Eir turned to the girls, her expression hard. “It’s time,” she said, her voice carrying an edge of finality. “Are you ready?”
The girls nodded slowly, their eyes clouding over as memories of all they had endured flooded their minds. Their bodies tensed, trembling with the weight of those memories—the beatings, the assaults, the degradation. Each nod was filled with the pain they had experienced, the violation they had suffered, and the helplessness that had consumed them in the dark corners of Garik’s lair.
Mist, ever practical, could see the haze of pain in their eyes, the way they were slipping back into that dark place where all they knew was suffering. She stepped forward, breaking the trance with a sharpness that only she could bring. With a swift motion, she handed each girl a kitchen knife, the cold steel gleaming wickedly in the dim light of the mansion.
“Here,” Mist said, her voice calm, almost clinical. “These men are paralyzed—they can’t move, but they can still speak and scream. They can also still feel everything. So do whatever you want. Take as long as you need. Eir and I will be waiting out here in the kitchen. If you need us, just call. But don’t rush. This is your moment. Take your time and make sure you regret nothing.”
The girls looked down at the knives in their hands, the weight of the weapons unfamiliar but somehow comforting. Their fingers tightened around the handles, knuckles whitening as they felt the power given by the weapons in their hands. They had been powerless for so long, but now, with these simple blades, they held the power of life and death over those who had tormented them.
Eir stepped forward, placing a hand on each girl’s shoulder, her touch gentle but firm. “No matter what you do, it’ll be fine,” she said, her voice soothing. “You’re under our protection now. Don’t let any of those paralyzed scum scare you. No matter what they say no one in there can hurt you anymore. You’re the ones in control now.”
The girls’ eyes darkened, the haze of pain slowly being replaced by something far more dangerous—hatred. Pure, undiluted hatred. Their nods were sharper this time, more resolute. They turned away from Eir and Mist, their footsteps heavy as they walked through the door and into the depths of the mansion, knives clutched tightly in their hands.
Inside the mansion, the air was thick with a sickly scent similar to that of medicine. The green mist Eir had summoned still lingered, clinging to the walls like a vile fog. The girls moved silently through the hallways, their eyes scanning every shadow, every darkened corner, until they found them—the men who had been the architects of their torment.
There they were, lying crumpled on the floor, their bodies twisted in unnatural angles from the effects of the poison. Their eyes, wide with terror, flicked towards the girls as they entered the room. They could not move, but they could see, and they could speak—weak, desperate whispers that begged for help, for a kind hand that would never come.
The first girl, the younger of the two, stepped forward, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. She looked down at the man before her, a brute of a dwarf who had beaten her more times than she could count, his fists leaving bruises that had never fully healed. His lips moved, forming words that she did not hear, could not hear over the roar of blood in her ears.
She raised the knife, her hand trembling for only a moment before she drove it down into the man’s thigh. The blade sank into flesh with a sickening thud as small amounts of blood spewed forth, and the man’s eyes widened in horror. He couldn’t scream—the paralysis held his voice in check—but the agony was clear in his eyes, the way his body twitched involuntarily in response to the pain.
The girl didn’t stop. She withdrew the knife, blood spurting from the wound, and then brought it down again, this time into his shoulder. Each stab, each cut, was accompanied by a memory—a memory of this man’s fists striking her, of his laughter as he watched her suffer. The more she remembered, the more she stabbed, each thrust of the blade releasing some of the anger, the helplessness that had been festering inside her.
Beside her, the other girl had chosen her target—a smaller, wiry man who had violated her repeatedly, his foul breath hot against her skin, his hands roaming between her legs. She knelt beside him, her face a mask of cold fury. However, she didn’t go for the kill immediately. No, she wanted him to suffer as she had suffered.
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She started with his fingers, slowly slicing through the tendons and joints, the knife sawing through bone and sinew with a grisly crunch. The man’s eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth opening in a silent scream as she worked methodically, reducing his hands to bloody stumps. She paused only to listen to his ragged breaths, to watch the terror grow in his eyes, before moving on to his ears, his nose, his lips—disfiguring him piece by piece, making him feel every ounce of pain he had inflicted on her.
Blood pooled on the floor, the smell of iron thick in the air. The men’s bodies convulsed, their eyes bulging with the pain they could neither escape nor express. And the girls, lost in their rage, continued their grisly work, each cut a release, a catharsis for the torment they had endured.
It wasn’t enough to kill them. No, death would have been too kind. They wanted these men to suffer, to feel the same helplessness they had felt, to know that their lives were in the hands of those they had once tormented. Every scream, every tear that escaped from the men’s eyes was a victory, a small piece of the power they had taken back.
