He snorted a line of cocaine that went right up his nasal cavity he could feel it at the back of his throat. The chemical taste had a grainy texture, it was to be expected. As ever it was the perfect way to start the day, his morning ritual if you will. He had gone to bed feeling excited. He had a lot to look forward to. He had pleasant dreams of how he was going to torture, Lara, some of these methods he might just try out. He was going to get the name of the scumbag who had wanted him killed one way or the other.
He got dressed in his military attire and then he looked down at the clear cum stain on his clothing. Unfondly remembering Raj Djawadi. That fucking oaf! He left his palatial room and made his way to the great hall, the same hall where the auction was held the previous night. not much had changed other than the room felt light and airy and less clammy. Hans Myrich noticed he was not the only one up early. There was an amalgam of breakfast on offer. Myrich never ate in the morning, for he was usually high.
He took a seat with Cain and Umarah and poured himself a cup of freshly ground coffee. Breakfast blend, lovely. "Hello Doctor," the young Prince and Cain said in their own unique way, both were very respectful when addressing the Minister of Defence.
"Ah. . . gentleman," Myrich appreciated the warm salutation. "Have either of you eaten?" Myrich asked the pair, having a close gander at the fat Prince. He must have had some bacon covered in cream, surely.
"Yes," Umarah said, "the food is good." Cain nodded his head in agreement.
It was unusual for either of them to be up so early. Hans had heard the Prince liked to lie on to mid-afternoon. Cain had trouble sleeping and the concoction of barbiturates he took left him groggy all morning. "Don't mind me," Myrich informed the pair raising his hand. "Continue with your conversation as if I was not even here." Myrich always listened to hear if there was any worthwhile information.
"You must come back to the arena," Umarah urged Cain. "I remember being a young boy and seeing you duel men twice your size." Umarah was reminiscing about Cain Magia's time in N'Karath. In the fighting pits. Cain was a champion in the amphitheatre. He had never been beaten in a duel and the duels tended to be to the death. It was barbaric. Cain didn't look elated to be talked about so fondly, but Myrich saw the micro expression on his face, the glimmer of a smile said enough. Cain loved the attention more than the next person but did not let on. "I have asked my father if we can have Seasonal duels. Would that interest you?" Umarah asked. "There will be a great prize for the victor, I'm sure."
"My days of duelling are over," Cain announced. "I only fought in the pits to sharpen my skill set, now I serve none, but my father and the Doctor," Cain acknowledged him with a subtle move of his head.
"Come, come, come, Cain," Hans Myrich intervened in the conversation. "Don't be so dismissive. . . ja. A Seasonal tourney would generate global attention. When there is Kroaling to be made it should always be considered," the Doctor was after all a self-professed money whore. He always needed a little bit more.
"Right," Umarah said confidently nodding his head up and down. "That is my way of thinking as well," the fat Prince agreed with him. This was not surprising, you know what they say about great minds. What about evil ones?
"I envision each Seasonal stump up ohm, shall we say, ten thousand Kroaling each plus some rare item that they hold dear," Myrich suggested floating his ideas into the young Prince's fat ears.
"That would certainly generate a lot of interest," Umarah agreed.
"And Kroaling," Myrich added as his thin eyes lit up with Kroaling signs.
"It's like what my father says, money is not everything. Money is the only thing."
"Why young Prince heir to the Titan Throne, you are wise beyond your years and more business savvy than your own father too, I must admit." Hans Myrich wanted to wrap the young Prince around his little finger, he knew he had succeeded. Myrich had many people wrapped around his little finger it was starting to strain him.
"You should mention it to my father," the fat Prince urged him.
"Maybe this bright idea would be better if it came from your own lips, my Prince."
"Yes. Yes, it would," Umarah agreed. "It would show father I am ready. Ready to evolve with the rest of the world. Ready to prove myself worthy as the next in line to the Titan Throne. The Sultan of the great Ishtarian Empire," he looked like he could ejaculate at any second, power was a turn on for some. Myrich knew it.
"I think it could happen and of course in the great arena of N'Karath a hundred thousand can sit in and watch can they not?" Umarah nodded to agree. "It can be televised and sold all over the world, it would be a great way to unite our Empires and to show the Norms that Seasonal's have a prominent place in Talamh."
"Would this be a fight to the death?" Cain interrupted them, thus far he had listened to what had been said.
"Yes," the bloodthirsty Prince blurted out, but Myrich disagreed with Umarah.
"No," Myrich argued.
"No!" The fat pugnacious Prince surprisingly repeated, with a temporary look of disdain. He hated to be second guessed.
Hans Myrich knew he had to come up with a suitable negation. "Not every duel has to be one to the death, young Prince. Just until you make your opponent yield. No needed for needless bloodshed." Hans Myrich wanted to appeal to Cain's intrigue as well.
"And what if the opponent does not yield?" Cain asked before Prince Umarah could say something similar.
Umarah perked up to hear Myrich's words. "Then it would be a duel to the death," Myrich icily said. "Off course.
