15th Zi'da, 716
South Side
3rd break
South Side
3rd break
Continued from here
"We can't get out! WE CAN'T FUCKING GET OUT! HOW THE F-"
Silvester knew talking the boy down wasn't an option. The panic in his eyes had gone beyond anything mere language could assuage. As the flames had grew larger, the smoke denser, the roaring crackle of burning wood louder, it had become an animal thing. Nothing that could be calmed, only directed or-
SHUUK
The old professor lunged forwards and buried his dagger in the boy's chest in the same movement. Practically nose to nose, he watched the shock override the terror... and then be replaced by a new kind of fear. One of sickening realization. An understanding of what was yawning beneath him, inexorable and unstoppable, come to call him to account for a life ill-led. Redson gasped out something that wasn't Common; it was the blood in his throat, Silvester assumed. He yanked the dagger from the kid and let him fall.
The rest of them, huddled and crouching in the burning house, stopped shouting. Now they coughed and prayed and whispered and, most importantly, looked to him.
"We're getting out of here," Silvester said, putting on his best Upset Educator voice, perfected years before. "Just not down here."
"Wh-Where, then?!" Tomlin coughed up a lung before continuing. "The tr-trapdoor's chained shut! I could hear them, behind the wood. There must be a dozen of them-"
"Same wiv' the doors," Haev growled, holding himself together in a way only the truly unimaginative could manage. "Chained from the outside. An' now-"
There was another crashing, shattering, whooshing explosion. Smashing glass and igniting fluid birthing roaring, ravenous flame into the air. Light flared in the other room, where the corpse of Nellie was burning down to black bones. That was the fourth, if Silvester was counting correcting. One for each side of the watermill. Whoever was out there, he'd calmly tossed one fire bottle at each window, on each side. Like a man making sure a cigar tip was lit evenly, ensuring nothing would be spared.
"Get upstairs!" Silvester growled suddenly, not wasting anymore time on idle pondering. "We'll get out through the windows! Go, move, c'mon!"
They skittered away, the half-dozen thugs and turncoats he had left. Nellie and Hadden and... fuck, he couldn't remember the last one's name, they were all dead already. Immolated by the waves of flame that had crashed through the slits in the wooden boards, before washing over everything inside the ground floor like scorching water. He could smell the faint whiff of lye in the smoke. So not just lamp oil, but something extra, something designed to send poison belching forth into the air.
If he can't burn us, he poison us. Clever bastard.
"Haev?! Get that girl outta there!"
"Boss, we ain't got time-"
"Do as I fucking tell you, boy!"
The Voice. It always worked. Even with men in their thirties like Haev. Authority, sheer and loud and recognized, had the big man kicking open the door to Betty's room and heaving her off the bed and over his shoulder without another word. The other were huddled in his study, flames already starting to lick through the floor from below. Smoke poured through the gaps, the door, gathered and crawled across the ceiling like a living, hungry thing. The crackling was so loud now everyone had to shout over it. The floors were starting to burn beneath them. The air itself was charged, scorching, drawing fits of coughing with every breath.
"Wada we do?!" Tomlin screeched, throwing his arms out as he stood before the window. "We're up too high! We can't-"
"Shut up, boy."
Silvester lunged forwards again, only this time led with a boot. He planted his foot against the boy chest with a grunt and sent him careening backwards-
-crashing through the glass, knocking most of it out as he burst into the cold night air. The blast of it was like a god's favor to all those inside, the promise of deliverance to come if they just started moving. Silvester was surging forward before the screaming Tomlin had even landed on the frozen ground below. Reaching out and down and heaving himself out into the night. He gauged the distance... said a quick prayer to any sucker who'd listen... and then dropped.
The landing was rough, but he survived. A moment later, Haev crashed down next to him, Betty still over his shoulder. Like a boulder falling from the sky, his huge frame seemed to absorb the impact far better than the older man. Silvester silently demanded his hand and the big man hauled him upright-
-just as the office floor gave way under the rest of the survivors. There was a hideous, tortured, grinding sound from inside the watermill, now burning everywhere he looked. The foursome of soot-covered escapees staggered or crawled away as the building seemed to sag inwards on itself. The top floor collapsed into the bottom, the roof caved in above it, and the agonized screaming of the rest of The Rues was drowned out a moment later... mostly.