Time lost all meaning in that room, the girls moving as if in a trance, their hands slick with blood, their faces splattered with the crimson evidence of their revenge. They were no longer the weak, broken victims that had been dragged into one of Garik’s warehouses. They were avengers, delivering a punishment that was long overdue.
When the knives finally slipped from their fingers, clattering to the floor, the room was silent once more. The men were unrecognizable, their bodies mutilated beyond repair, their lives hanging by a thread. The girls stood over them, their breath coming in heavy, ragged gasps, their eyes dark and empty, drained of all emotion.
Slowly, they turned and walked back to the kitchen, leaving a trail of bloody footprints in their wake. When they reached Eir and Mist, they said nothing. There was nothing left to say. Their vengeance was complete, and with it, they had reclaimed a piece of themselves that had been stolen.
Eir looked at them, her eyes softening with a mix of sorrow and understanding. She knew that what they had done would haunt them, that the darkness would follow them for the rest of their lives. But she also knew that they had needed this—that without it, they would have been lost, consumed by their pain.
“You did well,” Eir said quietly, placing a hand on each of their shoulders once more. “You’re safe now. No one will hurt you again.”
The words hung in the air for a moment, and as if a dam had burst within them; the composure of the two girls shattered, and they began to tremble, their breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps. Their eyes filled with tears, and within moments, they collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.
The grief, the fear, the anguish—all of it came pouring out in a torrent of tears. They cried for the lives they had lost, for the innocence that had been stolen from them, for the unbearable suffering they had endured, and for the two who had chosen death unable to continue to live with the pain. They cried because, despite the vengeance they had taken, the pain was still there, clawing at their insides, refusing to let go.
Eir knelt beside them, wrapping her arms around their trembling forms, holding them close as they wept. She didn’t speak, didn’t try to soothe them with words that would only seem hollow. She simply held them, offering what little comfort she could as they poured out their grief, allowing them to grieve in the only way they knew how.
Mist watched from the doorway, her expression unreadable. She had expected the girls to break down at some point, but seeing it happen before her eyes stirred something within her. She continued to look for a few moments until she turned away.
After a long while, the girls’ sobs began to subside, their tears slowing as the storm of emotion finally began to abate. They were exhausted, emotionally drained, but there was a small glimmer of relief in their eyes—a sense that, for the first time in a long time, they could begin to heal.
Eir gently helped them to their feet, guiding them to sit at the table in the kitchen, where they could rest. “Take your time,” she whispered, brushing a strand of hair from one of the girl’s tear-streaked faces. “You’ve been through enough. We’ll take care of the rest.”
With a final nod from Eir, Mist turned and made her way back into the mansion, her steps silent on the blood-soaked floor. The air inside was heavy with the stench of death, the thick smell of iron clinging to everything. She moved through the hallway, a cold smile on her face as she surveyed the carnage that the girls had wrought.
Bodies lay twisted and broken, their faces contorted in death, their blood pooling on the ground in sickly puddles. The men who had once terrorized the streets, who had wielded their power with ruthless abandon, were nothing more than lifeless husks now, their last moments filled with terror and agony.
But as Mist entered the final room, she noticed one of them still clinging to the last threads of life. It was Garik, the leader of the Flint gang, the man who had orchestrated so much of the suffering that had plagued the city. He lay on the floor, his body mutilated, his breath shallow and labored. His eyes were glazed over with pain, but there was still a flicker of awareness in them, a faint recognition of the woman standing before him.
Mist knelt down beside Garik, her expression one of cold indifference as she watched him struggle to stay alive. She didn’t say anything at first, simply staring into his dying eyes, letting him feel the full weight of his defeat.
Finally, she leaned in close, her lips curving into a cruel smile as she mouthed the words, "Thank you. We'll use what's left of your organization well."
Garik’s eyes widened in a mix of horror and despair as he realized what she meant—that everything he had built, everything he had fought to protect, would now be used by the one who had taken his life. But before he could react, before he could even try to muster a final curse or plea, the last of his strength faded away. The light in his eyes dimmed, and his body went limp, his life slipping away into the darkness.
Mist stood up, wiping her hands on her coat as she looked down at the lifeless body of the dwarf who had once held so much power. A cold satisfaction settled over her as she turned and left the room, leaving the carnage behind.
When she returned to the kitchen, Eir was still sitting with the girls, their eyes closed as they leaned against each other for support, their tears finally spent. Mist didn’t say anything, but Eir caught her eye, and a silent understanding passed between them.
The Flint gang was broken, its leader dead, but there was still much work to be done, and now they had taken root in Blesas.