After a while of debating potential ideas, Sultan Ramzeez and his entourage came into the great hall. Everyone in attendance stood to their feet to show their upmost respect for the Sultan. Myrich was last to stand up. "Ah, Hans Myrich," Ramzeez said. "Giving my boy words of wisdom? Are we? Hmm?"
"Where there is wisdom to be shared ears must be alert," Myrich informed the good Sultan. "Would you not concur?"
"Spoken like a true leader," Sultan Ramzeez stated. "Come Umarah, I wish to get back in time for the duels," Ramzeez informed his son and heir to be. "Selezar has told me there is a beautiful woman in the dungeon that I must meet." This made Myrich think because Cain reacted with intrigue.
"Yes, father," the respectful Prince said as he stood to his feet and picked up his soul absorbing sword that he had won the previous night.
"Remember what I said," Myrich reminded Ramzeez of their private discussion the previous night.
"Leave everything to me," Ramzeez said holding his hand up. With a clap of his hands, Ramzeez left along with his entourage and the fat Prince who Myrich hoped to manipulate one day. If he were to accomplish what he wanted he would need all the players singing from the same hymn sheet.
This left Myrich and Cain alone.
Myrich took a sip of coffee from the delicate cup it felt like it might just smash in his hand. "Do you really think a Seasonal tourney might happen?" Cain asked, he looked somewhat doubtful.
"Nothing is beyond the realms of impossibility, Cain. You know that you have a scar to remember." Again, he tried to mask his disgust, Cain did look like a monster of sorts.
"The people in Breton won't allow that," Cain informed Myrich of something he already knew. "I think it is unwise to float such a dangerous thought into an unstable mind."
"Again, I refer to my previous statement," Myrich was quick to say as he took another sip of coffee. "Ja. . . the current leader of Breton might not allow a Seasonal tourney, but leadership can so easily change. Eventually, the young Prince will become a man and will rule a powerful Empire."
"Has this got something to do with your private conversation with the Sultan? By any chance?"
"You can dig for answers Cain, but the deeper you dig you will only find more questions. Ja, let's just say by the end of the week everything will change. Ja. . . there will be fireworks. Have you heard from your newly found brethren?" Myrich swiftly changed the topic. He wanted to keep his cards close to his chest. For now.
"Not since I left them in Kork," Cain pointed out. "I assume they are in Truador by now."
"I have a specific task for them," Myrich took a sip of coffee as Cain perked up to hear what he was going to say. "They will be needed soon." Cain pushed out his lower lip and appeared to nod his head. "I will text you the details." Myrich could tell something else was on Cain's mind. "What is it?"
"I was hoping I could see my niece."
"Do you think she will want to see you?" Myrich quickly replied. "I mean ja. . . you are her uncle and all, but Cain would you look at yourself. Those black veins, that nasty gash. I hate to say it, but I think she will think of you as a monster, not a loving uncle." Myrich noticed Cain clench his fist and furrow his brow his nostril flared, Hans had to appease his servant. "But. . . I do admire that dogged determination of yours. Tell you what, if you feel as though you must see her, then you have my blessing, ja."
"Thank you, Doctor," Cain respectfully as ever replied. "May I?"
"Ja, you may" Myrich dismissed him knowing full well what he was going to ask. Cain stood to his feet, bowed and left.
More guests had risen from their slumber and were now flowing into the great hall in greater numbers. Hans Myrich noted it got louder his peaceful moment of tranquillity soon became distorted with chit-chat and many masticating mouths. He would not be on his own for too long. He was to be joined by Del and his beautiful bride to be.
The Governor, compared to the lady he bought the previous night, was a rather small man and quite stocky, but by no means obese. The first thing you notice was his large hawkish nose but then your eyes wander down and you notice his thin moustache, lower still his two front teeth were missing. As a boy Del was a hoodlum he was stabbed in the eye after a knife fight went wrong, well went wrong for him, now he wore a black eye patch to hide the scar. he wore a chequered peak cap to cover his receding hairline and he also wore a shearling aviator jacket. "Mind if we join you?" Del politely asked.
"Ja. . . be my guest," Myrich kindly replied, gesturing with his hand for Del and his prize bride to take a seat.
Del was classy the epitome of a gentleman as he pulled the chair back for his bride. "Good show at the auction last night," a blithely Del said as he took a seat. "Some amount of money spent say what." Del poured his lady a cup of coffee, and then himself.
Hans Myrich and Del made small talk for around five minutes it culminated with Myrich standing to his feet. "Well, I must say Del, it was good to see you again. Perhaps we might talk later? Hmm?" Myrich pushed the chair under the table. "I will make arrangements for the transfer of the goods."
"Good on ye," Del said. Myrich raised his hand and waved goodbye without turning around.
Now Myrich was going to go down to the dungeon and spend some quality time with Lara. He was excited now and smirked.
In the dungeon, it was dark until Myrich turned on the bright fluorescent lights. There he observed Lara naked still tied on the Saint Andrew cross. There was a metal bucket conveniently placed under her where she had urinated. Che and Pa were rather cruel.
