Our night drags on for hours, a tedious cycle of exhaustion and verbal sparring. The slaves, having been thoroughly used, lie scattered around the room in a state of listless rest, while Julia and I continue our by-now traditional nightly arguments. Each word exchanged is laced with bitterness as we debate why we are so miserable and who shoulders the blame.
Suddenly, a loud noise interrupts our routine- a shout followed by a heavy thud from outside. I sit up, annoyed. I need to get more reliable guards, but my margins are tight and there’s no use crying over spilled milk. The door to the master bedroom bursts open, splintering against the wall as two figures step into the room. The sight sends a shiver down my spine and I yelp out loud in alarm.
The first is a short, shadowy figure cloaked in dark robes, their features obscured by a mask that glints ominously in the dim light. The sight of them makes my blood run cold. Beside them stands a towering presence, similarly veiled in darkness. In one of his massive hands he grips one of our guard slaves as he is holding him aloft like a rag doll.
I watch in horror as the tall man effortlessly pulls a dagger from the guard’s heart and blood begins trickling down the blade and dripping onto the floor.
The guard’s eyes flutter weakly, and he mouths his last words, “Thank you… please… don’t give them mercy…” With a final shuddering breath, his head slumps to the side, lifeless.
The towering figure regards the fallen guard with a moment of solemnity. He replies, his voice a low rumble; “may you rest in peace, unfortunate one.”
Julia and I exchange a glance, fear and confusion etching our faces as the two intruders step further into the room. All our usual bickering and bitterness fall away, replaced by the icy grip of dread.
I glance at the guard slave’s body and my wife’s satisfied smirk from earlier tonight seems now like a pale shadow on her face, her eyes wide with terror. I clutch the sheets, frozen, wondering who these people are and what they want from us.
The towering figure steps forward, his gaze sweeping across the room, lingering momentarily on the exhausted slaves. “Apologies for the interruption.” he jests with obvious mockery in his tone.
“Please,” I finally manage to croak, desperation leaking into my voice. “We can make a deal… whatever you want, just name your price.” My heart pounds in my chest, the sweat slick on my skin.
The tall man strokes his chin, visibly in thought. “Hmm… there’s one thing you could perhaps do for me,” he muses. He turns to face us fully, his shadow stretching long across the floor. “Are either of you capable of using the [Slave Contract] spell?” he inquires, his voice low and measured.
Hope flares in my chest, a lifeline thrown into the abyss. “Yes! I can!” I blurt out, unable to hide my eagerness. I can almost taste freedom, a chance to bargain for our lives. The Goddess herself must be smiling upon me, granting me this opportunity.
But Julia is quick to shut me down, her voice sharp and cutting through the air like a blade. “Shut up, you fool! They’ll kill us both if you use it now!” She then proposes that we have to make a contract, one that ensures they let us go and promise never to cross our paths again. Her desperation is palpable, a thin veneer of bravado masking her fear.
The tall man scoffs, a disdainful sound that echoes in the room. “It was a nice try, woman, but I’m making the decisions now. The only thing you can do is to just huddle down and pray that I spare you.”
I sneer inwardly at my wife’s feeble attempt. Always trying to control the narrative, even when she’s clearly lost the upper hand. She was always the calculating one, but in this moment, her cleverness fails her.
But Julia isn’t finished. With a sudden burst of defiance, she shouts at her two boytoys, commanding them to protect her. Their eyes, once glazed with fear, now flicker with the burning compulsion of their contract clauses. They must obey, no matter how suicidal the task.
They lurch forward, propelled by the invisible chains that bind them to her will. Their faces are masks of desperation, eyes wide with the horror of what they are about to do. Level 1 Commoners, not even a single dagger between the two of them, charging at a tall man who just felled a guard without a second thought and a small figure who effortlessly kicked a giant ornate door off its hinges.
The short figure moves first, a blur of motion that defies comprehension. With swift, precise movements, they sidestep the first slave, delivering a devastating blow to his throat with a hand that seems to move like a whisper in the night. He collapses, gasping for air that will never come. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com
The second one fares no better. He rushes forward, fists clenched in futile defiance. The tall man catches him mid-air, lifting him effortlessly by the throat. There’s a brief, agonizing moment where their eyes meet, terror meeting pitiless resolve. With a twist of his wrist, the man snaps the boytoy’s neck after which his body falls to the ground unceremoniously .
The room falls into a heavy silence, broken only by Julia’s ragged breathing and the dull thud of the bodies. My own heart hammers in my chest, a frantic drumbeat that echoes in my ears. The reality of our situation crashes over me like a tidal wave. My earlier hope crumbles into dust.
My bitch of a wife just had to send a useless suicide charge at them when there was a minute chance of us making a fair deal.
The tall man turns his gaze back to us, and I feel the weight of his judgment wash over me as if it was a physical force. This isn’t a negotiation. It’s a reckoning, and I realize with chilling clarity that mercy is no longer on the table, if it ever was. The short figure stands beside him, their presence a shadowed specter of inevitability.