Victor's fists were up again, and he was back on his feet.
Come on, you dirty fucks!
Sweat dripped down his face, stinging his eyes, but Victor kept his focus. He cannot let his guard down, not even for a second. The room was dim, poorly lit, but he managed to keep his eyes sharp. He dodged another swing and attacked at the opening.
He felt his knuckles hit a rib, and Rowyn fell to the floor. "Gah' damn! Man, you hit so hard!"
Rowyn had been the man that saved him from those cows. The hooded dealer he'd been observing days prior. Victor trusted these men, he traveled the streets with them, fought other thugs with them, but now they beat him bloody.
"Buck's turn." A deep voice said, entering the room. Buck Strong was a huge grey boulder of a man. He stood six foot tall, ears peirced with two golden rings, and his black hair withering on his head. Among the three, he hated his punches the most.
Rowyn crawled out of the room, and a smear of blood trailing behind him. If it wasn't for the chains around his neck that tethered him to the walls behind him, Victor could've easily finished Rowyn off. That fucking traitor!
"Sorry, Victor." Buck said as he clenched his thick hands to a fist. "Tell the truth and this ends. What kind o' spy are ya?"
"I've told you a million times, Buck! I'm not a spy!"
Buck sighed as his heavy fist gave Victor's cheeks the warmest kiss. Blood sprayed the walls to his left. Another fist came rising from Buck's other arms and into Victor's belly. He could barely stand. Buck's arms are as thick as the legs of an elephant, and when he stomps them it hurts like a bitch.
"This pains Buck, more'n ya ever know, Victor." Said Buck. "Tell the truth. Who do ya work for?"
"I..." Victor said between desperate breaths. His head spun as he held himself up. "I told you... I've told you, Buck. I work for no one. I'm not from this world."
"Buck don't understand." Buck said. "It makes the head hurt. Tell the truth! Is this Veilian trickery? Trent said so."
"Trent is a fool!" Victor said.
Trent was the tall guy in their petty little gang club. The first to notice the ashes fading off his skin. It had been days since he applied the ash and had forgotten it since. When they washed it all off, the human beneath the ash was revealed, and these sloppy, low-life, wannabe criminals decided to chain him up and squeeze him for information. What do I know that they don't already know? I was practically born yesterday!!
Buck Strong swung at him again, but this time Victor ducked. Buck moves without regard to his defences. There was an opening at all his corners. To his side, belly, neck, face, and even down his groins, but Victor cannot risk hitting the man. Buck can tank any of Victor's attack after all, and it would only turn his punches stronger.
Buck Strong swung again and Victor turned to his side. "I'm telling the truth, Buck! Come on! If I was a spy, what would I spy from you? You were just doing small crimes, and the police already spying you on that! And you know damn well I'm not with those cops!"
"Buck's confused." Buck said.
"That's right, because what those two punks are saying is ridiculous!" Victor kept his fists up to guard his face.
Buck shook his head like a dog and swung at Victor's head again. Victor blocked it with his arm but they were crashed along with it. Buck left the room as Victor spat blood. These fools!
Soon, Trent and Rowyn returned to the room. Victor stepped back. The chains curling behind him.
"So what d'ya think, man?" Rowyn asked. "He'd been saying the same thing for three days. This man's a tough nut to crack."
"Tough, maybe, but all nuts crack eventually." Trent said, his long grey hair falling down his back. These men looked more bluish than grey, yet they still have those long ears.
"Come on, Vic." Trent said stepping forward. "Ya can't expect us to believe that aliens exists, and not only that, but they also speak our language fluently. Ya lying through your teeth. Ya want us to pluck 'em out one by one?"
"Trent, listen to me. What motives do I have on spying the three of you schmucks? I'm not a veman, the evidence is before your very eyes! Look at me!"
Trent swung at him, and this time it landed on his left cheeks, sending a spray of blood to the wall on the right. "Look, Vic, I like ya. Ya have a fight in ya. I respect that. But Veilians can do anything. I heard they can shapeshift, ya heard that one Rowyn?"
"Yeah, man! I heard they can change faces. Words on the streets says Jonn Black is planning somethin' big!" Rowyn still holds the rib he hit.
"See, Vic? We know what them players up high been doin'. However you're involved, we'll know."
"Damned you! Don't you watch the news out here? I'm a wanted rogue, chased by the cops when you found me! Don't you think why is that?? I'm an alien that escaped their prison!"
"What's 'news'?"
"What??" Victor thought they were joking, until they kept giving him that stupid look. "Report! Police reports! Haven't they announced that there's a wanted human roaming your City?!?"
Trent looked at Rowyn. "Nah, never heard o' that, man." Rowyn said. "I heard the Watchers are out there 'cuz they be cleaning the streets from the Brava's influence."
