Saithorthepyro
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Chapter 3: A Twist In Face
🕑 Added 2024-05-20 00:00:18 +0000 UTC“No,” I answered.
I headed towards the main road, leaving the specter of my past cursing my name.
“You can’t just leave me! I’m dying, Malvia!” he yelled.
To my annoyance, a few people in the street were noticing the noise. I could not be seen in Golvar’s company. I could not have him calling me that name. Word would travel, and I’d spent too much time severing those links.
I didn’t question how Golvar knew about my new appearance. Versalicci would know no matter what I did, and of course he’d tell Golvar.
I turned around, looking him over. He’d aged terribly in the past five years. Lines on his face had deepened. One eye had gone dim while the other still burned that same sickly green. His beard was going white, and he’d started shaving his head.
“No, you’re not. Take five minutes to bandage your wounds. I don’t see anything near a critical organ, and if you staunch the bleeding, you’ll live. Then you can limp out of my life, Golvar.”
“I’m being chased, you arrogant little angel. Is this any way to respect your old teacher?”
“If you taught me anything to be proud of, I would respect you.” And that was avoiding the idea that this wasn’t what it seemed. With Golvar and associates, trusting your eyes would always be a mistake. “You still working with Versalicci, I take it? It seems to have finally caught up with you. I thought you smart enough to leave him long ago.”
“He made you what you are, Malvia. You want to cross the Lord of the Underground?”
My eye twitched. “Stop using that name, or I will make it so you can’t utter it. I go by Falara now.”
“You don’t help me, everyone is going to know that name. You owe him, Malvia.”
“I don’t owe any allegiance to him, you, or anyone between you two,” I said. “I left that life for a reason, and when he couldn’t take hints, I left injured flunkies. He’s been paid back for what I owe him. If he takes issue with the amount, maybe he should start reconsidering what he did.”
“Either you get me somewhere safe, or I start screeching,” Golvar said. “Everyone in a quarter mile is going to think you’re here with me. People will take that to the watch. You think they won’t seize on that?”
I considered just killing him. Take a few steps back, grasp the wounded man by the throat, and force-feed him a vial. A potent poison, it’d render him compliant for a time. Lead him to an isolated spot, wait for him to expire, then leave.
A horrible death, but I’d seen Golvar cut the throats of people for much, much less. Sometimes just to make a point to someone else in the Organization.
Even with all his wounds, the expression on Golvars face was defiant as I got closer. And as I got closer, I realized I couldn’t kill him. It wasn’t any lingering affection. If I was the last person around him before his disappearance, the news would travel. Not to the watch, but definitely to Versalicci. My other options were even more public, running from spitting to running him through on the spot.
Another reason as well. Old advice I'd considered worth keeping despite it's source. When you forge a mask, and wear it, you must become it. Whether you want to be that mask or not. Anything less and it's no longer a mask, Malvia.
Katheryn Falara didn't kill people in the street for nothing worse than verbal threats.
My hand shifted from one pocket to the other, pulling a small stoppered bottle out.
“Drink that. It’ll hasten the clotting and give you some of your energy back. We’ll get you back to my place first, then we can discuss what exactly you’ve dragged me into.”
Golvar frowned, unstoppering the healing draught and sniffing at it suspiciously.
“This is the best you’ve got? I’ve seen you whip up things that cause wounds to stitch themselves up.”
“When I’m aware I’ll be needing them. Which is not usually on a business trip. You’ll have to make do with the draught I’ve offered unless you think you can make it a few streets without bleeding out?”
I did have two more powerful potions hidden in my coat, but those were for my personal use or for people who deserved them. Golvar definitely did not count as the latter. They were difficult to make, considering they were essentially directionless magic that needed to sew wounds and repair organs. They were the only two I owned and was likely to own for the foreseeable future.
Golvar took a sip of the mixture and almost immediately began coughing.
“The entire thing, Golvar, unless you want its effects to be a half-measure. I’d ask you not to do anything strenuous, but I know that’s not going to be the case. Follow me.”
I’d already taken a half-dozen steps out of the alleyway before Golvar finished the potion and followed me out. By the time he caught up, his color had improved slightly. I hadn’t focused on it before, but he’d scooped a large parcel off the ground and under his arms.
“That’s Versalicci’s package?”
“Thought you just said you didn’t want to be involved? Don’t ask questions if you want that to be the case.”
“You’ve already gotten me involved in this, Golvar. I should at least know what I’m risking my life to protect.”
