"I ran as fast as I could, leaving my new partner behind—breaking The Guard's code again," Malvin began, his voice low and tense as his hands curled into fists, clenching and unclenching in a futile rhythm. "Even if we didn't get along, even with me being an absolute piece of trash to him, my body just moved on its own. I ran through the streets, through the slums, and finally, to the abandoned sawmill where... where I saw..."
---
Malvin burst through the doors of the sawmill, his chest heaving as cold mist spilled from his panting breaths. His eyes locked onto the scene ahead, and his legs nearly buckled beneath him. The body—it was so.... He could hardly process the sight.
"We didn't invite you," came a calm, almost amused voice from somewhere behind the horror. It was Ambrose—Malvin knew it was him, but the words barely registered, drowned out by the sound of blood pounding in his ears.
"But it's great that you came!" another voice chimed in, far more animated, cutting through the haze of shock. Philip Crude stepped into view, grinning as he motioned to the grotesque display before them. "What do you think? I'd say this is my best work yet!" His voice was practically gleeful, every word a sickening twist of the knife.
Malvin's breath hitched as his eyes remained glued to the... body. It was just so...
---
"Captain!" Clare's voice yanked Malvin back into reality as he doubled over, his hands flying to his mouth in a futile attempt to keep the nausea at bay. "Calm down, Captain!" Jos exclaimed, his usual snark replaced by panic.
"It's fine, Captain! You don't have to tell us about the body!" Tores added quickly, patting Malvin's back in an awkward attempt to soothe him.
"Don't push yourself, Captain," Clare urged, her voice soft and careful.
"Yes, Captain," Loreen agreed. "Don't force yourself."
Malvin's chest heaved as a cold sweat broke out across his skin. He took a few shaky breaths, gripping the arm of the chair to steady himself before waving them off weakly. "It's okay... I'm okay. You guys can go back to your seats."
Reluctantly, the group nodded and returned to their places, though the concern in their eyes lingered.
Aeron's even tone cut through the tense silence. "Tell us what happened after that, Captain. The body of Officer Silas is clearly causing you a lot of distress."
Malvin inhaled deeply, his lungs filling with the sharp, sterile air of the room. Exhaling slowly, he nodded. "Okay... I'll skip that part. Here's what happened after..."
---
Philip stared down at Malvin with a smug, predatory grin. "Was this all it took to break the shepherd dog? The death of the fox?" he sneered, his words like venom dripping from his tongue. He chuckled, his amusement mirrored by Joshua, who leaned casually against the wall.
"Come on, Philip," Joshua said, his tone light and dismissive, as if scolding a friend for overstepping. "He's already broken. No need to rub it in."
The pair, along with their three lackeys, broke into laughter, the sound echoing through the empty sawmill.
Something inside Malvin snapped. His vision blurred with rage, and a guttural scream tore from his throat as he charged toward Philip, his fist drawn back. The pain, the grief, the helplessness—all of it surged through him as he swung with all his might.
But his wild attack was met with nothing but air. Philip's fist slammed into Malvin's stomach with crushing force, stealing the air from his lungs. "Ugh!" Malvin choked, collapsing to his knees, clutching his stomach as a violent coughing fit overtook him.
"What was that sloppy shit?" Philip taunted, his voice dripping with mockery as he loomed over Malvin. "I could've seen that punch coming in my sleep!"
Malvin's trembling arms braced against the floor as he fought to push himself upright, but Philip was relentless. With a savage kick to the chest, he sent Malvin sprawling onto his back.
"Ah, that felt satisfying," Philip said with a cruel grin, crouching down beside Malvin's crumpled form. Malvin gasped for air, his chest rising and falling erratically as he struggled to breathe, every attempt met with sharp, stabbing pain.
"Don't you worry, you won't die just yet," Philip sneered, his voice dripping with cruel amusement as he crouched beside Malvin. He tapped his clawed finger against Malvin's cheek in mock tenderness, the sharp point dragging slightly against his skin. "You see, I really like the look on your face right now—pure despair. I want you to enjoy it too, so I'll let you live just long enough to see yourself in the mirror."
Before Malvin could muster even a word, Philip's hand shot out, gripping his throat with calculated force. He squeezed—not enough to kill, but just enough to cut off Malvin's oxygen and send panic coursing through his body. Malvin's hands flew up instinctively, clawing and tugging at Philip's arm in a futile attempt to break free, his movements weakening with each passing second.
"But don't worry," Philip continued, leaning in close enough for Malvin to feel his hot breath against his face. His grin stretched wider, wolfish and brimming with sadistic glee. "You'll get your chance for revenge soon enough. We'll settle this—right here, before the year ends. Eleven o'clock sharp, alright?"
The air between them was heavy, suffocating in more ways than one, when a sudden shout rang out from the sawmill's entrance.
"Sirs! The Ironguard are comin'—and they've got them sentinel machines with 'em!" Nunin bellowed, his tone urgent.
Philip's head snapped toward the entrance, his grin faltering just slightly before he let out a low growl of annoyance. "Looks like we've got to leave." Joshua, who had already begun retreating with the other goons, glanced back over his shoulder. "Come on, Philip, don't waste time. Let's move."
Philip nodded but turned his attention back to Malvin, whose consciousness was slipping by the second. Malvin's limbs twitched weakly as his vision blurred, dark spots creeping in at the edges. Philip leaned in once more, his tone dropping to a mockingly soft whisper. "I'll be going now, but don't forget my invite, alright? Because if you do..." He chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting with malice. "Well, let's just say I'll have to use your little sister again."
With a final, crushing squeeze, Philip released Malvin's throat and stood to his full height, towering over the gasping, crumpled figure on the ground. Without another glance, he turned and followed Joshua and the others out of the sawmill.
"Wait..." Malvin rasped, his voice little more than a strained whisper as he rolled onto his stomach. His trembling arms struggled to push him forward, his fingernails scraping against the cold, splintered floor as he tried to crawl after them. "You don't... get to leave..."
His strength was failing. Every muscle in his body screamed for rest, and his head felt like it was splitting apart. Still, he forced himself forward, dragging his battered frame a few agonizing inches closer. "I'll... kill you..." The words escaped his lips in a hoarse, broken whisper before his arms finally gave out. His vision went dark, and his body collapsed to the floor, unconscious.