Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Eight: Wrath of a Big Brother
Xaphile stared at Vordt with a blank expression on his face.
He blinked. Then he blinked again. And again.
But still, what he'd just heard didn't click, because uh, what the fuck?
"What did you just say?" he demanded, slowly tilting his head to the side. "Did you just..."
Vordt let out a heavy sigh through his nose and leaned down, bringing his mouth just shy of the invisible part of his ear. He blinked as a wave of foreign heat enveloped his body, and his ear, unseen, flicked as warm breath gusted across it, bringing the scent of pine trees and mint.
"This is the city that I warned you about back in Gwyradyll," Vordt whispered. "I know you're worried for your brother, but right now, you need to keep your eyes fixed on that mental little elfling you adore so much. I'm going to be shadowing the two of you wherever you go."
Xaphile blinked yet again before he remembered the warning he'd been given.
The floor dropped out from underneath him.
"This city?" he asked in a small voice. "Seriously?"
"Yes," Vordt confirmed, pulling back with a scowl. "Fear not, for I am watching over you, but... the farther we go from Gwyradyll Hollow, the weaker my magic becomes. And we are very far."
Xaphile shivered, then took a deep breath and shook his head, meeting his uncle's gaze.
"I'll keep my eyes on him," he said a little ahakily. "Promise."
Vordt nodded, but then his eyes flicked towards the stairs and he rolled them.
"Give me your bag," he deadpanned,. "I'll take it up to our room."
"Why?" Xaphile asked, furrowing his brows. "Wouldn't it be easier to take it up myself?"
The faery stared at him flatly, then pointed a finger at the stairs without looking at them and almost as if on cue, Vrael leapt into view, taking them two at a time. He whooped, grinning brightly, and instantly tore over to Xaphile, clutching his arm and dancing back and forth excitedly.
He held up Amelia's magic bag with a cheerful whistle.
"Let's go, Phil!" he exclaimed, beaming as he tossed a small pouch of coins into the air and caught it with his free hand. "We have the go ahead to start looking for supplies! This'll be my first time in a city like this, so I'm really excited to see what sort of shops are around!"
"No, both of you will wait right here for me," Vordt commanded, making Vrael stop dancing. "I'll return momentarily, so don't move an inch from this spot."
Without another word, he trotted towards the stairs with a regal gait that had a few of the women sitting in the tavern staring at him.
Xaphile noticed that they were wearing frilly, high-collar gowns with lace decorations, bright colors, and they all had pretty bonnets and fans. They giggled something to themselves, then glanced at him and Vrael, eying them both up and down.
He raised an eyebrow and looked away, feeling uncomfortable.
"Phil, let's just go," Vrael muttered, clasping his wrist. "Come on. Your uncle is your uncle, but honestly, he'd just dampen the mood."
"Eh?!" Xaphile squawked, flailing as he was jerked towards the door. "Vrael, no! Stop!"
"Come on!" the halfling laughed, tugging him along with a bright-eyed grin. "He can catch up!"
"It's not a good idea! Seriously!"
Vrael paused, looking at him curiously through the curtain of fine, sandy blonde hair hanging down across his pale face.
"Why? Is something wrong?"
Xaphile opened his mouth to tell him that they were in danger, but just as he began to explain himself, he remembered the promise he'd made to Vordt about keeping his mouth shut.
The words died on his tongue and he swallowed hard.
"It's just not a good idea," he said slowly. "We're in a strange city that's got bad people in it."
Vrael's lids drifted halfway closed, giving him a very bored appearance.
"There's bad people everywhere," he pointed out. "Come on!"
"But---"
But before he could protest, he was tugged even harder and he barely had a chance to blink before the door to the inn was thrown open and he was dragged outside. It was pouring buckets, but Vrael merely threw up a hand and a strange airy feeling coated Xaphile's entire body.
He gawked when he saw the rain, which had been hitting his arms and soaking him, suddenly start bouncing like rubber balls off his clothes and body in every direction. It was the most bizarre thing he'd seen since the first time he'd seen his own magical discharge.