There was one man left. Made a boy in his final moments. Begging and screaming and pleading for help that could not come.
Silvester glowered into the wreckage of his home. All gone, destroyed and made a tomb instead for those stupid kids... speaking of which, didn't have leave a couple of them on guard-
"Y... You!"
He turned and found Death standing before the group. Lit by the tower of flames that used to be a construct of stone and brick and wood and thatch. Tomlin had managed to get to his feet. One arm hung slack, probably broken from the fall. But he had rage enough to numb the pain, and a hatchet in his hand to work it upon the flesh of the man who'd burned his friends alive. He charged towards the little man in rags with a bellow, bringing the ax down hard enough to split him down to the torso-
-only for the man to sidestep, hatchet flying past him, Tomlin staggering, off-balance, over-reaching-
Foolish.
Silvester knew what would happen next. But he still winced. It was the sound, not so much the sight. The bearded beggar wordlessly thrust at Tomlin's tottering form. Every inch the opposite of the boy. Calm, unemotional, composed and, most of all, knowing the business of murder far better. The gladius in his hand shot out like it was part of his arm. The tip punched through the side of the boy's neck and kept going until the tip of it erupted out the other end. Then he yanked it out again, with a twist, ripping the hole all the wider, before the unbalanced boy's forward momentum had even ceased.
Tomlin's last word was not a cry of defiance. It wasn't a cry at all. It was a gurgling, burbling, drowning thing, made through a neck that no longer housed working parts. It was a burst pipe, spewing blood from both sides, and when he crashed down to the ground a moment later, he didn't rise again. Even above the flames, gorging themselves on his history, Silvester cough hear his last, wheezing breaths bleed out into the dirt.
The little man flicked his gladius to one side, knocking most of the blood off... and then pointed it at the man, the muscle, and the girl.
"Haev?" Silvester said calmly. "Give me the girl. Handle this."
"Wiv' fuckin' pleasure, boss..."
Silvester knew talking the boy down wasn't an option. The panic in his eyes had gone beyond anything mere language could assuage. As the flames had grew larger, the smoke denser, the roaring crackle of burning wood louder, it had become an animal thing. Nothing that could be calmed, only directed or-
SHUUK
The old professor lunged forwards and buried his dagger in the boy's chest in the same movement. Practically nose to nose, he watched the shock override the terror... and then be replaced by a new kind of fear. One of sickening realization. An understanding of what was yawning beneath him, inexorable and unstoppable, come to call him to account for a life ill-led. Redson gasped out something that wasn't Common; it was the blood in his throat, Silvester assumed. He yanked the dagger from the kid and let him fall.
The rest of them, huddled and crouching in the burning house, stopped shouting. Now they coughed and prayed and whispered and, most importantly, looked to him.
"We're getting out of here," Silvester said, putting on his best Upset Educator voice, perfected years before. "Just not down here."
"Wh-Where, then?!" Tomlin coughed up a lung before continuing. "The tr-trapdoor's chained shut! I could hear them, behind the wood. There must be a dozen of them-"
"Same wiv' the doors," Haev growled, holding himself together in a way only the truly unimaginative could manage. "Chained from the outside. An' now-"
There was another crashing, shattering, whooshing explosion. Smashing glass and igniting fluid birthing roaring, ravenous flame into the air. Light flared in the other room, where the corpse of Nellie was burning down to black bones. That was the fourth, if Silvester was counting correcting. One for each side of the watermill. Whoever was out there, he'd calmly tossed one fire bottle at each window, on each side. Like a man making sure a cigar tip was lit evenly, ensuring nothing would be spared.
"Get upstairs!" Silvester growled suddenly, not wasting anymore time on idle pondering. "We'll get out through the windows! Go, move, c'mon!"
