The voice is coarse and rusty. His vocal cords have obviously been preoccupied with screaming, leaving him with only pain and lethargy. I can only let out a chuckle, of course, neither of us can get to our feet, although for wildly different reasons. This man’s leg is absolutely fucked up beyond repair. The hook was pushed through his calf, but also smashed into bone with all the yanking. His muscles are holding on by mere threads and attempts to stand quickly conclude with his body slamming against the ground. I try to move and help but between throwing up and sobs, my body is paralyzed with disgust, pain, and a strange feeling of emptiness – although these people were undoubtedly evil, the feeling that I took a life that could have done… could have been… great. Each kill, each person tortured, everything evil I have done in my life flashes before me and I can do nothing but sob. The evil… the pain… no, I must help this man. This is my opportunity to be good – to do good. I can redeem myself one step at a time. Deep breaths, deep breaths.
“Are… you okay?” Fael, what a stupid question. Why did I ask that?
A gruff and coarse laugh returns “Yes, Fa. I am now okay.”
Thank Fael he said something. The silence after such a stupid question might have just been my breaking point.
“Do you need… help with something? I can… I can carry you out of here.” By Wol’zarath speaking is impossible in this state. How can people do this day in and day out? Why cry when you can spend your energy doing something else… no, maybe I should have just cried instead of doing… killing… tears again… deep breaths… something is on my shoulder – I spin around; the man is looking down at me with a weak smile. Wait, how is he speaking? Didn’t they remove his tongue?
“That would be wonderful, Fa. Do you know the way? Once out, I know a place where we can rest. There, you can ask questions.”
Thankfully, I am quite good at remembering directions as my second profession is being a guide through Fael, and with one wrong step leading to all sorts of pain and potential death, knowing where to go at a single glance is quite important. I wrap my arm under the man and lift him up. With my other hand, I hold onto Savra and begin our long journey out of this hellhole.
Every step ends with an agonizing grunt from the man as he struggles to put any amount of pressure on his legs. His body is a mass of cauterized wounds, bruises, cuts, whipped skin, and brands. It forces me to keep repositioning my hands so the pain doesn’t just knock him out. Every pained breath reverberates through my soul and fills my stomach with butterflies. Every bead of sweat running down his face gives me the most awful cold chills. If only I was not here, perhaps he would never have met this cruel fate. If those monsters did not need someone who could manipulate dreg to remove my collar, they would not have gone after this man. Although perhaps he is not the kindest of men? Perhaps – no, regardless of who he is, no one deserves to be tortured like this.
“I – could we please stop for a moment? I need to collect myself.” The man breaks my train of thought. We stop walking.
“How is the leg? I do apologise, for I feel guilty about this situation. If it was not for me, you most likely would not have suffered such a fa-”
“It is quite alright, Fa. You were not there, forcing those people to kidnap and torture me. You saved me. You are quite the hero in this moment.”
I cannot close my mouth – hero?! No, no, no, I am not a hero. I will never be a hero. No amount of good exists in the world for me to offset all the evil I have committed.
“I would not call myself a hero in the slightest. A hero would have defeated those killers and had them arrested or something. A hero would never be in this situation or would have been here just to save you. I am not a hero, I just happened to be here and had the skills and felt bad enough to act on them. Useful? Quite possibly. Hero? Absolutely not.”
The man shakes his head, “In one fell swoop you defeated two evil people. You saved me from the endless torture and torment I was about to experience. Perhaps I was going to die, perhaps the pain would drive me mad – regardless, what are you if not a hero to me in this moment?”
“A hero would mean someone is inherently good. I am most definitely not.”
“A hero is someone who acts good at the moment. Someone who changes another person's life for the better. Have you not filled those boxes?”
Something feels off about this. It is quite obvious that each word is difficult to speak. This whole conversation must be agonizing, so what is the purpose here? What is the end goal?
“Fine, for the sake of this let’s say I am for you at this moment, even though I highly doubt I would be anything nearing a hero. Why would that matter anyway? No one will ever know what I have done, and even if they have, one good deed is not enough to offset all my evil actions.”
The man keeps smiling and shakes his head. How does he smile in this situation?
“I merely want you to remember that there is good in you, and I want that spark of positivity in your soul to grow into a roaring bonfire. I want you to use your evil past as kindling and fuel so your good actions can be that much brighter, and last that much longer.”
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“…why? Why would you want that? Why would you care about me? There are only two people in this world, those who hate me and other serial killers who idolize me. Which are you?”
The man closes his mouth, stopping himself from saying something. He thinks for a few minutes and then takes another shaky breath, “Neither, and both in many regards. I am one of the few Dreg smiths in this world. I can make Dreg coins, weapons, and basically anything I so desire. I made the collar you had on just moments ago and rigged them so that unless someone with a specific tool that I made opens it, spikes would slice through your neck. I did not have the tool, not time to properly reverse engineer my handiwork so all I could do is delay the trigger and thankfully you got it off before then.”
I am dumbfounded.
“So… you make Dreg things?”
“Indeed. Your knife-”
“Savra.”