"What the hell?" he scoffed, eyes bugging out of his skull. "Vrael! What did you do?"
"It's a wind enchantment!" the boy happily boasted, puffing his chest out gleefully. "It'll keep us perfectly dry! Now, come! We have shopping to do, and I want to explore this place! It's so big!"
Xaphile glanced back at the inn, but followed him with a feeling of foreboding when he trotted off. Maybe it was the air. Maybe it was the way his nerves were strung tight like bowstrings. Maybe it was the fact that he'd just been told by someone that he was going to die soon.
It could have been any of those things, but he could feel deep down that something wasn't right.
Even when they went from shop to shop, he felt uneasy, the same way he'd felt back in Nimika when Ella had wanted to move out into the clearing, not even knowing that there were archers waiting to strike her. All of his senses were telling him to turn back right away.
Still, things were enjoyable, despite this... he and Vrael went from shop to shop, some of them indoors, some of them in stalls: the merchants didn't seem to care if the weather was bad, and similarly, a lot of other people were out in the rain as well.
When the supplies became too much for one person to carry, Xaphile helped stuff them into the magic bag, marveling at just how deep it went.
It was near late evening and the sky was growing dark when they finally finished, but Vordt still hadn't shown up and there was no particular sign that he was even watching over them.
"All right," Xaphile said, feeling very jittery, "we have a ton of fresh food, an entirely new set of dishes for Amelia to serve meals on, and a new clasp for Ella's cloak. We have enough, so let's head back."
"Already?" Vrael asked, looking at the thundering sky. "It's not even dark yet."
Xaphile felt his anxiety spike and he hefted the magic bag.
"Vrael, please," he quietly begged. "We need to go back! Now!"
"It'll be all right," Vrael soothed, throwing him a pained glance. "This is my first time ever being out in the open, and I want to enjoy it! Can't you understand that?"
Xaphile could, and did, but they needed to get away.
"Vrael, I get it, but you need to listen, something is wrong!" he protested, but he could tell that the boy wouldn't be moved. He pointedly stalked off, heading towards the next shop. Xaphile could only sigh. What else could he do?
"Wait up!" he called, chasing after him. "Seriously!"
"I knew you'd see it my way!" Vrael laughed, looking around with wide eyes. "This place really is beautiful. It's hard for me to believe that there could be bad people living here."
Xaphile wanted to rest easier, but he couldn't.
His eyes flashed around, feeling the hair on his arms stand up, tail fluffing out in agitation.
Vrael noticed.
"Really, what's wrong?" he asked, squinting at him. "Why are you so... nervous?"
"We need to get away from here," he breathed, not looking at him; his eyes scanned the alleys, then the buildings, then the departing people and muttered quietly. "Something is wrong. We need to go back, Vrael... we need to get back to the others."
The halfling still looked unconvinced, but right around that moment, a group of men walked around a corner, laughing boisterously, and started heading their way. Xaphile's eyes flicked over his shoulder and he leaned to the left to glance at them.
They were all rugged, wearing strange animal-hide outfits, and they seemed happily drunk until one of them slowly turned and locked eyes with him. Xaphile froze, shoulders tensing; similarly, the bearded man who'd just caught sight of him halted in his tracks, scruffy face wrinkling.
Horror built up his throat as they looked right at each other.
He knew this man's face... oh, my god...
"Oh, fuck," he breathed, heart pounding up his throat. "Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh FUCK!"
The dark-haired man squinted, leaning forward a little to take a closer look.
"What are you looking at?" Vrael asked, peering over his shoulder, but when the squinting man's eyes snapped back open wide, Xaphile dropped Amelia's bag. Vrael was aghast. "What are you doing?! Be careful! Amelia's dishes are all---"
"OI! I KNEW IT!" the stranger roared, pointing right at them. "I KNOW THAT FACE!"
