They’d come in the middle of the night. Noah and Brye had almost sounded the alarm, Shery prepared for a fight, and Mark had already been prepared to sprint out one of the windows. But it turned out the visitors were exactly the people they were supposed to meet with. In a flurry of hushed secrecy, the group was taken away through the empty streets of the city.
Dragged out of the wall, down the road.
Not a word was spoken, and it was clear the guards did not expect any either. The group of four moved quietly, urgently, and nervously. Noah stuck to Mark’s arm, Brye led the way, and Shery closed in behind them. All in all, it was the walk of a group that expected things to turn violent very quickly. The twelve other escorts did not provide any sense of protection.
They felt like jailors, taking them to the execution block.
By now Mark had brought himself to not care much. This was exactly what he needed to survive. It was futile to ignore the tools and opportunities presented to him. And this was no more than the next step, the next shit-show to adapt to. So whatever it was that was coming his way, he’d do everything in his power to survive it, like all the shit that came before this.
After what felt like two hours worth of walking, the darkness of the road came to an abrupt halt.
There, parked right in the middle of the road, was a coach wagon. The wheels were made of rubber and steel, the walls and roof were wrapped in black silk, ornately decorated with lines of gold that pulsed under their own light. There were no windows on the box, and only one door, outlined by silver threads.
The coach was surrounded by maidens wearing large black cloaks, hoods hiding some of their features. But Mark could see glints of metal armor underneath, the shapes of the hoods themselves altered by horns or strange ears.
“Only the human.”
The tallest of the ‘guards’ spoke, blocking the way and peering at them from under the hood’s shadows. None of the three maidens accompanying Mark dared to speak, their faces were stuck to the ground, unmoving, pale, trembling.
Whatever pressure was keeping them in place had not been aimed at him, however. “I’m bringing Brye.” He stated, as much of a fact as the words the hooded figure had spoken with.
Red eyes poured into him, daggers of flickering flames, piercing the darkness. The maiden needed neither to move or speak; her glare alone was as good as placing a blade to his throat. A silent promise that he could instantly find himself surrounded by hellfire if she so felt the whim for it.
And though Mark hesitated, he did not move.
“Let him.”
The voice came from inside the coach, the door slightly ajar. The demeanor changed, the figure bowed and gestured for Mark to step forward. He did, though not without noticing the half-glare he got from Brye, the two tailed-fox maiden looking paler with every step. They quietly approached.
Inside the coach was just one man.
A man that barely was contained within a suit, his body rippling with the kind of musculature you’d see from an Adonis. He occupied half of the coach by himself, his face masked in shifting shadows, making it entirely impossible to see any actual discerning features other than his sculpted body.
The moment Mark and Brye were inside the coach, the door closed, yet the illumination did not change, dark leather seats and shadowy corners. It was a place of luxury, yet not meant for comfort, a meeting place of some sort.
Brye sat on the floor of the coach. Her head bowed deep, almost touching the large man’s shoe with her forehead. “Boss.” She declared the word in cold reverence, almost fear and admiration in equal measure.
The move shocked Mark, but he hid it, lips drawing thin, eyes peering into the darkness that was the man’s face. “What do you want?” He stated at the man who apparently currently held control over his circumstances.
“Direct, I like that. You picked well, Brye.”
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The fox did not speak, did not move, she remained frozen on the spot, tails limp behind her.
“I read the reports. The matters of your transgressions will be overlooked, no need for theatrics, little fox. You may leave.”
“She stays.”
Mark would’ve shot to his feet if there was the room for it. His glare did not leave the man for an instant, fists clenching tightly.
“Brye?”
“Yes, Boss.”
She was gone without so much as a sound, not a puff of smoke, not even opening the door. Just teleported, vanished, and left Mark alone. The human was left clenching his fists and glaring all the harder, lips curling into half a snarl.
