"The fuck you grinning at—"
SMASH!
Glass detonated against his head in a vicious shatter, shards spraying outward like brittle rain. The impact wrenched his vision sideways, pitching him forward as stars burst behind his eyes in sharp, blinding flares.
The room canted hard, sound dropping into a dull, hollow ring for one disorienting second.
He spun back on instinct, muscles firing through the haze, just in time to catch her charging him—knife raised high, teeth bared in a feral snarl, her eyes locked on him with wild, unhinged glee.
Arion barely got his hand up, fingers splaying wide in a desperate block.
He was too slow—still rattled, ears ringing, timing off by a fatal fraction.
The blade punched through his raised left hand, tearing through flesh and muscle before burying itself deep enough to send fire racing up his arm.
She threw her full weight into it—both hands wrapping tight around the hilt, twisting as she drove forward—forcing him backward in a stumbling retreat.
Their boots tangled in the chaos, snagging on the unconscious bulk of Kenny sprawled across the floor. They hit the ground hard, air bursting from his lungs in a grunt.
The fall drove the knife deeper. She collapsed on top of him as the blade slid into his shoulder and scraped against bone.
"GRAHH—"
He groaned through clenched teeth, pain ripping through him in hot, jagged waves that blurred his vision at the edges.
"Haha! Mmm—fuck yeah!" she laughed, breath hot and reeking of stale booze against his face, her eyes wild and gleaming with twisted delight. "You enjoy that, asshole?!"
She leaned into the knife harder, grinding it side to side with deliberate cruelty, the motion sending fresh jolts of agony radiating out from the wound.
Arion snarled, rage cutting through the pain.
He smashed his free arm into her inner elbow, a sharp, brutal strike that hammered the joint inward. Her arms buckled under the strike, elbows collapsing inward, her jaw dipping forward into perfect range.
Without pause, his knuckles slammed upward into it, the punch connecting with a solid crack that snapped her head back.
It wasn't clean or powerful—the angle was awful from his pinned position—but it was enough. Her grip faltered, fingers loosening on the hilt as shock rippled through her.
Her balance shifted, weight tipping off-center for a split second.
He tore the blade free from his shoulder in a savage yank—blood slicking his fingers, warm and sticky, the metallic tang hitting the air—and without hesitation dragged it across her face in a vicious arc, jaw to eye, the edge biting deep into skin and muscle.
Blood burst outward in a hot spray, splattering across his cheek and the floor.
"AHHHHH!"
She screamed—pain and horror tangling together in a raw, guttural wail that echoed off the bar's walls.
"Fuck—fuck! You bastard!" she shrieked, voice cracking with fury and terror. "You cut my face!"
One hand flew to the ruined side of her face, fingers pressing desperately against the gash as blood seeped between them. Half-rolling toward the pool table, she snatched blindly across the edge until her fingers closed around one of the heavy balls.
She hurled it with a wild swing, the ball whistling through the air.
Arion, still spinning from the adrenaline and pain, took it across the head with a dull thud that rattled his teeth.
"Ow—shit!" He staggered sideways, one hand flying up to rub his skull, fingers coming away slick with fresh blood. "You fucking stabbed me, you crazy bitch!"
They locked eyes for a split second.
Then she turned and ran, boots scraping against the floor as she bolted.
"Where you running off to?" he growled, voice low and edged with menace.
Arion, still wobbly on his feet, the room tilting slightly from the hits, scooped up the ball she'd thrown—and sent it back with a forceful toss.
"Kyahh!"
It struck her square between the shoulders with a heavy THUMP, the impact driving the air from her lungs in a sharp cry.
The force buckled her knees, her body collapsing hard onto the grimy floor, skidding forward a few inches on the slick tiles.
Arion stalked after her, each step deliberate and heavy, rage still coiled tight in his chest, begging to be spent, his wounded hand throbbing in time with his pulse.
She tried to rise, pushing up on shaking arms, a whimper escaping her as she scrambled for purchase.
A hand fisted in her hair and yanked her upright, the pull sharp and unrelenting, forcing her head back with a yelp.
"Kya—"
THUD!
The woman's cries of pain were cut short by her head meeting the edge of the pool table in a brutal slam, the old timber shuddering under the impact.
"S-stop it…"
Her arms flailed weakly, nails scraping uselessly against his grip, fingers clawing at air as she twisted futilely.
CRACK!
"Shtop… p-please…"
CRUNCH!
Teeth and blood sprayed across the table in a gruesome arc, her mouth collapsing into ruin as bone gave way. Her arms went slack, body slumping limp in his hold.
No response came.
Arion tossed her aside like a discarded doll, releasing his grip with a shove. Her body hit the wall with a thud and slid down, lifeless, pooling in a heap on the floor.
He turned back toward where Jerry had been.
He was gone.
Arion moved toward the back, each step sending fresh twinges through his shoulder, past a closed door—then stopped, turned, and glared at it, suspicion narrowing his eyes.
THUD!—CRACK!
The toilet door exploded inward when his boot slammed dead-centre into it, wood splintering as the hinges groaned in protest.
Jerry cowered in the corner, shaking uncontrollably, eyes blown wide with terror, hands raised in feeble surrender.
Jerry's mouth kept twitching into little frightened smiles, like he still thought there was a version of this where he could talk his way clear.
"Now that's over…" Arion said quietly, his voice steady but burning with restrained fury, eyes fixed on Jerry with the stillness of something already certain it could catch him. "Let's carry on our previous conversation. Yeah?"
"Hh—!"
Whimpers of terror followed as the door slammed shut behind them, the latch clicking into place with finality.
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
A car rolled to a stop outside a small estate, engine idling low in the quiet night.