"FUCK!" Xaphile cried, snatching the bag off the ground and gripping Vrael's wrist; with a whirl, he jerked the boy forward, sprinting at top speed. "TOO LATE! RUN! RUN!"
"Eh?!" Vrael scoffed, yelping as he was dragged down the street. "What?! What's happening?!"
"It's the slaver who shot me with an arrow in Nimika!" Xaphile frantically wailed. "What the fuck is he doing here?! Oh, man, oh, man! This isn't good!"
The pound of footsteps shook the air behind them.
"HALT!" the slaver roared. "HALT, NOW!"
Xaphile kept running, speeding across the cobblestone faster than Vrael's legs would allow. He was practically dragging the halfling with him, twisting and turning through alleyways and dark streets, barely able to see because of the rain, trying to put distance between them.
He was heading for the inn, he had to get there, had to...
But then his heart went numb.
He couldn't go back to the inn.
If he went back, he'd lead those frightening assholes right to his friends.
Thinking quickly, he skidded to a halt, trying to figure out a solution.
"I think they went that way!" someone shouted. "You check that alley, I'll check this one!"
"Fuck!" Xaphile hissed, wracking his brain. "What do we do?! We can't fight them... we can't make a scene, and we can't get away or go back! What the fuck do we do?!"
He gnawed on the inside of his cheek, panicking, until he remembered the conversation about Amelia's magic bag and how they could use it to trick criminals into thinking they were illegal smugglers. His heart lit up like a Christmas tree and he immediately dove down a dark alley.
He roughly threw Vrael against the wall, who cowered a little, then tore the magic bag open.
"Get it!" Xaphile hissed. "NOW!"
"What? That's absurd!"
"Do you want to die, Vrael?!"
"Huh?!"
"Do you?! This situation is life or death! GET THE FUCK IN, NOW!"
He looked at the bag, then swallowed, and quickly crawled into it headfirst; Xaphile picked it up, carrying it down the alley, but when Vrael poked his head back out it grew really heavy. He struggled until the halfling noticed drew his head back in.
After hiding the bag between piles of garbage, Xaphile crawled inside and flopped down.
He landed in a heap among Amelia's things.
"Seriously?" he deadpanned, momentarily forgetting about the problem at hand. "This bag's interior is bigger than my fucking bathroom back on earth."
It was also then that he noticed getting back out might not be as easy as getting in.
The top of the bag was out of his reach, even standing up.
"Phil, what are we going to do?!" Vrael hissed, looking frightened out of his mind. "How are we going to get out of this?!"
"Ella," he said, letting out a sigh. "I'll contact Ella."
Closing his eyes, he did just that, focusing on everything about her.
A violet haze filled his head instantly.
What's happened? she instantly asked. I sensed a disturbance, but I didn't think there was a problem... tell me, where are you, Vrael, and Vordt right now?
Vordt is probably out looking for us, he told her urgently. Ella, I need you to grab Sinmir and lead him to us. Whatever you do, don't bring Amelia with you.
What?! Why?
He could feel her alarm through their link.
Those slavers who attacked us in Nimika, he told her weakly, they're here, and they saw me. We're currently hiding in Amelia's magic bag, but they could find us at any moment, and if they do, we're going to die. Vordt said that we would if we weren't careful, but I didn't listen.
I'm on my way, she said instantly. Stay put. Don't move. Contact me if they find you.
And with that, the purple itch vanished from his head.
"What do we do?" Vrael whispered, hugging his knees.
"We wait," Xaphile said just as softly, swallowing hard. "And we keep quiet."
"Oh, that's promising."
"Who's fault is it that we got into this mess?" he vehemently countered, making the boy flinch and lower his head. "I knew something was wrong! Next time, please, Vrael, listen to me! It's the same instinct that saved Ella's life right before I got hit in the shoulder with an arrow!"
"Sorry."
"Do you know any illusion magic that might make Amelia's bag look like it's not here?"
"No," Vrael mumbled. "I'm not skilled with crafting illusions."