They skittered away, the half-dozen thugs and turncoats he had left. Nellie and Hadden and... fuck, he couldn't remember the last one's name, they were all dead already. Immolated by the waves of flame that had crashed through the slits in the wooden boards, before washing over everything inside the ground floor like scorching water. He could smell the faint whiff of lye in the smoke. So not just lamp oil, but something extra, something designed to send poison belching forth into the air.
If he can't burn us, he poison us. Clever bastard.
"Haev?! Get that girl outta there!"
"Boss, we ain't got time-"
"Do as I fucking tell you, boy!"
The Voice. It always worked. Even with men in their thirties like Haev. Authority, sheer and loud and recognized, had the big man kicking open the door to Betty's room and heaving her off the bed and over his shoulder without another word. The other were huddled in his study, flames already starting to lick through the floor from below. Smoke poured through the gaps, the door, gathered and crawled across the ceiling like a living, hungry thing. The crackling was so loud now everyone had to shout over it. The floors were starting to burn beneath them. The air itself was charged, scorching, drawing fits of coughing with every breath.
"Wada we do?!" Tomlin screeched, throwing his arms out as he stood before the window. "We're up too high! We can't-"
"Shut up, boy."
Silvester lunged forwards again, only this time led with a boot. He planted his foot against the boy chest with a grunt and sent him careening backwards-
-crashing through the glass, knocking most of it out as he burst into the cold night air. The blast of it was like a god's favor to all those inside, the promise of deliverance to come if they just started moving. Silvester was surging forward before the screaming Tomlin had even landed on the frozen ground below. Reaching out and down and heaving himself out into the night. He gauged the distance... said a quick prayer to any sucker who'd listen... and then dropped.
The landing was rough, but he survived. A moment later, Haev crashed down next to him, Betty still over his shoulder. Like a boulder falling from the sky, his huge frame seemed to absorb the impact far better than the older man. Silvester silently demanded his hand and the big man hauled him upright-
-just as the office floor gave way under the rest of the survivors. There was a hideous, tortured, grinding sound from inside the watermill, now burning everywhere he looked. The foursome of soot-covered escapees staggered or crawled away as the building seemed to sag inwards on itself. The top floor collapsed into the bottom, the roof caved in above it, and the agonized screaming of the rest of The Rues was drowned out a moment later... mostly.
There was one man left. Made a boy in his final moments. Begging and screaming and pleading for help that could not come.
Silvester glowered into the wreckage of his home. All gone, destroyed and made a tomb instead for those stupid kids... speaking of which, didn't have leave a couple of them on guard-
"Y... You!"
He turned and found Death standing before the group. Lit by the tower of flames that used to be a construct of stone and brick and wood and thatch. Tomlin had managed to get to his feet. One arm hung slack, probably broken from the fall. But he had rage enough to numb the pain, and a hatchet in his hand to work it upon the flesh of the man who'd burned his friends alive. He charged towards the little man in rags with a bellow, bringing the ax down hard enough to split him down to the torso-
-only for the man to sidestep, hatchet flying past him, Tomlin staggering, off-balance, over-reaching-
Foolish.
Silvester knew what would happen next. But he still winced. It was the sound, not so much the sight. The bearded beggar wordlessly thrust at Tomlin's tottering form. Every inch the opposite of the boy. Calm, unemotional, composed and, most of all, knowing the business of murder far better. The gladius in his hand shot out like it was part of his arm. The tip punched through the side of the boy's neck and kept going until the tip of it erupted out the other end. Then he yanked it out again, with a twist, ripping the hole all the wider, before the unbalanced boy's forward momentum had even ceased.
Tomlin's last word was not a cry of defiance. It wasn't a cry at all. It was a gurgling, burbling, drowning thing, made through a neck that no longer housed working parts. It was a burst pipe, spewing blood from both sides, and when he crashed down to the ground a moment later, he didn't rise again. Even above the flames, gorging themselves on his history, Silvester cough hear his last, wheezing breaths bleed out into the dirt.
The little man flicked his gladius to one side, knocking most of the blood off... and then pointed it at the man, the muscle, and the girl.
"Haev?" Silvester said calmly. "Give me the girl. Handle this."
"Wiv' fuckin' pleasure, boss..."
