With a flash of purple light, the command left him as naturally as breathing. Silas practically stared holes through the gunman’s head. “Blow one of their heads off.”
The man’s laugh started and died out the moment Silas finished talking. His mind was overcome with a will stronger than his own as fear energy ran through it and his body moved unknowingly. Before any of the three realised it, the revolver was already level with one of their heads.
A trigger was pulled and a skull burst apart like a watermelon, sending blood and bone across the room. The body slumped to the floor with a thud, a pool forming beneath the place its head was meant to be.
Another burst of violet light filled the gunman’s mind just as he realised what was going on. Just as he began to beg, Silas’ cold voice echoed throughout the storage room a second time. “Now your own.”
Silas watched as the man shakily brought the barrel to his temple. He resisted much more strongly now, aware of the supernatural influence. Silas steeled his heart and spoke clearly. “Do it.”
Click. The trigger was pulled and another head exploded amidst a crimson red blaze. A second body hit the ground and Silas’ gaze fell on the last of the three. The amount of fear energy it took to control these people was almost negligible. Their bodies, minds and souls lacked the capability to mount a resistance beyond instinct.
Then the reality of it all clicked in and he looked at the two bodies on the ground. Silas felt his stomach churn as reason after reason rushed through his mind and yet, only one thing stuck. He just killed two people.
Cold-blood, self defence, greater good, wrath, he didn’t fully know why but he did. The contents of his stomach suddenly came up and he heaved, but it had all been digested for blood energy already. Guilt occupied his thoughts for the briefest of moments before it was quickly rationalised away.
If he let these people go, they’d do the same to some other poor schmuck. Who knows what else they’d do, what they’ve done. He ignored the absolute violation of the gunman’s free will, instead focusing solely on the end result. They were dead and could hurt no more people. Silas’ grip around the bloodstone tightened and his eyes filled with resolve.
“Herbs are missing from the room. Where’d they go?” Silas turned to the last of the three, the woman, and filled his eyes with just enough fear energy they’d turn purple. The woman blanched at the sight, frozen still in fear. Now he could sense it from her, overflowing like the sea. He ignored her pitiful stammer.
“The boss had them taken first, amidst a few others.”
“Your boss?”
“Richard, from the Blackwall Triad.”
“Taken where?”
“To the safehouse.”
“Do I have to make you lead me there, or will you do so willingly?”
She quickly took a few steps backward out of the room, almost stumbling even. Her head moved up and down in a nod, somewhat reminiscent of a chicken. The display was just embarrassing enough to remind Silas that these were still people. Was he right to be judge and jury? Who knows if all that menace was just a front?
His life still came first, that much was true, but he couldn’t kill wantonly either. Silas didn’t know the answer to the question of what he’d be willing to do to survive and he certainly didn’t want to know. He could kill a normal person so easily now, what about when he was stronger…
Power was a slippery slope.
The lady quietly introduced herself as Sasha and led him out of the Ariadne at a turtle-like pace. Silas assumed it was some form of hesitation for betraying her people, so he didn’t mind. Instead, he took the opportunity to ask questions.
Sasha looked rather surprised when he mentioned the lack of mutants in the area, claiming that they killed off all of the mutants around. They believed the creatures were simply too scared to come back into the gang territory after that.
“What about the Voiceless, or the Screechers? The green-eyed mutants? Nothing?”
“What? Uh, what are those?”
After he briefly described all three kinds, the lady just shook her head. According to her, the gangs all had quite a few Empyreans, even if only low level Gate Opening. With that, they were able to avoid a fair bit of casualties and even took in some civilians.
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Now, the gangs mostly worried about surviving each other. They all believed it was a good time to destroy the others before order returned to the city proper. Silas shook his head at that, not knowing if he agreed with the idea. He just stepped over a piece of rubble as he asked,
“Do you really think order will return to Ironside?”
“Well, why not?” Sasha turned back slightly and answered as she walked. A few minutes alone and conversing with Silas had let the woman lower her guard, but he still noticed a hint of wariness in the way she carried herself. Definitely looking for a chance to run. “It’s only a matter of time before the empire sends help.”
“Says who?”