"Well, shit."
That didn't even begin to cover it.
He looked up at the opening of the bag, staring at the occasionally flashing sky.
"There's something over here!"
Xaphile froze, and shared a frightened look with Vrael, before the bag jolted. They were thrown against the side roughly, and then, just as they caught their balance, the sky was cut off with the shadow of a man blocking the light. Xaphile looked up, eyes wide, staring in shock and terror.
His half-bearded face lifted into a grin.
"I FOUND THEM, BOSS!" he bellowed, leaning down, bloodshot blue eyes peering closer; Xaphile lunged in front of Vrael, shoving him backward as far as he could, baring his teeth. "Come on, lads, we just want to have a lil' chat with ya! We mean ya no harm!"
When he reached down, Xaphile shook his head, pressing Vrael against the bag's cloth.
"No," he rasped. "Leave us alone!"
"I ain't gonna hurt you," he soothed; his face was young, early twenties maybe, the dark shaggy hair in his eyes hanging in wet tendrils. "The boss just wants ta talk to ya!"
"Get away from us!" Xaphile rasped. "Leave us alone!"
The man's face twisted, all niceness gone; Xaphile watched as he pulled a bow into view, making Vrael let out a terrified gasp. He leisurely drew the string, then sighted down the shaft, waggling his brows. When he let it loose, it embedded deep into the parcel just between his legs.
"Since you're bein' a lil' brat, let's try other means of coaxin' ya out," he sneered. "Let's see how many things of yours I can hit before you comply. Don't move, now, otherwise I might hit you."
Just as he was about to fire another arrow at them, the man paused and pulled back.
The violet itch filled Xaphile's head.
I'm here. Ella told him. Stay calm and don't move. There's six of them left, but I've already dispatched three of them using their own stupidity against them.
Ella! She'd arrived! Relief flooded through him like a river of coolness.
He closed his eyes, trying to get into her head like he'd done before.
It was shockingly easy.
She was running towards them at full speed, knives flashing as she tore at the alley where they were being held. In a blur of movement, she sped around the corner and charged at top speed, silent as a wraith of death. She saw the blades raising towards the man holding the bag...
His eyes snapped open just before she attacked.
Within a split second, a scream filled the air, and the bag jolted violently, pitching Xaphile forward onto his stomach and sending Vrael flying down on top of him. They landed in a jumble as the sound of a clash ensued. The man screamed again, but then the sound cut off.
A dull, wet thud met Xaphile's ears.
When her face appeared, Xaphile looked up at her. Flecks of blood coated her pale cheeks, but her eyes were relieved. She instantly leaned in, reaching down with both hands.
"Here! Hurry!" she whispered. "Take my hands!"
He instantly snatched them and used his grip to climb up the bag, feeling relieved when he was pulled back into what felt like a different reality. The bag was cool, but it really fucked with his sense of size and comprehension of dimensional width, girth, and perception.
Once he was free, they both helped Vrael out.
"Let's get back to the inn and into our rooms!" Ella whispered, waving them on. "NOW!"
She turned and started to run out of the alleyway, but the moment she was about to clear it, something came swinging out from the side and hit her clean in the face, knocking her right off her feet. She landed hard on her back with a yelp, daggers flying out of her hands.
"Ella!" Xaphile choked, scrambling forward, but he didn't make it.
Something hard smashed into the back of his head, knocking him down and nearly rendering him unconscious. He landed on the wet cobblestones in a heap, right beside Ella, who was clutching her face and writhing around in agony.
A hand gripped his hair and jerked his head back, and the abrupt change in elevation blurred the buildings into a sickening mass of color. His vision reeled.
He couldn't see straight.
"You made a mistake, killin' off more of our people!" one of them growled, the leader Xaphile was sure; he was dragged to his feet, forced to look into the eyes of the bearded man who'd attacked them along the road back in Nimika. "You're that faery boy... aren't ya?"
