I
Vhalar 9th, arc 719"You were a pain in the arse to find." Sybil said, leaning against the backing of the chair.
"I don't think you fully appreciate how many gods forsaken breaks I had to spend sending orders from one place to another, without being in person, just to find where you went. I've no time for your fodsack excuses." Sybil's voice sharpened, as they approached the bleeding man, hand grasping down, clutching swathes of brownish hair as they tug his neck up.
The scene would make itself clear to the less fortunate man. He'd been socked in the face by the disfigured man to the shorter student's side, and jabbed directly in the gut by the sneering man behind him: wielding nothing but a cudgel. Abott and Bowman were complicit in the man's beatdown. Sybil took the time to press the sole of their boot against the backside of the man's calf, putting down force against the joint itself.
"I'd spit on your grave if you were worth the loss of fluid." Sybil remarked, letting the man's hair go, allowing gravity to play its part and slam his face into the dirtied snow of the alleyway. Stepping back, Sybil reached within their cloak and fished around for a moment. Pulling a silken handkerchief out, they attempt to wipe the grime received from touching him from their fingers.
"You think this is over…?" The man managed to sputter out. A solid kick was enough to temporarily shut him up, eliciting a pained yelp from his cracked and bleeding lips. "... Y'goddam wago! I know y'er face! I know who y'er are!"
Sybil's head canted to the side as they considered the thinly veiled threat that came with the man's words. Enemies were something that Sybil had in spades. But allies? Those were something that they were beginning to see the fruits of. At this point, all the guttertrash of Viden could conglomerate into a sad sack of destitute force, and it wouldn't matter too much.
"You killed those people!" The man shouted before groans. Crouching onto one knee, their eyes slowly began to scan the injured man.
Mijahkel. It was a pseudonym, that much was certain. He was wanted for a pending investigation; apparently he had fled the scene the moment that the proper authorities attempted to apprehend him. This was one of the last remnants of the cult that they had hunted to extinction with Wald. Fortuitous that they could rely on the shabby nature of faulty psyches to lead them together. It was like a family reunion of sorts.
"Yes." Came the simple response. Hand tracing along the man's cropped hair, their fingers twirl among the strands, before gathering them into their palm. This time, their grip was more sure of itself, and not about to slip at the slightest movement, "They're very much dead. Painfully, I might add. I thought that you imbeciles would take the hint and start living normal lives, that it was enough of a message for you lot to forsake your chosen fates."
Sybil tilt their head to the side, "As far as I'm concerned, you ignored my warnings."
"Warnings?!" Mijahkel coughed up clear spit with crimson tinge, "Hurt… One of our own… You just… Got away with murder, you… Frakking…"
Sybil waited for the man to respond. Between the blistering chill and the absolute pain the man was going through, they were curious on what was making him stop his diatribe. It would be cathartic to get it out of the way before they ordered his death, after all. All they needed for the bounty was the head. That was it. And they were absolutely certain that they weren't about to bring this man in alive. Their brows furrowed as they let out a soft sigh.
"You know what's about to happen to you. I won't bother trying to interrogate you, since that'll get me no information that I'll need. I don't torture out of fetish, but out of necessity. And so far? Your kind has shown me that all my measures are justified." Sybil's fingers tightened, the sound of hair straining against the pressure was absolutely audible, "Did you really think that you could keep your little farce going on forever? That's one question I'll ask you, you damned heathen."
Silence filled the air as the man struggled for breath. His nose was now misshapen from the handling from Sybil's cohorts. Blood was beginning to pool in the snow. Silently, they thanked the nature of the Malachite prism. Keep moving, keep your head down, and don't ask any questions. People just walked by, as they conducted their mock trial against the man. The verdict was set, and the punishment was merely waiting to be administered. The only thing left was for the man to say something to make them consider their morality in the topic.
Sybil would afford him that much. If this man, the absolute bottom of what this society had become, could change any part of how they thought, perhaps he deserved life. So they allowed the brief moment of silence. It was a beautiful thing, watching a man experience his life flash before his eyes. Primal instincts slowly beginning to take hold as he considers the ways out. They'd heard of men giving strange propositions to get out of death. Wagers with the devil.
Though no wagers would be held with this man. Sybil was more interested in seeing him go into shock, and the lifeblood that coursed through his veins stain the ground around them. His blood wasn't even worth anything, as he wasn't even a full mage. The idiot was a fledgling acolyte who desperately clung to figures of power until he was promised a role in a dystopic future. Promised power by actual mages. The true deal with a devil.
"There's… More of us." The man spoke, "... Entire… Covens. This isn't the end, you idiot… This is just the start. There are wars being fought for our kind… Wars that raise the dead that you wouldn't even know how to… Handle. Armies of shambling hordes."
Sybil's eyes slowly blinked as he rambled. He was being truthful. They didn't need to be a psychoanalytic mind to register that. Of course more than one cult of this flavor existed. It only made sense. He didn't have much to hide anymore, and there was a solid reason for thinking that. There just wasn't anything left to lose but his dignity.
Who cared if he spent his last dying breath trying to instill the sensation of fear within Sybil's bones? It's not like it'd last, considering the way forward that was paved in blood and grime. Sybil's head quirks to the side, before slowly nodding, releasing the man's head. Indeed, this would be the start of the game. This would be the very beginning of it all. Eyes lidding, their lips twitched in mild frustration. They knew it wouldn't end there from the start.
So why were they filled with such annoyance that this wouldn't end here?
Sybil's mind began to flutter, as they shook their head. Eyes turning to Abbot, they simply gave the man an upnod. Rising to a stand, the man at their feet attempted to grasp at their ankle. It's a miracle what a fist to the head can change in one's ability to grasp, however. Sybil easily stepped over the appendage.
It wasn't long at all, before the sound of a cudgel slamming against a skull echoed through the alley with a wet smack. The easiest way that Sybil could describe it, was the sound of a sack of meat colliding with a block of ice. A noise that was innocuous on its own, but spoke a thousand words and stained their very senses when it came to anything to do with this kind of dirty work.
The familiar silence returned.
It was always unsettling, the way that the human body ceased functions from a head wound. Eyes would go glassy, the body would go into an almost immediate shock, the body loosened before tensing. It wasn't clean, in Sybil's mind. They much preferred sharp trauma to the chest. The popping of a lung or the cessation of the heart was far more clean.
They shook their head, slowly, as their attention went over their shoulder, and to their recent recruits. Their eyes slowly blinked, as Abott was already slingin the corpse over his shoulders like some sort of cheap rug. Canting their head to the side, they considered for a moment, just how lucky they were to have two men that could hold their own in a fight. Who were very much aggressive in their own way.
"Let's get this one back up a few prisms." Sybil said, pulling their cloak close to their body, glancing towards the street proper, "If we keep this up, we just may get out of this with minimal wear and tear before we can set up shop."