"Yeah, you lyin' again, Vic."
"The Erudyms! Ask those mothafuckers! Goddammit, at least they don't beat their prisoners up!"
Trent kicked Victor by his chest and he stumbled to the floor. "We trusted you, Vic. And this is how ya repay us? Insults? We saved ya ass from those gah'damn Watchers!"
"Yeah, they are chasing me because I'm a human!" Victor rose to his feet. Every part of him is in pain, but he can't give up. Arthur needs him.
Trent raised his fist and begun throwing jabs at Victor. He dodged them, landed back a few hits and blocked a few. "Ya good at this... fighting. Where'd ya get 'em skills, Vic?"
"On Earth. My world! Where everyone looks like me!"
"Still with that story?" Trent chuckled as he threw another punch.
"Look at my ears! Do they look similar to your ugly ones! If I was a Veilian as you say, wouldn't it be stupid for me to take the form of something so foreign as my disguise?!"
Trent laughed. "Vic, for all we know, that might be your true form. Days ago you're grey like us, ya disguise."
"The fuck?!?" Victor managed to reach Trent's face and landed his most satisfying blow. Trent staggered back. "You're the one who removed the ashes off my skin! Aren't you the one who said Veilians could shapeshift or something?? Did my face change? It's a fuckin' ash I put on, you fucking stupid assholes!"
Rowyn helped Trent to stand firm. If only these chains would come off...
"Ya hit damn good, Vic." Trent said as he rubbed his face. "That's what I always liked about ya. We'll consider what ya said."
"We could ask the Brava." Rowyn said.
"Are you stupid? How can we reach the Brava? Are you stupid, Roh?"
"Nah, man. I mean, Victor said 'ask the Erudyms'. I think the Candyman as at least one Erudym in his pockets he could ask, man. I bet they'd give us a truck load o' cash for this catch. Man, think about it."
"You're going to sell me off??" Victor said, clenching his fist so tight.
"Nah, man. More like getting a favor from the Candyman. The cash would just be extra. What'd ya think, man?" Rowyn tapped Trent by the shoulders.
"I don't know, Roh. The Brava's a dangerous group. I... I don't know what they're gon' do."
"Don't be scared, man." Rowyn tapped his back. "I know a guy who knows a guy that knows Sable. That's the Candyman's right-hand."
Trent looked at Victor again. Victor could almost crack his skull open if he just stepped forward. Come on... Victor stepped back.
"Ask the Erudym, huh, Vic." Trent said as he stepped forward "You sure about that?"
Victor murmured softly to lure him closer. The fool did so. Left foot, then right, trying to hear what Victor was trying to say. Then he swung his fists together, landing at both side of Trent's head. He grabbed the back of Trent's head and pulled it to bash it against his own. Then he swung at his chest and lifted his leg, then threw him down to the floor.
"I'm telling the truth!" He yelled.
"Fine! Let's go, Roh." Trent said as he sloppily pulled himself up. "Let's sell this fucker to the Brava."
Rowyn and Trent laughed as they left Victor inside this dark, filthy room. They turned the lights off and locked the door behind them. Victor fell to the floor, letting go all of his strength. He had to recover. He had to stay strong. He can't give up. Not yet.
The darkness pressed in from all sides, so thick it felt suffocating. The room reeked of rot and damp, and hunger gnawed at him, each passing time. They had never visited him since, but he can hear them talking outside. Time felt meaningless here, with no light to track its passage, only the aching in his bones and the tightness of his restraints. His body was battered, but his mind refused to break. He had to survive. This punks is yet to pay for what they've done.
The door swung open, and for the first time in eternity, Victor saw the light of this world again. There's hope, he thought. But soon, shadows followed inside. Many of them now. When they turned on the lights, there were five men with him inside this filthy room.
The three were Rowyn, Trent, and Buck, but the two he did not know. All the three schmucks wear tattered and ragged clothes, but the two new men stood elegant. They're rich and fearsome. One was wearing white cloak and the other was black, both was draped over a neat tailored suit. They were bluish grey and their ears long.
"Victor." The huge man in black cloak said. "I'm Huss. Mr. Sweets right-hand man. This is my friend here, Jance. If you're lying, he'll cut off one o' your fingers."
Where's Sable?
"So tell me the truth. Who are you? What are you?" Huss asked.
"I am Victor Wind, Sir." Victor knows better when talking to a high status gang member. "I'm from another world. An alien." His weakness strained his voice. "I got here through an ancient gate. While I'm trying to go back home, I stumbled path with these three dumbshits who beat me thinking I'm a fucking spy!"
"That's what these three told me." Huss said. "But are you really? How can you demostrate it to be true?"
