Chương 118: BLOOD PRICE

While Elias and Jamie began preparations for the exorcism, the city they had left behind began to breathe differently. Not louder. Heavier. Inside the underground vault that had now been converted to a temporary base of opeations, the Dishonored gathered like a storm cloud trying to remember how to rain. Jax stood at the centre of their attention.

"You know," Torvin said, seperating himself from the rest of the men and taking a step foward, "I've been thinking." Jax did not look at him. He kept tapping his fingers in the shaft of his spear.

"And every time I think," Torvin continued, voice sharp and needling, "it keeps coming back to the same thing." Silence. Well there would be silence if not for the fact that Torvin kept scraping the blades of his metalic disks as he spoke creating an uncomfortable screetching sound. Still, Jax did not react and kept his composure.

"You know something." Jax's tapping paused for half a breath before continuing their slow, methodical motion. Torvin grinned. The grin did not reach his eyes. They were too dark for that now. Black veins crawled up from his collar, snaking along his jawline like ink spilled beneath skin.

"You know where the target is." The room went quiet. Not because they were surprised. Because they were listening. Jax swallowed.

"I don't." Torvin laughed. It was a brittle sound.

"See? That's the problem with you, Jax. You've always been terrible at lying. Calm and calculated sure but lying? Nah." Jax finally looked up. And what he saw made his stomach drop. It wasn't just Torvin. Several of the men had the same black veins pulsing faintly beneath their skin. Their eyes looked… wrong. Too alert. Too eager. Like starving dogs watching a butcher. Jax's breath caught finally noticing what was happening.

"The ooze you used it?! How could you! Do you not fear the corruption. I though we planned on usung it only on the beats when necessary?!" This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Lyle stepped out from the back room then, smiling like a man who had just solved a very enjoyable puzzle.

"I got tired of waiting," he said casually.

"So I changed the plan." In his hand was a small glass vial. Inside it, black liquid shifted and crawled like a living thing. Not sloshing. Crawling. Like a living organism searching for a host.

"I figured," Lyle continued, "if the city won't give us our target… we'll just make the city scream until he shows up." Jax's voice came out hoarse.

"That's madness." Lyle tilted his head.

"Madness?"

"Innocents will be in danger." Lyle blinked. Then burst into laughter.

"I don't give a shit about the innocents. Most especially the innocents of another nation." He stepped closer.

"Why are you suddenly compassionate toward people of an enemy kingdom, hmm Jax?" Jax bit his lip.

"What if we draw attention?" Lyle waved a dismissive hand.

"Forty-six Saints should be more than enough to handle Gable and Thorne. And the Praetorian is pregnant. She won't be much help." The men around them chuckled. A low, ugly sound. Jax turned desperately to Torvin.

"Torvin… this isn't what we signed up for." Torvin's face twitched.

"I signed up to stop being a slave."

"I signed up to be a knight again." The veins pulsed brighter. The ooze worked fast. The ooze was a substance that was being circulated in the black market for various uses. Regradless of the desired end, it carried the corruption from some forgotten creature — a thing that didn't just boost strength but amplified every ugly corner of the mind. Anger. Bitterness. Jealousy. Hatred. It fed on those things while quietly hollowing out everything else. The Dishonored were criminals before they were slaves. Murderers.

Arsonists. Poisoners. Men who had drowned debtors in wells. Men who had burned families in barns over land disputes. Men who had butchered entire caravans for coin. Men who had let the status of Knighthood corrupt their minds with the immorality of human nature. The ooze didn't make them worse. It made them more. Torvin shook his head.

"I thought you were smart, Jax." His eyes narrowed.

"But turns out you're still soft." He leaned in.

"I know where the old man is." Jax froze. Torvin laughed.

"We followed you."

"You were showing signs of reluctance." one man said.

"We knew you were a traitor." Said another. Lyle's smile widened.

"And we know why." Jax's stomach dropped into ice.

"Raizelle's daughter." Lyle's laughter filled the room.

"Oh, this keeps getting better." He turned the vial slowly in his fingers.

"While we grab the old man… we might as well get the girl and drag them both to Nordhelm." He grinned.

"That's bound to improve my chances of getting closer to the queen." Jax stepped forward. The men grabbed him instantly. He struggled.

"She's just a weak and defenseless child!" A fist slammed into his gut. Air exploded from his lungs. Lyle crouched in front of him.

"My mother was weak and defenseless too." His voice lost its humor.

"As the older sister, she helped Princess Raizelle Lukas escape. She didn't even fight for the status of queen that should rightfully come with being the older sibling. Instead she accepted her lesser and what happened when someone more hungry for success showed up?" He leaned closer.

"She got executed for it." He stood.

"And now her son gets treated like shit." His eyes gleamed.

"I'm going to show that little girl a bit of what I went through." Jax's vision blurred. He triggered his Resonant. A wave of forced slumber rippled outward. The men slackened. Just slightly. Enough. He shoved them off and reached for his spear.

"Don't," Lyle said. Jax froze mid-motion. The mark of dishonor on his hand ignited like molten iron. Pain ripped through him. His body locked. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't scream. Lyle sighed.

"Kill him." Torvin stepped forward. There was hesitation. Just a flicker.

"Sorry," he said quietly.

"Sacrifices must be made." With that he raised one of the disks, aiming to decapitate him in a single swing.

Outside the jewelry shop, boots crunched softly on snow. Roric Thorne stood in the quiet street, axe resting against his shoulder. He took a swig of alcohol. The burn steadied him. He tossed the bottle aside and wiped his lips. Through the faint threads of his bond, he sensed his daughter in the forest. He had wondered what she was doing there at that time but perhaps it was better she wasn't within the city walls at that time. She seemed to be in no immediate danger She was safe. Good.

She was safe from witnessing the massacre that he was about to unleash. He rolled his shoulders once. Then took a step toward the shop.