“Well, Richard says so. Says if we hole up long enough and wait, either the guard will find us or the Empire will. He even mentioned the church but he won’t let us talk about them now.”
“Can’t talk about the church?”
“He won’t say why.”
“And he’s an Empyrean too?”
“Mm.”
Forbidden to talk about the Church? Why? Not to mention Ebelor’s mists alone prevent anyone from learning about Ironside’s predicament for a while, why tell everyone about supposed aid? Morale?
Ebelor’s mist was a unique trait of the province, an eternal presence that moved around the land and obscured roughly a third of it at any time. Areas covered by the mist were plain impossible to navigate and impossible to communicate through. Because of it, roads were difficult to set up, trade routes nigh impossible and crime rates high.
Depending on where it currently was, it could be months before anyone learned of the happenings in Ironside, especially assuming the Darktide wasn’t unique to here. It was almost certain Richard only mentioned it for morale. If that’s the case, his ban on Church talk was likely the same. Did he know the state of the Upper City?
And if they had Empyreans, could he get them on his side? Be it the compound or the Lower City, a bunch of low level Empyreans would be a massive help for crowd control. Logistics wouldn’t be an issue with all the deaths. If so, all the more reason to force a conversation with this supposed leader.
As they walked, Silas eventually noticed a large gathering of fear energy and Sasha sped up. She guided him to a small cellar door next to a cozy little carpentry shop and knocked three times. Three new knocking sounds came from inside, then Sasha knocked twice. Silas’ eyes narrowed, remaining silent.
The door opened up and Sasha stepped in, motioning for Silas to follow. It was a dark, damp hallway with cobblestone walls and gravel flooring, the ceiling a mismatch of supported dirt and exposed floor or foundation from the buildings above. The man who let them inside remained by the door.
Damp and murky, the air made him cough just enough to aggravate the break in his ribs, prompting him to siphon more blood energy to it. Silas’ blade remained at his hip while his hands stuck close to his revolvers.
A couple minutes had passed by when they reached the end of the hallway and Sasha knocked again, this time 4 times. They knocked 4 times, then Sasha knocked back once. Silas’ noticed an abrupt rise in fear energy just beyond the door from two sources, as well as a movement of a group beyond it. He sighed quietly.
Just as the door opened, Silas drew his guns and levelled them straight at the two figures who appeared. They too had their guns raised, both at his chest. Upon seeing his own, they froze in place. Sasha didn’t care about all that, running inside at the first opportunity.
The room beyond the doorway was an opulent hall with half a dozen magnificent chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Walls shining a luxurious silver with streaks of red gold, the floor a polished marble. The furniture was all ornate with priceless artifact after artifact lining the towering pillars that held it all up. Not even the Mayors Estate was so rich.
In one corner were over a hundred people all huddled up in torn clothes and makeshift bedding. In the other, the furniture had been arranged to provide a small sort of barracks with comfortable couches and bunk beds where men and women in much nicer clothes stood, often with a weapon of some sort on them.
Supplies piled up in another corner, untouched, while mutant corpses were piled up in the last corner. Silas could even see a few human bodies and some that were in between. Blackwall sure lived in luxury.
In the centre of the room sat a middle aged man playing cards with a younger woman. Both had deep red hair and blue eyes, their skin rather pale in comparison to the darker complexion that most Ironside residents had. The man, dressed in a three piece suit, looked rather young, his age only betrayed by a pair of crow’s feet and a few strands of grey in his beard; one could even call him rather skinny. A cane leaned on the chair next to him.
The woman shared many of the same traits but with a youthful vigour. Her frame was rather lean yet her sleeveless shirt exposed a pair of muscular arms and the smoking pipe at her lips made her fit into this place like a glove.
Both figures turned to look at Silas at the same time. Whilst the man’s gaze made the hair on the back of his neck stand, the woman practically made his blood run cold. A quick use of the Aura Sensing Technique determined the former to be at around Five Gates while the woman was at around Seven. Silas could only sigh.
His bad feeling only grew when the man stood up and grabbed his cane- an action that prompted every armed person in the room to turn and look at Silas. The Nightweaver couldn’t even react before the man spoke.
“I heard you killed some of my men?