Xaphile's heart squeezed, panic rising up his throat when he remembered the arrow.
But then, for whatever reason, he remembered his brother and everything within him fell still.
The rainfall went silent in his ears and a prickling sensation made his nose twitch.
"Ella!" Vrael screamed, "Phil, help me!"
"Oh, don't worry, I'll help all of you," the lead slaver said, walking forward and leaning close to Xaphile's face, so close that their noses touched. "Right into the nine fires."
"Get away from me," Xaphile warned him, gritting his teeth when his head was jerked even father backward. He let out a hiss, unable to stop it from crawling up his throat when he was taken so off-guard. The slaver, the monster before him, merely laughed at his troubles.
"My boss won't forgive me for killing you," he said darkly, "but the coin ain't worth it."
He slowly pulled a dagger, drawing it across his fingers with an evil look in his eyes.
"Xaphile! NO!" He couldn't look over his shoulder far enough to see Vrael attack, but he heard a scuffle, and a lot of grunted cursing. "Get away from him!"
"Tell me, what's it like to feel an arrow in your back?" the slaver asked. "I'm rather curious."
"Xaphile, run!" Ella screamed at him. "Run!"
But Xaphile couldn't look away from the man's eyes.
His entire body was prickling.
All he could think about was his sibling.
"Three months ago," he said in a hoarse voice, "you found a little boy who looked almost exactly like me in the woods, didn't you? A child with dark hair and a tail, and tiny horns... exotic face."
The man holding him slackened his grip when the leader blinked, narrowing his eyes.
Then they flashed with recognition and he smirked.
"That little pipsqueak? The one who kept crying about some injured boy in the woods?" he drawled, grinning a nasty smile. "What's it to you? That pipsqueak your kid or somethin'?"
"Don't listen to him, Xaphile," Ella choked out through her hands. "Fight him!"
In an instant, the man turned, kicking her in the side with all of his strength; Vrael let out a cry of protest when she shrieked, then let out a string of infuriated curses. Her blue eyes blazed with psychotic fury as she lay there, glaring at him with a heaving chest.
Xaphile's blood boiled.
More people came running around the corner and he heard a scream: one of the arrivals had latched onto Ella's hair and was now dragging her upright.
"Ella!" Vrael cried. "Let go of her!"
"Shut up, filth!"
Xaphile heard a strangled yelp, and Ella screamed again, this time in fury. She started struggling and letting loose curses that didn't reach his ears, but nothing was working.
"What did you do to him?" he blankly asked, staring straight into the depths of the slaver's dark brown eyes with solid intensity. "That boy... what did you do to him after you took him?"
"The runt?" the man asked, raising a wicked eyebrow; he raised his hands, smiling nastily. "I fucked him. We all fucked him. And he cried, and cried, but man, that sweet little bottom was---"
But he couldn't hear anymore.
Sound had turned into silence.
"My baby brother...this man hurt my baby brother... I failed him..."
He could hear only that voice inside, even with the fray that was happening all around him. It was begging him, begging him for something that he knew he couldn't give it, even though he had no idea what it was asking of him, he knew he couldn't give it.
"He hurt my brother... he hurt him... this filthy bastard defiled him... "
Rage flooded through his body and an eerie ringing noise permeated his ears. The man behind him was blasted off his feet by an unseen force and he screamed as he went flying down the alley at a neck-break speed.
The slaver stopped talking, staring at him with fright on his face, and he even backed up.
"Xaphile! Your hair! It's turning white! What's happening to you?!"
The words were so muffled it was as if they'd been said underwater.
They didn't reach him.
His hair began to rise, floating in perfectly dry tendrils above his head and high above, lightning flashed in every direction.
His vision was obscured by a swirling blue haze tinged with filthy black something.
"You raped my little brother?" Xaphile asked, eyes wide with rage. "You raped him?"
"This man hurt my brother, my ward, filth, bastard..."
"You defiled him, filthy bastard! You cannot leave us!"