“Your horns, teeth, tail, everything that used to be part of you. Not those dainty replacements you’ve used since you’ve remade yourself into a little human playing at an infernal,” He spat at me in Cant.
“I have no idea what you could possibly be saying,” I replied.
That was mainly for the benefit of anyone still in earshot. I’d attracted attention after leaving the Hell’s Own, this well-dressed. I’d still eventually slipped into the crowd. Now? With a blood-streaked member of one of the Quarter’s most notorious gangs by my side? Everyone’s eyes were on me as people were sure to give me a wide berth.
“Cut your tongue out for being a liar, if you haven’t done so already. What’s your game now, being some rich human’s fetish? Maybe you should see your dear-”
Golvar stilled. While he’d launched into his new tirade in Cant, I’d moved a hand to grab his wrist, covering the artery. The muscles in his face tensed, pushing at the skin.
Forcing this hurt in a way that made fire trace up my own veins as my magic sank deep into his body. Forcing a change on anyone hurt and usually was near impossible if they weren’t willing, but Golvar still wore the face I’d made for him. Something about it felt different, but the structure remained the same.
Blood began to leak out of the scars on his face, traveling down to his chin. The ring in his nose shifted as cartilage shifted. The light in his good eye dimmed.
“Golvar, you weren’t about to finish that sentence, were you? At least not in the way I suspect you were considering. Because if you were, I might suddenly start experimenting with how far I can twist those muscles in your face. We can test how far until they start snapping apart, not to mention what I’ll do to the skin. I’m going to let go now.”
I pulled my hand back, and Golvar collapsed, hands on knees. A stream of something spilled out of his mouth.
“No more comments about me being soft or insinuating I’m sleeping with a human. In fact, no more insinuating I’m sleeping with anyone for money or status. Oh, and no mentions of my family from your mouth. In return, I won’t ask about what’s inside your box. Do we have an agreement?”
Golvar coughed something onto the ground. “Sure. Just please stop talking like you’re some pampered rose off Bullon Street.”
“No promises. Learned methods of speaking die hard. Come on. If people are after you, we probably just let them know we are here.”
If people had been giving us a wide berth before, they were trying to find entirely different streets to be on now. No time for the long route; I’d just have to hope Versalicci’s name still inspired enough fear to keep the other gangs in check. I strode forward, making for the next alleyway, Gavlor following behind as quickly as he could manage.
The alleyway cleared quickly, and the destitute moved out of our way as we passed. The place smelled of desperation, death, and refuse of many different kinds—literally since not every place in the Infernal Quarter was connected to a submerged sewer.
“Would you slow the fuck down?” Golvar yelled after me in Cant.
I sighed, slowing just a bit. Honestly, I needed to anyway. I was risking ripping the dress. It had been bought from a human and didn’t work as well with digitigrade legs.
“You aren’t getting another potion. The first was more than sufficient to keep you moving faster than that hobble.”
“You tried to rip my damn face off. Give me a moment to breathe and feel normal? Half a minute, and I’ll be running faster than any copper or thief catcher in the city.”
“Fine, precisely half a minute for you to catch your breath.”
Galvor took several rasping deep breaths, the bleeding from his old scars stopping as the residual effects of my potion closed them back up. His eye stared at me, still glowing that same sickly green. He probed all over his face with his hands, feeling for any damage.
“There better not be any permanent damage,” he said, prodding right under the glaring green orb.
“There won’t be. I know my craft. Everything fell back into place when I let go of you.”
It had taken effort to arrange for that. Something had felt off as I’d forced parts of it to move, and I realized what it was. Another Sculptor’s work.
“You’ve had someone else work on it, but you chose not to change it. I would have thought you’d do so just to avoid an arrest at some point, Golvar.”
“Not too many people as talented as you, and that’s not me blowing smoke up your arse. Versalicci had Mortav take over on Sculpting ever since you left.”
A giggle escaped my lips. “I’m sorry, Mortav? That pyromancer kid who burned the warehouse on old Gibbon Street down trying to get a rat? He made him the new Sculptor?”
“Weren’t a whole lot left after the raids on the underground. Others have gotten snatched up. He’s half decent at it, I just don’t want his and your work clashing in some way that makes me look like I dipped my face in the Vathes.”
A fair enough concern on his part. Having a Sculptor who wasn’t that skilled work on something already modified by another Sculptor had a high chance of resulting in the working being ruined in one way or another. Sometimes, even by the work tearing itself apart.
