Malvin arrived at the abandoned sawmill, its decrepit structure silhouetted against the pale moonlight. Faint golden light spilled through the cracks in the warped wooden walls, casting uneven beams onto the snow-covered ground. He stood still for a moment, taking it in. "Lights, huh?" he muttered to himself, his crimson eyes narrowing. "I guess they're trying to make a spectacle out of this."
His heartbeat was steady, his breathing even. He was ready. No—they were ready. His gaze flicked upward, locking onto something unseen, and he gave a single, subtle nod before stepping forward.
The snow crunched under his boots as he pushed the sawmill's large doors open. The entrance creaked, the groaning sound swallowed by the whistling winter wind. The first thing that hit him was the warm light from strings of bulbs wrapped around the interior cast a bright, almost mocking glow on the dilapidated walls.
"Finally made it," came a voice from above, smooth and laced with smugness. Malvin's eyes moved upward to see Joshua Ambrose leaning casually against the railing of an upper platform, his ever-present smirk plastered across his face. "Honestly, I thought you might not come tonight."
"I should be saying the same thing to you," Malvin replied, his voice sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. "Especially since the mutt isn't here." His gaze darted around the room. Aside from Joshua, the only other person in sight was a cowering dwarf, Nunin, huddled on the opposite side of the sawmill's ground floor.
Joshua chuckled, pushing off the railing and spreading his arms theatrically. "Oh, looks like somebody gotten better already! Or maybe you just didn't care about your old partner as much as we thought?"
Malvin didn't rise to the bait, his cold demeanor unshaken. "Where's Philip Crude?" he demanded.
"Right behind you," came a gruff voice.
Malvin pivoted sharply to see Philip Crude standing in the doorway, his bloodstained claws glinting in the soft light. The demi-human wolfman stepped forward, his grin revealing sharp teeth.
"Heh, look at you," Philip sneered, sauntering past Malvin with slow, deliberate strides. "You've cleaned up nicely, haven't you? Got over Silas's death real quick, didn't you?"
Malvin's gaze followed Philip's every move, his stance steady and unyielding. "Is that the only thing you two can come up with to taunt me?" he asked flatly.
Philip let out a mocking chuckle. "Oh, I think it's fair. I mean, we're just surprised. You got over him so quickly, especially after what you said and did last time."
"Did you get it this time?" Joshua called down to Philip.
"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Philip replied with a wave of his clawed hand. He reached into his coat and pulled out a chronoscope, glancing at it to check the time. "I'll hand it over once this is done. Speaking of which, we've got about five minutes left."
Malvin's gaze fixated on the device in Philip's hand and the blood staining his claws. "Who did you kill to get that?" Malvin demanded, his tone cold and sharp.
Philip looked at him, smirked, and casually pocketed the device. "Nobody you'd care about," he said, flexing his fingers as though anticipating the fight ahead. "Hell, you'll probably be happy about it. He was a criminal, after all."
"I'll be the judge of that," Malvin replied, his voice firm.
Joshua let out a mocking laugh from above. "No, no, no—you're a Guard, not a judge. Completely different professions," earning a burst of laughter from Philip and an awkward chuckle from Nunin.
Malvin's gaze didn't waver. "Answer me." he demanded, his voice cutting through the laughter like a blade.
Philip's smirk faltered for just a second, but he quickly regained his composure. "If you're so curious… remember that blue-haired brat? The one you saw back when we first met?" He patted the pocket where he'd stashed the chronoscope. "I got what he stole back."
Malvin's jaw tightened as he clenched his fists, his eyes closing briefly. When they opened again, they were alight with resolve. "Philip Crude. Joshua Ambrose," he began, stepping forward, his boots echoing ominously against the sawmill's wooden floor. "Tonight, I guarantee the death of one of you."
His steps didn't falter, the weight of his declaration hanging heavy in the air. "For the crimes you've both committed—kidnapping, murder, unlicensed drug distribution—you will undoubtedly be given the death sentence. And I'm here to carry out that sentence."
He stopped just far enough to mirror the distance from his fight with Joshua. Straightening his posture, Malvin declared, "I am Malvin Ashborn, the Ironguard."
Joshua's smirk only grew, his excitement palpable as he leaned forward on the railing. "Oh, this is going to be fun," he murmured to himself, the words practically dripping with glee.
Philip, however, burst into laughter. "Looks like you're really ready to die! Okay then!" He cracked his knuckles, his wolfish grin spreading as he crouched slightly, preparing to charge. "Philip Crude, the Ironguard butcher!" he announced, his voice reverberating through the sawmill.
Without another word, Philip launched himself at Malvin, his claws gleaming in the light.
CRACK!
The sudden gunshot rang out like a thunderclap, shattering a nearby window. Blood splattered across the sawmill floor as Philip stumbled forward, clutching his stomach.
Joshua and Nunin froze, their eyes wide with shock as Philip dropped to one knee, his hands pressing against the wound. Blood oozed between his fingers, staining the floorboards beneath him.
Philip looked up at Malvin, his expression twisted in a mixture of pain and disbelief. Malvin's expression was unyielding, his red eyes as cold as copper.
"I told you," he said evenly, his voice laced with quiet authority. "One of you will die tonight."