Crownless Consort-Chapter 49 - : Mahew

They had caught him. It was brilliant. Here, Marris had thought he would have to track Mahew down himself, but Revuarde's mob had done all the work for him! He felt truly blessed.

And more than that, he had been provided with a room specifically for his interrogation. All he had to do was the dirty work...

"If you guys let him scream, I'll kill you." Revuarde hung in the doorway of the room where they had imprisoned the printer, Mayhew.

"You motherf-ckers! You can't just do this! Are you idiots!?" The printer shouted.

"Yes, we're all idiots, Mahew. That's why we're in this position, and not bathing in lavishness." Marris turned towards Revuarde as he rolled up his sleeves. "He won't scream, you know that."

Revuarde chuckled wryly. "You're a terrifying bastard."

"Do you want to stay and watch?" Marris raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not as sick as you are, I'll pass... just relay whatever you learn to me. That will be enough."

The man chuckled once more as he exited the room, closing the thick door behind him. This was as quiet as a room within the Hale shopping district could get, but it really didn't matter whether the walls were thick or paper thin.

That was the beauty of Marris's Spirit Contract.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea..." Lindley murmured behind Marris.

The elder man looked over at Lindley. His injured left eye had opened its scarred eyelid, revealing a churning crimson mass within. The flesh around the eye writhed, but Marris did not materialise the mask of the Spirit.

He knew of Marris's spirit, but the sight of it still shook Lindley to his core. It was... vile. Demonic. It felt like it was something no person should have control over, and he knew what its purpose was.

"Lindley, do you want to go home to your wife?"

"I don't have a wife..."

"Well, I do. I want to finish this investigation, so shut the f-ck up and sit in the corner like a good dog."

Lindley murmured several other curses as he stepped backward, adamantly watching with disdain. Marris turned back towards the cowering figure tied up to a chair, smiling genially.

"Alright, Mahew. You gave us the run-around for far too long. I'm afraid you don't have a choice in the matter. I won't accept it if you give up the information immediately. I'm going to hurt you, a lot. But afterwards, if you tell us who employed your services, I'll imprison you instead."

Mahew's entire body trembled upon hearing these words. This maniac in front of him was his worst nightmare. He had tried so hard to avoid the Hunt, how had he gotten into this situation!?

Marris reached out and caressed Mahew's cheek, smiling.

"Are you ready?"

Mahew shook his head as he let out a cry, tears spilling down his cheeks. He had already been beaten by Revuarde's gang, and so his lip was bloodied, and bruises had already formed on his torso and face.

Marris grasped Mahew by the chin suddenly, violently, wrenching his gaze forward. The two made eye contact, and the crimson stars within his left eye churned.

Suddenly, the room around them fell away. There was only red, as far as the eye could see. The floor was red, the sky was red, even the glaring stars within the sky were red.

Mahew glanced around hurriedly, hoping for any semblance of respite from such a terrible situation, but there was none.

"Help!" Mahew screamed into the crimson abyss. But there could be no answer. He struggled against his restraints, trying to loosen the grasp of the rope. "Help me!"

"No one can hear you in here. No one can hear me in here, either. Whatever you say now, it's between us. Whatever I do here, I'm the only one that will remain alive to remember it."

Marris's voice was cold, unfeeling. His gaze was filled with inconsolable violence. His flesh festered, the scarring around his left eye furthering with each passing minute. This was the cost of using the power of the Demonic Spirit. It wasn't something Marris minded. His wife was blind, after all. It did not matter if he looked like a monster.

"I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything!" Mahew shouted, grimacing. He already understood what was happening, what would become of him, he was begging for his life.

"We'll get to that, Mahew. But I already told you what's going to happen." Marris reached outwards as he crouched down in front of the printer. Out of thin air, he procured a small surgical blade. It gleamed silver as he brought it forward, pressing it against Mahew's cheek. "I'm going to hurt you. And it's not for the good of the Blackbaast, it's not even for the Hunt. It's because you made me work so hard over such a simple assignment. And you can't beg for respite, either. I'm not a good person. I'm not going to save you."

"I'm not on the run from you!" Mahew sputtered. "I'm trying not to get f-cking killed!"

"What are you talking about? Killed by whom?"