He picked up the metal bucket of piss and paced backward so he stood out of range of the backsplash and threw the contents of the bucket over her. "Wakey. Wakey," he said a couple of times. Lara shook her head and made sickly sounds as some urine went into her mouth and up her nose. She was also gagged and trying to scream. not that anyone would hear her. Nor would they care.
"I bet you thought I had forgotten you?" He announced pacing around the room. "No, I would never forget you. Ja, I will admit I was a bit distracted." Myrich then moved to a tray on wheels and glimpsed at the instruments he could use to torture Lara. "I had a productive meeting," he said wheeling the tray next to her. Myrich then picked up an elegant but sharp looking hunting knife that was on the tray. Myrich turned around and continued to speak. "The auction was disappointing Lara," and then in the blink of an eye, he cruelly stabbed the knife into Lara's thigh, near the exact same spot where she had been shot. Lara screamed as Myrich smirked. He let out all his built-up frustration on Lara with this knife, he was imaging stabbing Bakura Bardugo. Blood came out from where she had been punctured with the knife still in her thigh. Myrich pulled the gag out of her mouth just so he could hear her scream and oh how Lara screamed. It was like a mother giving birth to a five stone baby. Then he grabbed the handle of the knife and forced it deep and gave the hunting knife a little wiggle he even scraped the bone.
"You are a tough woman Lara," Hans Myrich kindly gave credit when it was due. "I like that. I have dealt with tough women like you and let me tell you, Lara," He positioned himself, so he was just to the side of her head and he whispered into her ear. "They always crack."
"Argh!" Lara hollered out loud. "Argh!" She moaned again, trying to fight the searing pain cursing his name repeatedly. Myrich pulled the knife out of her thigh and blood spewed down her leg and dripped onto the floor black tiled floor.
"We are going to play, a little game. . . Ja," Myrich said as he gazed down at the items of torture and he noticed super glue and nipple clamps. "Ja," he said to himself. He sprayed the glue on the nipple clamps and placed them on Lara's nipples, she let out a sigh as the clamps must have bit down hard on her sensitive pink nips. "The game I want to play is guess who, ja. . . you know the answer I seek. Who ordered you to kill me?" Lara raised her head, tightened her lips as she looked to be fighting the pain. "Don't want to talk, hmm. I have ways of making you talk."
He picked up a long, thin, blue candle and a box of matches and struck the match and lit the candle. "Hmm. . . a nice smell of lavender," he said, "do you approve?" He then held the candle up and dripped hot wax over her breasts, Lara let out a faint moan every time the hot wax dripped on her skin. "Who ordered you to kill me?" Still, Lara refused to talk, but she grimaced, Myrich was slowly torturing her. She was ready to crack. He smiled and loved every moment of it. Then he squatted down and held the candle just under her cunt, Lara screamed loudly and shook on the cross as the flame delicately heated and then burned her cunt. "Who ordered you to kill me?" Myrich asked her again with a raised voice, looking up at her, but still, Lara would not talk. He stood up, blew out the candle and put it aside.
Then, just as Lara had breathed a sigh of relief, Hans Myrich yanked on the clamps chain and he pulled them off along with her nipples and excess flesh. This really caused her to holler and struggle the pain must have been excruciating, it even made Myrich cringe, but still, Lara did not speak she screamed. "You're a strong woman," Myrich said as he went back to the tray and picked up a scalpel. "I'm going to take your eye out now, Lara," Myrich informed her icily. "Left. . . or right?"
"No!" Lara screamed as Myrich held the scalpel and in one swift movement he raised his hand and the scalpel touched her closed eyelid. Myrich stopped when she screamed, "I'll talk! I'll talk! For the love of Jennifer, I'll talk! Just no more," she begged him and Myrich took a step back and lowered the hand that held the scalpel.
"Who ordered you to kill me?"
"Kassouf," she said sobbing. "Lee Kassouf."
"Leopold Kassouf," Myrich repeated sounding rather intrigued. Myrich knew Lee Kassouf very well, but just to be sure Myrich asked, "the same Lee Kassouf who is a minister of the Rijksbourg?"
"Yes," Lara said, "the same." Myrich held her chin up with his finger and looked her straight into her disorientated eyes, they were not focussed at all.
"You are not lying to me. . . are you Lara?" He had raised the scalpel again and was circling his wrist around Lara's closed her eye.
"No," she said. She sounded convincing. "It's the truth."
"How do you know Lee?" Myrich asked her. Again, he lowered the scalpel. Again, she opened her eyes fearing that the worst was over, for now.
"We are lovers," Lara said bluntly.
"Figures. . . you did well Lara I'm. . . very proud of you," he smirked and looked away fleetingly at the same time he lowered his hand. Then when Lara thought she could rest, at the point she thought her ordeal was over, it was not. It just peaked. Myrich turned around and rammed the scalpel into her squishy eye and she screamed so loud even the ghosts in Nirvana could hear. Still, she screamed and shook violently on the cross. Myrich pulled out the scalpel with bits of her left eye on the end of the blade. As Lara screamed, blood and pus poured out of her eye socket. She shook feverishly on the cross and screamed. Myrich was done with her, for now. As he turned to walk away, he thought, I have the name, of the man who wants me dead, Leopold Kassouf. You are next.