Who was speaking? Which voice was which? His mind felt like it was being stabbed, like the words he was hearing were coming from the blade of a dagger that was constantly digging into his skull.
What was hurting him?
What was attacking him?
"I don't care if it's wrong. Vengeance. You must exact vengeance. For him... for our brother."
Vengeance.
And then strangely there was a moment, a single moment, where the world seemed to stop.
Vision hazing over, he completely blacked out.
"No... stop! Xaphile, don't!"
Locked inside himself by his own rage, he couldn't comprehend that distant voice. He had one intention, and he was going to make sure he saw it through. Eyes wide and face devoid of any emotion aside from white rage, he slowly lifted his hand towards the sky, palm facing the storming clouds.
He tilted his head, looking straight into the frightened mortal's eyes.
His entire body trembled as the power of his wrath built up deep inside of him.
"Xaphile!" someone cried. "No! NO! DON'T! STOOOOOP!"
It was too late.
A blinding flash and a peal of thunder smashed into the air like a drum when a huge bolt of lightning roared down out of the clouds, lancing his body as if it had turned into a lightning rod; the current shredded through him with nothing more than a harmless tingle, passing through him as if he'd done nothing more than drink a glass of water.
With a thunderous crack that vibrated the air, the flash disappeared to reveal that everyone was cowering.
The men around him had let go of Ella and Vrael to cover their ears, but Xaphile felt alive.
Electrical sparks radiated from his body like a halo as he raised his other hand, pointing his fingers at the man who'd raped his brother. The grimy slaver rose, terrified, and stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights.
Those brown eyes glittered with fear, wide and dilated, when he whispered one word.
"Die."
A second bolt of lightning exploded out of his hand in a perfectly-aimed line.
The concussion was blinding and deafening.
The force of the blast blew Xaphile clean off his own feet and smashed the slaver's insides right out of his body with a spray of blood.
The bastard looked surprised, mouth opening only slightly, as if the attack that had created a crater through his chest had been nothing more than a pat on the arm, but then the concussion sent him flying as well. He smacked into the wall so hard that he stuck to it for a moment.
Then he dropped.
The hole in his chest was on fire, and it quickly set his whole body ablaze, spreading across his torso and frying him, but Xaphile didn't see any of it. He turned on the other men, mind blank, single-minded determination roaring through him.
One of them came running at him with a sword.
Xaphile lifted his hand.
A third bolt of lightning took his head off.
A fourth man came running at him.
With a swipe, Xaphile's claws ripped through his throat.
When the fifth man whimpered and backed off into the wall, Xaphile approached him, flicking the blood off his claws. He felt himself shake as he pounced, body still sparking: his palms slapped hard against the slaver's face, claws gouging his cheeks, ripping his flesh deep and wide.
Hatred fueled his actions.
He looked into the man's tearful, terrified blue eyes with their blonde lashes as he willed that burst of lightning back into existance.
His claws lit up with electricity and his bleeding captive screamed, writhing beneath his grip as he was mercilessly electrocuted.
He relished in how the man's skin warped beneath his touch, felt good that the shock and burn from the electricity inside him made the man in his grips howl, and cry, and beg for mercy.
But there could be no mercy.
Just as there had been no mercy when this same man had raped his sibling, there would be no mercy as he payed for that sin.
If this was all he could do, he was going to do as much damage as he could. He was going to burn off every trace of filth that had defiled his little brother; these men who had raped his brother, who had tortured who knew how many other people, would die.
He watched from outside himself.
It was the strangest out of body experience.
Muddled and faded, observed but not absorbed.
Nobody would blame him. Ella hated these people, and so did he, so he was going to hurt them. He was going to hurt all of them as they had planned to hurt him, he was going to burn them from the outside in, until there was nothing left but the charred ashes of wasted men.
His hand, still attached to the bastard's melting flesh, felt the reverberation of his death through the electric current passing through the both of them. They were a circuit of pain and power, the magic bouncing between them by their connected tissue. It seemed to knock the magic out of his body, the internal voice screaming in rage with the man's final scream.