Arion stepped out, the door creaking shut behind him, and tugged the gate, metal rattling faintly under his pull.
It didn't move.
"Seriously?"
He groaned as the last of the adrenaline drained out of him.
He climbed the wall, muscles protesting with sharp pulls in his shoulder, dropped down—and hissed in pain as he landed awkwardly, one knee buckling, collapsing him onto his side in the damp grass.
"Ughhh…ow."
He lay there for a moment, chest heaving with ragged breaths, the cool night air seeping into his clothes, mingling with the sticky warmth of drying blood.
"Guess I took more of a beating than I thought…"
It took effort to stand, his good hand pushing against the ground for leverage, legs unsteady beneath him. It took even more to limp to the door.
He knocked, knuckles rapping weakly against the wood.
Footsteps approached from inside, muffled but quick.
"Who is it at this hour!?"
Locks clanked, tumblers turning with a series of clicks. The door swung open.
"Hey, Unc. Long time no—"
"Arion? What happened?!"
For a second his uncle looked less shocked than disappointed, and that landed somewhere deep and ugly in Arion's chest.
"Well, the thing is—"
His words slurred, trailing off as the world swam, edges blurring into shadow. Darkness swallowed him whole, knees giving way as he pitched forward.
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
…
The weeks that followed blurred together.
CHZZZ.
"A tragic finding took place today. Enforcers have confirmed the discovery of a young girl, Oline, previously reported missing and suspected abducted by underground gangs operating within Scanten City."
"Initial reports indicate she passed weeks prior to discovery. No confirmation of gang involvement has been established yet."
"Sergeant Treya commented earlier this afternoon—
"Thank you for having me. Our deepest condolences go out to the family. There hasn't been a—"
THUD!
"Stop! I don't know!"
"—for over a decade we've maintained public safety—"
PUFF!
The radio drowned beneath the sound of flesh and bone colliding.
Arion stood over a kneeling man, the dim warehouse light casting long shadows across the concrete floor.
Blood dripped steadily from his knuckles, pooling in small, dark spots below. The man's face was already swelling shut, one eye puffed closed, lips split and bleeding.
"Where are they?" Arion asked calmly. Too calmly, his voice flat. "The traffickers. Tell me."
"I-I told you—I don't know!"
"You keep saying you don't know," Arion said. "What you mean is you thought not knowing would keep your hands clean."
The man's resolve crumpled beneath the stare of the person deciding whether he lived or died. "We only communicate through a proxy!"
"A proxy? Who? Where?"
"He never told me his name! He calls through a one-way line to schedule meetings, I swear!"
"His next visit, when is it?"
"Two days from now! Here—he said he had a list of new orders his boss wanted."
Arion stared at him, eyes unblinking, weighing the words for a long moment before nodding slowly.
"That will do."
The man laughed weakly, a nervous bubble of sound that died in his throat. "S-so… I'm free to go?"
Arion looked down at his bloodied hand, flexing his fingers experimentally, feeling the sticky pull of drying blood.
"No. Filth like you don't deserve life."
"No, W-wait, please—"
CRUNCH!
The man's scream froze halfway out of his throat as Arion's fist caved into the man's face, knuckles driving forward in a tight, powerful hook that snapped the head sideways with a wet crack.
He felt no mercy for this man, or any of them. Men like this got rich while children vanished into vans, basements, false names, locked rooms. Some crawled back ruined. Some never came back at all.
They built whole chains to keep blood off their own hands.
The sound of tearing flesh and splintering bone filled the warehouse, echoing off the rusted metal walls.
KRRCHH!
The man went limp, body sagging forward, but Arion still drew his arm back again, muscles coiling like springs.
SKRACK!
Sound thinned into distant echoes. The warehouse blurred at the edges. Rage took the centre and left everything else to fall away.
CRACK!
"Stop! Arion!"
A worried voice echoed, then thinned into distance as the memory slipped away.
…
THUNK–KRRSH!
The sound of fists hitting through flesh and ice echoed through the surrounding woods, sharp and rhythmic like a butcher's mallet on frozen meat.
WHMP–SPLKRSH!
A wet crunch followed as knuckles smashed through frozen bone and burst through half-frozen flesh, the impact sending shards of ice skittering across the ground. It cracked like glass under weight—thicker, wetter, uglier, the fracture lines spiderwebbing out from the point of contact.
A head had been there minutes ago. Now it was a ruined mass of red ice and collapsed bone, the face caved in so badly the features no longer looked human.
SPLRRK–TSSHHH–KRRK!
A slushy explosion of half-frozen blood sounded, the force of the blow liquefying the iced gore in a brief, messy thaw. Blood, pus and lymph liquids dripped and flowed down the ice—mixing with the sweat, tears and saliva on the floor below, forming a viscous slurry that gleamed faintly under the dim forest light.
An orgy of bodily fluids and red ice lay at his feet, the metallic tang heavy in the air, mingling with the sharp chill of frost.
Gore covered his fists; he could no longer tell ice from bone from his own blood, the cold numbing the difference even as his skin split further with every strike.
Awareness slammed back into place, disorientation hitting him like a wave as the forest sounds rushed back—distant bird calls, rustling leaves, his own ragged breathing.
He stepped back, boots crunching on the frozen ground, and looked down.
He saw his fists, arms, and robe covered in what had spilled out of a person.
He waited for his stomach to turn. It never did.
All he saw in the crimson stains was the part of himself he'd tried to bury.
After a moment, his gaze shifted toward the camp, the flickering firelight casting long shadows over the tents and scattered bodies.
Without looking, he stretched out his arm, hand open as Recall flew towards him, slapping firmly into his palm.
She pulsed hard in his grip, the wood shivering as his Vitalis ran through her.
His Vitalis was eerily steady. Cold. Murderous.