Editing permanent Sculptures was already tricky, and even if it was your own work, it was likely to backfire. That was why I relied on temporary ones. They were more expensive but less likely to be a problem if the same parts of me needed to be sculpted multiple times.
At least in terms of cosmetic Sculpts.
“Anyone else still alive from that far back?”
“Thought you wanted to leave those days behind you?”
“I…” Why was I asking this? I had left that life behind and had wounded those sent to try and draw me back into it. “Idle curiosity. The only ones I know of are the ones you sent after me.”
“How about you come into the lair again, see who lived and who died,” Galvor sneered. “Have a few pints, reminisce on how you fucking deserted after the raids and practically pissed on us.”
How much would my veins burn to make his lips tear themselves to shreds? Probably too much.
“To business, then. You said you were pursued. I don’t suppose you saw enough to identify them?”
“Humans aren’t that common here, Malvia, you should know that. You still live here.”
Ah. They knew where I currently lived. I had not been anywhere near careful enough in keeping hidden from Versalicci. At least I had more of my wits about me than Galvor, unless this was an attempt at intimidation.
“Indulge me. Full descriptions, if you could.”
“Six of them, big ones. No work was done on them, not even cosmetic. Think they’re part of some crappy gang from the docks that calls themselves the Pure-bloods. No gunk in their veins, no sorcery in their bodies, no tainted blood from any other race. Usual suspects are the big ones they hate. Us, the Orcs, dwarves, the Keltish, the Vertamie. You can’t be a member if you have red hair. They think it’s a sign you have Keltish blood in you. Bunch of crazy lunatics.”
That was an interesting way of describing them from a member of what I would also call a bunch of crazy lunatics. Versalicci himself had never encouraged it, but I’d seen more than a few initiates given the boots for not looking sufficiently demonic. Tails too short, horns too small, hooves not big enough.
“And yet these six humans, without anything besides what they were born with, managed to get the drop on you? You couldn’t even land a single blow in return?” I asked.
“Don’t make it sound like that! I was at the surface level underground in the old sewer tunnels. No one goes there, you know that. Nothing worth killing, nothing worth guarding. I was taking this back, then they came out of nowhere and started stabbing me. One had a top hat, others had dockworking uniforms. Low-class thugs, the lot of them. I’d have torn their throats out if it had been in the open.”
“Oh, most certainly,” I replied sardonically. His scowl deepened but he said nothing more.
We’d made it out of one alley, across a street, and into another. Soon, we’d be nearing the old Halspus Cathedral ruins, an excellent place to lay low and perhaps put another potion into Golvar. The chances of people disturbing us were low. Humans didn’t like venturing near where the Hell’s invasion had started.
Infernals? We didn’t like being near a place that set us on fire for stepping foot inside.
Golvar himself was showing signs of faltering. Despite that half-minute, his breathing was quick, sweat covered him, and blood began to leak from those old scars once again. We’d need to stop.
***
“They must have been some of the most unskilled assailants in the history of trying to kill people,” I said.
I was examining Golvar's wounds among the cathedral ruins. A slight itching crawled across my skin this close, but still no sign of the divine about to smite me.
The chapel was mostly deserted, as per usual. A few people who lived in the surrounding tenants watched with no real excitement or curiosity. You only rented here if you were worn down enough to risk dying from holy fire.
The only lively people here were a group of teens across from the outskirts of the chapel we’d holed up in. Occupying much of the lower tenement, most of them watched us, playing at acting tough with the rusty knives they wielded. The occasional jeer or taunt was tossed our way from that direction.
Youths busy taking the first taste of what might be their future. A path I knew a bit too well. They kept a respectful distance after Golvar had displayed the insignia carved into his flesh. They didn’t want to cross Versalicci.
“You got lucky. They successfully avoided hitting most of your organs. Did they give any signs of keeping you alive?”
Golvar shook his head, his color much improved. The second potion had been much more potent than the first, but it’d been necessary. Improving the clotting wouldn’t have been enough. If I hadn’t used the second, he’d have bled out well before any safe place to drop him off. Now I was using thread and needle to sew the worst of it up.
“Nah. Low-class thugs, Malvia. Like I said before, they wouldn’t know how to keep me alive even if they wanted to. It's just luck at work for me.”
I doubted he had that much luck. I was about to start on another stab wound when a shadow passed over me, followed by a gust of wind.
