Tales of Undeath: The Von Virtus Chronicles

LVI. Faith in Thorns

Captive: HAHAHAH...!

His maniacal laughter filled the otherwise silent basement room. Lit solely by the light of an overhanging chandelier a dark, makeshift prison had been arranged to house the henchman that survived the bloodbath at the orphanage. With a wide grin revealing his blood-stained teeth, he seemed to find his imprisonment more amusing than tortuous.

Captive: That's all you got, Jargen?! You sure grew soft after you quit working for Cabdan...

His provocations bounced off of Jargen's stone-cold expression, as his bloody knuckles readied yet another strike.

Captive: What'd the younger you think if he saw you beating up a bound, helpless man? You're pa-

A direct hit to the right side of his ribcage had cut his taunt short, causing him to cough up even more blood.

Captive: AGH... BASTARD!

He spits some of it in Jargen's face, yet he remained as undaunted as ever. With his ex-comrade's warm blood running down his face, Jargen pulls his fist back once more.

Jargen: ... The only reason I haven't knocked out your teeth is because I still need you to talk, Syl.

Unleashing an unforgiving right jab directed at his opponent's nose, a loud crunch sends a sharp sting through the man's system, dazing him. Wincing, Jargen retreats his hand as he vigorously shakes it, attempting to alleviate the pain from the recoil.

Syl (Captive): Ha... Ha ha... Weak, Jargen... T-too weak...

With his arms crossed and leaning against the room's wooden door, a discouraged Punjo shook his head in reaction to the fruitless endeavour that unfolded before him.

Punjo: I'm startin' ta think he won't be talkin', Jargen... 

Jargen's head rotates backward just enough for his right eye to establish contact with Punjo's gaze, piercing it with his undeterred determination.

Jargen: He'll talk. He's just full of it...

With blood trickling down his nose, the man let out a short laugh in response.

Syl: Pudding the piggy over there's got it... I'm no fucking whistleblower, you won't get shit from me.

Jargen's head snaps back toward the man, his demeanour growing ever-so-slightly more impatient.

Jargen: Cabdan's dead. Are you really willing to take a dead man's secrets to the grave?

Syl grins, letting his head hang loose toward his chest, as the rough ropes that bound his wrists and held him up dig into his skin some more.

Syl: Dead or not, you fuckers aren't getting anything he owns... As soon as word gets around that he's dead, those of us that still remain will loot whatever's left for ourselves -- better than letting you sewer rats take it all.

Jargen: And you're alright with that? You'd sacrifice yourself so that your comrades get to keep his riches while you're six feet under...?

Syl raises his head, looking Jargen dead in the eye.

Syl: Like I said... Better than leaving it for you mongrels.

His words get a cocky grin out of Jargen.

Jargen: Think they'd do the same if they were in your shoes...?

Syl: The hell does that matter?

Jargen: Just curious to know if they'd go to the same lengths as you. They all as tough to crack as you...?