"The Erudyms know!" Victor yelled, as weak as he is. "They said you got one in your pockets, ask that!"
"I like you're manners, Victor." Huss laughed. "Oh, I like it. But tell me, if I got one of those robed men to squeak, and they approve your testimony. What then? If you're a spy, we should kill you, certainly, but if you're an alien, why shouldn't we kill you?"
"You'll need me." Victor's voice was coarse and desperate. What value can they need from me? These are not the Erudyms who wanted to study him. These are criminals.
"Need?" Huss laughed. "Of what?"
"I know things. There's... there's a war coming!" Victor bit his tongue. He could've thought of a better lie.
"War?" Huss blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Oh..." Victor forced a chuckle. "It's a power struggle. Jonn Black, the First Steward, the Erudyms and their shitty little plots. I bet y'know what I'm talking about."
Victor hoped he made sense. He knew something was brewing, he just didn't know exactly what it is. But these names, they've been said many times and he knew they mean something. They had to.
"What do you know?" A shadow was cast on Huss' face.
"I know that you'll need me when that dire day comes. I am certain I was brought to your world not by accident." It could whatever the fuck it could be at this point. "It might be someone who plans something big. You'll be needing me."
"Is that a threat?"
"An opportunity, Huss. An opportunity for the Brava to seize power when that day comes."
"What can you do?"
"I'm a soldier in my world. I can do things for you."
"Mmh. I'll let the big man think about that." Huss said as he cracked his fingers.
"The Don?" Victor asked.
"The Candyman." Huss said as he bashed Victor's face with his heavy fist, sending him to the dark abyss.
------
The sting of icy cold water jolted Victor awake. His body was still sore, and his head spun, but the rush of adrenaline forced him to focus. He was now inside this brightly lit room, filled with varnished wooden shelves and freshly waxed floors, and in front of him was a table. The place was clean like a kitchen, but the smell of it was so sweet like honey.
Men stood around him, all dressed in shiny black suit, red tie, and a white cape draping over their shoulders. In their hands were weapons, shining pink and blue, the same weapon he had stolen from the cows a few days ago. If only he had the strength, he could steal one again and escape this alien Mafia.
"Stand up, Victor. You have to eat." A man said. He barely recognized him, but he was almost sure it was Jance. His head ached badly. Some servant girls brought him food, a sort of meat that smelled so good that for a moment he let go of his instinct (that it might be poisoned) and ate the foreign food. He could barely move a muscle. He was so weak, so frail, and in so much pain.
Ten men in dark suits and white cape stood around him inside that room, all amused of the human before them, each of their faces ugly and stupid. I'l kill you all! Thought Victor as he swallowed more of the meat like a starving dog. The food was good, and bite after bite he could almost feel his strength returning.
Jance then signaled the ladies again and they've begun to strip Victor off of his bloody uniform. He resisted for a moment until one of the men in black suits stopped him. The girl brought a bright orange uniform and begun to cover his nakedness. He could not resist them, not now in this lowly state. He was weak, but he did his best not to show it.
He drank a glass full of water, the liquid overflowing out of his lips and running down his chin down to his neck. Disgrace! But he can't help it. He was beyond thirsty. The beating had taken a toll on him. His cheeks were swollen, his head spinning, and each time he moves his bruises sing the blues. When he was done, a man behind him put a bag over his head.
Although he cannot see, he could hear things, feel things. There was music, the sound of disco bouncing in the air. He could feel people dancing around him, the heat of their bodies, their yelling and singing and talking as they led him to walk. The smell of alcholol was mixing with whatever that sweet smell was. Then they led him up a staircase and Victor struggled to climb it without his strength and vision.
After few more long walks, they led him into a room. The music died as the door was locked behind him. They pushed him down to his knees and the thud made the room silent as a graveyard.
When the bag covering his head was yanked off, there were men in standing in the shadows of the dimly lit office room. Men are kneeling right by his side as well, their faces battered and bruised, blood bleeding down from their heads. He did not recognize them immidiately, but when he did his heart sank. Rowyn, Trent, and Buck might've deserved that but Victor can't bear their sight.
"I've heard so much about ya, Victor." The voice sounded like honey dipped in poison. "Ooh, how glad am I to have met ya, darling!"
The voice came from the man sitting behind a desk. The desk has a pink hat, and behind it was a youthful chubby man. He stood up, rising seven foot. He wore a dark sparkly suit with a pink tie and a pink gloves. Upon his lips was a sinister smile. "How was ya travel from the Wander to Eldarion?"
"What?" Victor felt a chill ran down his spine. This man knows my journey since the Blackstone. Behind the man were two figures in black cloaks. He recognized the one on his right as Huss, but not the one on his left.
