing off one finger and another before he’d even realised what was happening. His shock hit like…A breeze, sliding off me as I focused on the task. An entire hand was mutilated before his screams started. 

I silenced them with another fist, gentle to make sure he lived.

“You’ve made me sick.” I told him. Not sure why I was speaking, not caring to stop. “Sick of my family not being safe, my friends not being safe. Sick of needing to do things like this just to survive. You didn’t leave us alone, insisted on coming at us. So now you’re going to become our deterrent.”

Slice. Slice. Slice. 

Difficult to do damage a magus can’t fix, with enough time. Dismemberment was a start, but if you really want to make it hard, you’ll add a bit of magic to the wound. Like the kind that comes from superhuman strength. Burns? Those were one thing. But a missing appendage with magic at the cut? I wasn’t sure how many people in all the world could heal that.

So I started pinching the stumps, crushing the flesh as best I could and twisting what was left. There wasn’t much left by the time I finished. 

“-My family magus.” Byror gasped. “I…My family magus.” I’d tuned out so much of his begging that I almost missed the critical tip there. 

A magus. Worse, the personal magus of a powerful noble family. If he was only as strong as Corvan, I’d be screwed. If he was stronger I’d have been screwed even with help. So I was now working on a time limit. 

“Well I’ll be done before he’s here.” I whispered. “And you’ll be a living reminder of what happens to our enemies. Just as intended.”

I brought the knife down, now, to Byror’s groin. I saw the fear flare up in his eyes just an instant before the cutting began. 

“If my brother were doing this- Solitaire, the mad dog- he’d enjoy it you know. He was practically vibrating when you did what you did to Helena. I’m almost surprised he didn’t kill you then and there. I’m not Solitaire.”

Soon enough, Lord Byror had relinquished his family jewels to a bloody, clotted mess on the floor. He was still alive, twitching and moaning, and, to my surprise, even speaking. 

“You…How…How can you do this…?” He gasped, whimpering, crying. Voice trembling with the shiver of a man who didn’t believe what was happening to him. “Do you not feel anything?”

Oh, I saw it now. He was confused. He kept expecting guilt to stop me. It’d never done that before. 

Morals stopped me. The simple, intellectual rationality of what was right and what was wrong. I never did understand people who deviated from that on some emotional whimsy. I still didn’t. 

But right now, the best I could do was keep maiming him. Solitaire would’ve loved that, I knew, he was about as utilitarian as a trolley, but always to serve the end of venting out what was in his gut. Not me. 

I didn’t feel anything at all as I worked, save the resistance of flesh against steel.