“You can try to hit me, if that would make you feel any better.” The man, Boss, taunted, goading with a rumbling chuckle that shook the coach cabin.
Mark did not respond, remaining where he was, too aware this was some game for the other guy. “What. Do. You. Want.” He snarled through gritted teeth.
The man leaned back into his seat, spreading his arms wide. “Humanity needs a champion, and sadly you’re not the best candidate available.”
“And what makes you think I care about humanity?”
“True, I suppose.” The chuckle returned. “But maybe you care for Barry Dodson?”
Mark’s mind stilled, a sudden lack of emotion followed with a lack of thought, his eyes widened and suddenly there were a thousand different things he wanted to say, to ask, to claim. With it came indignation, anger, and with a snap decision, he flung at the man.
And exactly nothing happened other than him slamming against the wall opposite in the coach. He’d gone right through the man, finding no resistance to his fists nor anything to arrest his inertia. The impact caused him to crumble and spin, but he recovered just as fast, bouncing away and raising his fists out of sheer aggression if nothing else. “A fucking illusion?”
“I have several of these coaches, they’re meant to address the simple matter of wishing for a private face-to-face without really needing to travel. Convenient, are they not?” The man laughed again, clapping his hands just once. “I will allow this little… outburst, to slide, it is family we are talking about. Would you think the same for your aunt, I wonder?”
“Fuck her. And fuck you too.”
“Shame.” The Boss shook his head. “Oh well, that’s that, I suppose. You may leave.” The door opened without a sound, the figure made a gesture towards it. “You may take the mouse with you if you’d like. I will give you… say, two months worth of a head-start.”
He did not move. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You are valuable, willing or otherwise.” He shrugged simply. “But if I am going to take you by force, I’d rather give you the chance to run. I am nothing if not curious as to how far you would make it, will you manage to escape my reach? Would you find a way to fend off your pursuers? Would you prove worthy and turn the tables on me?”
Mark looked out the open door, into the darkness of the road outside. Just a handful of meters further out were three maidens. Shery, Brye, and Noah. The three he was bonded to, the only three he’d had any prolonged contact with, the ones that had taught him that not just ferals were monsters.
“I want my cousin.”
Slowly, he turned away, glaring at the man whose head was wreathed in shadows. There was a strange coldness inside of him.
“I do not have him under my care. Too much hassle.” There was a dismissive wave of his hand as he spoke. “I will, however, tell you this: if you prove to be the champion I seek, I will give you the tools to save him by your own hand.”
“Save him… save him from what?”
“The Court you escaped from. My sources have informed me that the wildlings apparently found and… ah… ‘acquired’ your dear cousin.”
Mark growled, his brows knitted together, hands clenched into fists. He remembered the meeting with the crone whose skin was midnight black. How could he forget? The threat, the words, the total lack of…
“What’s your proof.”
“A little over a week ago there was a group of offworlders that were being escorted to Balet. They were attacked by the Court. The knights won, in the end, and captured several of the wildlings. During interrogation, two of them kept talking about Barry, the young boy with flaming red hair and glasses. This information was further corroborated from a report by Miss Dodson, claiming she saw her nephew and that he’d been brainwashed into helping the Court.”
The words brought back the memory of the crone, her promise of influencing his thoughts to force the bond onto him. His blood boiled and his lips thinned. “How soon.”
The man that called himself the Boss shrugged easily. “The sooner you prove yourself capable of the tasks that must be done to save humanity, the better.” Though his face was shrouded, there was a distinct manic undertone to his words.
Mark’s anger gained a hint of caution, of apprehension, he could not see the man’s eyes but the tone and body-language spoke to him of something far more dangerous than either thing should have been able to.
It reminded him of the crazy bitch that had shown up to draw some blood from him, and the words she’d spoken before she had left.
The young man did not care about humanity’s supposed fate, but deep inside, he knew that he did not want to stay within this man’s reach an instant longer than it took him to get to his cousin.