"Oh, I would assume it's rather pleasant," The man walked to the front of his desk. Even his shoes are pink. "Considering, of course, your fight against Rashil and that old man Aurell."
Victor gritted his teeth. "Who are you?"
"Me?" The man chuckled like a child. "A humble man. My friends call me Mr. Sweets, but to the world? Oh, I'm the Candyman, darling."
"What do you want from me?"
The Candyman's smile stretched wider, exposing a row of perfectly—almost unnatural—white teeth. He circled Victor like a lion, one pink-gloved hand gliding along his shoulders then back to the edge of his desk.
"What... do... I... want?" he said. "Well, dear, that depends entirely on what ya have to offer. You've spun quite the tale, Victor Wind—the outlander from another world, hunted by Watchers, chained up by the streets' lowlifes." He cast a mocking glance at the bruised, battered forms of Rowyn, Trent, and Buck. "And now you're here, brought to me by my most… industrious friends. Really, darling, some souls have all the luck."
Victor's jaw clenched, every instinct urging him to escape, but his body was in shambles, his battered frame barely holding together. He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to meet the Candyman's eyes. "I've told you the truth, Mr. Sweets. I'm not from this world. And if you let me go, I might even find my way back home and get out of your business."
"Oh, but I don't want ya out of my business," the Candyman cooed, letting his hand drift to Victor's shoulder in a condescending pat. "No, darling, ya were brought here for a reason, weren't ya? Delivered right into my lap at precisely the right time." He tilted his head and pursed his lips. "And I think ya understand exactly how… useful ya could be to me."
What? Victor held his breath, he could not let his confusion show. He almost forgot about that lie. The Candyman believed his bluff, or was it that Victor guessed his plans? Oh... fuck me. He couldn't break character now, he has to play this game
Mr. Sweets's eyes never left his. "We're moving toward something big, sweetheart. The right pieces in the right hands, and all of this could change," he said, gesturing faintly. "But for this little game to work, I need to know ya'll play ya part—and do it oh so well."
"What if I wont?" Victor asked.
His fingers pressed down on Victor's shoulder. "I want to help ya, Victor. Lend ya a hand to solve ya problems." Mr. Sweets smiled and bounced his brows. "Ya want ya brother back? I can pull favors from the Citadel and have them deliver Arthur right before my feet. Oh yes, wouldn't that be thrilling? If ya don't want that, I could still have Arthur here, served right up the dinner table. I might like the taste of human flesh."
Victor looked at him sharply. "What do I have to do?"
"Oh, already so eager? I love that, darling. Sable here will discuss the details with you soon." Mr. Sweets gestured to the man behind him on his left. Only Sable and Huss wears that black cloak with them. "For now, I want you to recover and heal. These fools had done ya their worst. I want ya fresh for ya mission, sweetheart."
Mr. Sweets took a gun from one of his men in white capes. He pointed it lazily at Rowyn, Trent, and Buck, his gaze gliding over them with disdain. "Darlings," he said, "I don't care for men who act without permission. Ya damaged my guest."
Rowyn dropped his palm on the floor, his voice cracking as he stumbled over his words, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the floor. "Please, Mr. Sweets Sir, I—we're sorry, we're truly sorry." Trent, eyes wide with panic, joined him, stammering apologies as he dropped beside Rowyn. Buck kept kneeling. "Buck's sorry too," he muttered, glancing from his comrades to Mr. Sweets, "they told Buck to do it. Buck didn't mean no harm." Their voices were music as they begged for mercy.
Mr. Sweets sighed. "Let it not be said that the Candyman don't reward his people." He rolled his eyes. "Ya have delivered our guest at the right time, but ya have also done him a great harm. For that, I'll spare two o' ya and let Victor decide who shall bare your punishment," He glanced at Victor, the faintest smirk curling his lips. "Victor, darling, which one do you think deserves a little justice for their… rough handling?"
Victor looked at each of them in turn. Rowyn and Trent were in tears, heads bowed, voices hoarse with desperation. Buck just knelt there, dimly comprehending his fate. Rage boiled up in Victor. These men had put him through hell, nearly ruined his shot at saving Arthur. Yet they were here, bowing, bawling, begging him to spare their lives.
"I need them," he managed, fist closed tightly. "They're my allies. They've helped me in their own way. I don't want to punish any of them."
Rowyn and Trent fell over themselves thanking him, their words tumbling out in broken, tearful gratitude. Mr. Sweets, still holding the gun, finally withdrew it, giving Victor an appraising look. "You're a kinder man than I, Victor. A heart so full of forgiveness." He placed his pink hat on his head. "But understand this—it's not for beating ya that I'd punish them. No, darling, it's for the far more grievous sin of doing what I did not tell them to do."
The Candyman loaded the gun and shoot Trent in the head.