"That merchant and his foolish friend, those f-ckers from Selsch! They screwed it all up! You might be on the Hunt, but we're being hunted!"

"By. Who?" Marris asked a bit more impatiently.

Mahew started to speak, parting his lips as if to reply, but his eyes widened in horror.

Suddenly, Marris was shaken out of the illusion caused by his Spirit Contract. He whipped his head around to face Lindley, who had a hand on his shoulder.

"What the f-ck, Lindley!? He was about to tell me!" But Marris suddenly came to a realisation. Lindley had pulled out a dagger, and his expression had been overtaken by intense fear.

Gurgling silenced their conversation, agonising moans erupting from behind them. Marris drew his weapon, spinning around as he caught sight of the disturbance.

A shadow stood over Mahew as he bled out, watching the crimson spill in sheets from his neck, holding a gleaming silver knife in its hand.

"F-ck... f-ck!" Marris shouted. "Lindley, the door! Cover it!"

But Lindley was too frozen to act. While Marris lunged for the shadow, he simply stood and watched in horror. They only worked in matters of sedition, of words on paper... when had his job entitled witnessing death? He felt sick, a violent churn like torrents in his stomach.

I need to... need to cover the door!

It was far too late. As soon as Marris made contact with the shadow, it swung the silver knife in its hand, slicing through the flesh of Marris's face. It cut deep, blood spilling onto the ground as Marris let out a groan, stumbling backwards.

In an instant, the shadow dove for the door, opening it and vanishing into the shopping district.

"F-ck, Lindley! Go get him!" Marris shouted through groans, clutching at his face. Blood spilled onto the ground below in a puddle, soaking his shirt.

Lindley grimaced, grasping hold of the dagger in his hand tightly before rushing out the door in pursuit of the shadow.

He spotted a figure in a black cloak rushing through the crowd, causing the people around him to stumble.

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That figure glanced back behind him as he heard a flurry of footsteps erupt atop the stone tiling. Blotting out the light of the cavern ceiling, a silhouette cascaded down from the sky, holding a knife in his hands, the gleam of his crazed gaze focused on the figure.

Lindley and the shadow tumbled to the ground of the shopping district, the crowds around them scattering as they watched the two scuffle. It was a man underneath the black cloak! He could see the terrified expression of the figure, yet also the cold bloodlust within his eyes. The figure reached into his cloak, procuring a knife.

Lindley let out a shrill scream, driving his blade downwards onto the figure. It pierced his chest, which caused the man to let out a sharp grunt, and then again, when he drove the blade into his ribs. Then his face, and neck, and anywhere he could bear to aim as red cloaked his vision, removing himself from his actions.

The figure tried to stab upwards with his own knife, but Lindley caught it with his hands, its blade running against the space between his fingers as he watched the life drain from the assassin's cold eyes.

He was empty, he was killing, he was the renewal of the cycle.

And there was no redemption for a family of criminals.

"Lindley, no! F-ck!" Marris shouted, pulling the man off of the attacker as he finally caught up with them. "God damn it! How are we supposed to get information out of him if you kill him!? Mahew's already dead! F-ck!"

Several figures clad in emerald had already swarmed around them, obscuring the view of the crowd that had gathered.

At the head of them, Revuarde had arrived. His towering presence overshadowed the joyful atmosphere of the tavern, if it hadn't already been interrupted with the killing.

"Damn it, Marris! I told you to keep it interesting, not mess up the business! What the f-ck are you doing!?"

"It's not our fault, Revuarde. Do you often let assassins target your patrons? I thought your green-cloaks kept watch of the place, perhaps I was foolish to think this place was as secure as you claim! This man killed Mahew!"

Revuarde scowled, but he couldn't just retort. It was true, if this man was really an assassin, the blame lay with him. Instead, he posed a question.

"Will you learn anything from this?"

Marris knelt down beside the body, rummaging impatiently around within the depths of the crimson-stained black cloak. His hands brushed against a circular metallic object, pulling it out with a semblance of curiosity.

It was a simple laurel wreath, with the visage of a crow stretching its wings outwards over the wreath.

This crest... it was too familiar.

Mahew's gaze grew distant, hazy, like surprise and shock had taken him over.

"The Corvo family...?"