Then, his voice stopped, dying off with a high pitched wheeze.
His body stopped jerking, signifying that it was over.
Xaphile pulled away, unseeing, and as the body collapsed and swung forward stiffly - burnt almost black from the energy that had been shocking him - he began to lose consciousness. He stumbled, seeing the curtain of white hair in front of his eyes already turning black again from the roots down.
His eyes fluttered closed, and he suddenly felt connected to himself again.
That was the last thing he remembered before his face met the dark cobblestones.
🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗
Ella was in shock.
Clutching her mouth and nose in horror, she slowly got to her feet and stared at the fallen slavers, looking at the blood gushing from the decapitated and evicerated bodies, then staring at the stiff black-burnt corpse lying face down, before watching with horrified eyes as the leader's gutted body burned.
Then, she began backing away, eventually turning around and hurrying over towards her friends.
Xaphile was unconscious, but Vrael was obviously in shock since his face was bone white and he was shaking all over.
"He... he killed them," he said, as if he couldn't believe it. "He..."
"They were was after our lives," Ella said, clutching his arm; when he turned to look at her through stunned hazel eyes, she narrowed her own. "If you treat him any differently after this, you have my word that at the next opportunity, I'll have you sent home."
"He killed them," Vrael jerkily croaked, hands shaking. "Xaphile just killed those men, Ella."
She nearly lost her temper.
"If they had done to either of your brothers what they did to Xaphile's, and said it to your face so condescendingly," she hissed, barely keeping hold on her rage, "what would you have done?"
"I'd have killed them," Vrael instantly told her, looking at the burning corpse; she blinked, puzzled by his quick response. "But Xaphile isn't like me, or even you, Ella! When he realizes what he's done, he's... he's going to lose his mind!"
"Eh?" she whispered, eyes widening. "Wait, what do you mean--"
"He couldn't handle the thought of what he did to a fucking dragon that wanted to eat you!"
"Vrael, calm--"
"We need to erase the memory of what he just did before he wakes up!" he frantically interrupted, eyes flashing with fright. "We need to. He won't---"
But she raised her hand, lowering her eyes, which made him fall silent.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "It won't change the fact that he did it, and finding out that we tried to hide such a thing later would only hurt him more. When he wakes up, if he needs us, we will comfort him but we're not even out of danger yet! Let's get out of here!"
Vrael instantly snapped to attention and nodded, leaning down and hefting Xaphile's weight.
"Right," he said, snatching the bag with his free hand. "Let's go."
And with that, the two of them headed down the street, not even realizing that Vordt had arrived just in time to see everything.
He stood there, glaring at the corpse of the leader, who's eyes were still open... open and lifeless. The other men, save for the decapitated one, were the same way: dead faces locked in external horror and surprise.
The last, however, had been brutalized so much that Vordt could hardly see his face with how distorted it had become.
The blonde man's shriveled eyes, dull and fogged, had terrible burns and a singular melted eyelid helped to conceal his identity thanks to the branding of Xaphile's hands. Vordt moved slowly toward him, checking for a pulse and slowly pulling back when he realized that there wasn't one.
He did the same for the others.
"Well, they're alive, and all you bastards finally got what you deserved," he muttered, raising a hand and calling forth a burst of magical energy that erased his charred body and turned it to ash. "I'm not sure if things will ever be the same in his head after this, but if he can make it through and still stand tall, he'll be ready for the future... all thanks to you."
With a sneer, he spit on the dead man's rain-soaked ashes, then turned, walking towards the other corpses lying in the alley. He made quick work of the bodies and took the liberty of cleaning up after Ella since the last thing their group needed was to be accused of murder.
"If he can't stand tall," Vordt muttered to nobody, closing his eyes, "I'll erase the traces of what happened on this night from their minds. Either way, we're going to keep moving forward."
He turned, then, walking back towards the inn.
Worrying about what was going to come next.