I looked up to see the same scaled creature as before passing ahead, wings beating as it flew by.
The wind blew my hair out, sending the dark brown locks I kept them, my hair stuck at flying all over as the drake flew ahead. Each beat of their wings sent winds scattering into the Infernal Quarter, sending smaller items flying through the air. I pushed my skirt down as the gusts passed through. Golvar swore as he grasped his package, holding it to the ground.
As the drake banked left, I saw a distinct silhouette on their back. A rider? A drake and a reader was a rare sight.
I stared at the drake as they and their rider turned again, then flew out of the quarter. “How important is that package you are carrying?”
“Not that important. It’s not related.”
“It better not be. I’m sticking my neck out for you enough as is.”
Golvar suddenly yelled, getting off the rubble he was sitting on. My needle lodged into his skin as he rammed into me, howling curses.
Rocks dug into me as I fell back. I lashed out, and my hoof barely missed his leg as he ran forward.
“Put that the fuck down, you little shit!”
One of the street youths ran back, fear in his eyes. Behind him, the package for Versalicci lay on the ground. Golvar had put it on the rubble before I started looking him over.
I got up off the rubble, feeling my back in spots where the rocks had dug in. The dress was probably cut as well.
“Reputation isn’t all it used to be, I see.” Enough for them to wait till we were busy to try and steal the package.
“Lousy little punk.” Both hands wrapped around it, Golvar carried the package back towards the rubble. “It still is all it used to be. Some people just need to be taught a lesson.”
I kept my expression neutral. His tone was one I knew well. Those teenagers better make themselves scarce by the end of today.
“I want my needle back. I’m going to have to redo that entire cut.”
Golvar didn’t respond. He was focused on what had just rounded the corner.
Six humans strutted towards the chapel. Their clothes were, for the most part, those you’d expect from lower-class laborers, with the exception of a gigantic top hat on the one leading. Ungroomed facial hair matched only by their ungroomed hair, eyes that looked around with evident contempt. They carried themselves like upper crust, thick, heavy canes tapping against the ground as they moved toward us.
It wasn’t uncommon for humans to walk the Infernal Quarter, but this deep inside? Unless some crime lord had gotten very bold, they were here for another reason. They also had the dried blood on their sleeves, which hinted at the gang Golvar had mentioned.
Oh, and there were six of them as well. I didn't doubt who they were, but just in case I turned to Golvar.
“Them?” I whispered to Golvar.
He nodded nervously. His skin had gone as pale as it had been in the alley. Was he afraid of them? I hadn’t thought the bravado from before false.
“You got beat up by canes? For shame, Golvar.”
“Shut up. They’re carrying knives. Don’t be an idiot.”
It was no use hiding. They were already heading our way. Now that they were closer, I could see they were all easily over six feet. That would make this harder. My body was currently only a few inches over five feet and didn’t particularly look strong with all that displaced mass forced into denser forms.
Looks would be deceiving in that regard, but I didn’t want them deceived, I wanted them intimidated.
“Gentlemen,” I announced. “Seeing as you are approaching me with what I can only describe as hostile intent, I wish to inform you I am both an Alchemist and a Sculptor before anyone is tempted into any unpleasantness.”
Their march towards us slowed but didn’t stop. This might not need violence, but it didn’t look good.
I kept one hand casually on my saber, the other inside my coat. There were pockets on the upper interior left. I just needed to open the alchemically treated flaps, and I had a vial in my hands. By then, the gang had caught up with us.
The one with the Top Hat lead was the first to speak.
“This ain’t gotta result in too much violence, hellspawn,” he said, an unfriendly grin splitting his face. “Even if you are what you say, I don’t want you. I want the green-skinned devil. We finish this, you can head back to whatever you were doing.”
All the other Infernals, including the street kids had disappeared. So much for racial solidarity.
“You betray me, they’ll put a dagger in you before you’ve finished turning around,” Golvar said in a whisper.
“That’d be the most merciful result,” I replied. “Do you think I’ve got no clue in my head, Golvar?”
His expression answered that much, and I sighed before facing the gang leaders, smiling my friendliest smile.
“Gentlemen, please, we don’t have to do this. I’m sure whatever my friend here did to offend you, it’s not worth risking anyone’s life over-”
“Fuck negotiating with the hellspawn, Eric. Get her!” a thug with a red scarf yelled, and they came at us like a wave, Top Hat in the lead.