“Alright, Savra is something I once worked on. I did not make it completely but helped in the process. I wouldn’t forget that design anywhere and as I said, there are few of us.” He coughs a few times, then takes a long, deep breath. “So, in many regards, your kills are mine. When a weapon is used, the creator should feel the blood it caused. I was once outraged at your actions – you desecrated a weapon that was sacred to me and many others for it was not a blade we meant to be a weapon. No, it was meant to help small village butcher animals with incredibly thick hides. It was meant to be a symbol of hope that you used for your own dark purpose.”
I nod along silently.
“But… but seeing you now – that person who killed so many seems… different. Broken. Hallow and yet filled with something else – a desire to be good. I know not what has happened recently but I am proud it has.”
“You… helped make Savra? I… I am so sorry. For everything. If I was not such a coward at the moment, I would have removed my head from my very own shoulders with the other two but I just… I just can’t do it… and the means to my strange goodness does not matter. Now, my goal is to try and be redeemed.”
“And that you shall be if you keep up such positive actions. You call the people who tortured me 'monsters', and yet you were a broken soul after killing them. Why?
“I can’t… I don’t want to kill anymore. Each time I bring Savra down on someone’s head or body, I just… I don’t know how to describe it. Killing reminds me of all the evil I have done.”
The man shakes his head and stands up with a grunt.
“Come – let’s keep moving.”
And we do.
Slowly and surely.
I take us down the path I was guided at knifepoint with. Hours pass and eventually, I push open a door revealing an exit. Thank Fael and Wol’zarath - freedom. I look at the man who is smiling and crying silently. After all that speaking before, his voice has been completely lost. We start walking outside and he guides me with tugs and pushes. I turn in the direction of his force. This is the first fresh air I have breathed in since being sentenced to the march and here I am. There are people everywhere, staring at him and me. People talk. Quickly, a ring of people forms around us. I try to walk faster but the man cannot keep up. I slow down to his pace once again. He nudges me, I turn to the right. He pulls gently and I turn to the right. A few guards quickly make their way to us.
“You there! Stop moving!”
We stop. They approach quickly. The man stares at me, looking my body up and down. I realise for the first time in a while that my clothes and body is completely covered in blood. Fael help me.
“It is… alright guards. This is Fa Fumerunner, and he is with me.”
The guards look at the old man perplexed – wanting to draw their weapons and strike, while also being unsure and holding back. The old man looks up at one of them and opens his mouth. The guard takes a half step forward and their face quickly fills with shock.
“The Tongue!? Is that really you? We have been looking everywhere and people had completely given up – why are you with the murderer? If he has taken you hostage, worry not, we will kill him before a move can be made.”
The man shakes his head “No, no. As I said, he is with me. He saved me from some awful killers and will be rewarded as such. Now, one thing you can do is give us a lift to my house. I would appreciate that.”
The guards quickly turn and walk off. A few moments later they return with a carriage being pulled by two large, muscular and thick-haired horses. We are led inside and quickly, the door is closed. How strange, I have not seen or been in a carriage like this for… well, outside of Deathrows March, I cannot think when I had been in a horse and carriage or wagon in general. The seats are hard but soft enough as to not bruise our asses while sitting. Function over form, this is.
An hour or so passes before the carriage door is opened. A guard leads us to a massive black house seemingly made from Dreg in the middle of a thick, vibrant forest. This is far away from civilization and… could perhaps even be in monster territory. With a house of Dreg though, I highly doubt that would be an issue. I get out and offer a hand which the man takes with that same old smile. If I get killed here, so be it. Without the man, I would be back in the march with whatever evil being the Watcher puts together next.
The man walks up to a… wall of dreg. He places his hand against the pitch-black surface and it gracefully slides open with a gentle and weak nudge. He walks inside and I follow closely. Once inside, the house is surprisingly light. The walls and roof are all made up of beautiful geometric black, white, and gray dreg, mimicking stained glass. There are dreg plants – pitch black ivy that runs up a wall and drapes down to create rooms. We approach one and the man opens it up to reveal a large bed made from condensed ivy. He walks to it and lies down. The ivy embraces his form.
“Next door is a bed for yourself. Please, sleep there for as long as you like. I am… exhausted and will be locking this room from the outside for at least the next day if you don’t mind.”
I shake my head, that is perfectly understandable.
“But of course, I shall go next door – thank you for your hospitality. I really do appreciate it. I shall have a sleep and let us chat when next we are up. I shall not be leaving this place.”
“For the best, for the moment you are not with me, unfortunately, I think the guards will strike.”
I nod – oh! “What can I call you?”
The man thinks for a moment, “Well, most people call me ‘the Tongue’ but that gets tiring. My real name is Malz. Please call me that.”
“Goodnight Malz. Rest well. I have many questions but… but rest is needed on my end too. I am looking forward to a room that isn’t in a cage.”
We laugh. I leave and turn into a room of ivy. The bed is soft but firm enough. It feels like a joyful embrace. Sunlight pokes through the leaves. A breeze gently kisses my face. It does not take much to… green, pink, and gray fumes it is today, huh?