Chapter 66

Enraged

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Saying Mark was just pissed, would be understating it.

He was furious.

His men had come back, defeated.

When he had ordered his people to set out with Liam towards this "camp", he had been optimistic. After all, they already bested the military in several engagements, who was to say they couldn't best them once again? The only difference had been that secluded group of refugees.

Mark had been prepared for the guns. He had been ready for the military Humvees. The tanks—a particularly nasty twist—somewhat expected. But the magic? When his men had come back, tails between their legs, Mark had thrown aside the explanation an excuse to save their own hide. But when every single one of his men declared the same thing? He couldn't pass it up as a mere coincidence. Confronting that reality was difficult.

Apparently, the System was more supernatural than Mark had originally thought. Though, magic was a rather fitting explanation. The monsters that ranged throughout the forests, the unexplainable phenomena that would frequently occur within the sky, or when one strayed too far from the safety of their compound... The world was changing. And he needed to change with it. This conclusion only reaffirmed Mark's belief that he had to clamp down on any opposition groups before he was able to capitalize on this new discovery. If he was able to deduce this; then so too would his competitors and detractors.

Mark had attacked this particular group of refugees expecting nothing more than what he had seen thus far. Worthless trash trying to survive. Of course, the military was his true target, and from what he had understood, the military hadn't taken advantage of the "system" like Mark's people had. It was how they had been overwhelming them so thoroughly thus far. But, now, there were others who also had access to the same tools Mark had been using, and he wasn't happy. Mark had been so close to finally wrenching control of the region from under the military's influence—now that was taken from him.

He would have called Liam here and put him on a stake himself had he not already blown the man up. The only consolation was the death of the military commander. But Varis? An unintended variable. His loss left a bitter taste. Granted, Mark had suspected Varis of plotting against him... He knew it. His loss came prematurely, but it didn't affect his grand plan in the slightest.

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But the magic... Mark should have known, yet he didn't. This new variable was far too large. A much-despised wrench in his designs.

Alas, just this morning Mark promised whoever figured out how to use magic a month's worth of food. For half-starving criminals, it was reason enough.

He had lost twenty-three men. Only eighteen made it back, albeit quite a few wounded. It was a drastic failure, and Mark knew his rivals would take the chance to target him. A culling was in order.

Mark marched out of his warehouse into the interior of their courtyard. A lot between the several warehouses. In the middle were the three stakes, already the bodies previously hanging there had been picked clean by vultures.

It was about time to feed the birds once more. Sadistic entertainment tended to quell the band of criminals for a time.

"Bring out the thralls!" Mark yelled out and watched as one of his men ran to a line of shipping containers—now used to house his chattel.

Mark watched on as they were pushed forward, to the excited clamor of the gathering bandits.

First came the beating. Then they'll be staked and hung as food for the vultures.

Mark climbed onto a crate in front of the three stakes and rose his hands to calm the excited crowd. A motion that elicited not only anticipatory pleasure in the crowd, but also himself.

"Four thralls. Four slaves, who still held out hope for rescue," Mark spat.

The crowd booed in response.

"But a lesson must be taught. Their place must be shown."

The crowd once again morphed into an excited clamor as the three individuals, two men, one elderly woman, and a teenage boy were brought forward and thrown onto the ground.

"The last one standing on their own two feet will be spared," Mark said sadistically.

The crowd of criminals and ex-convicts clamored forward, shoving to get a better view.

Mark motioned as one of his subordinates swung a bar into a metal barrel.

With the clanging of metal against metal, the sound reverberated throughout the camp, and the crowds roared.

It only took a few moments before one of the men stepped forward, and hesitantly threw a fist towards the other man. A bout of wrestling soon followed as both men fell to the ground. The teenage boy, appearing no more than seventeen years old, held a maddened look in his eyes. His gaze turned towards the elderly woman, who only cowered as she pleaded with the crowds to let her live.

Her pleading was hushed the moment the boy beat a sharp rock onto her skull. The first victim of the bout. It was always the young who adapted the quickest.

Showing no remorse, the boy continued to slam the rock down on the screaming woman, who slowly went quiet. Even as her death was ghastly apparent, the boy continued to slam the rock down with increased ferocity.

Nearby, the two men continued their struggle, until one succeeded in obtaining a grip around the other's neck, forcing one to eventually lose consciousness. As luck would have it, the boy was so distracted with his maddened murder, that he failed to take advantage of the clear opening.

Mark scoffed, the teenage boy enjoyed a ferocity that Mark sought for in his own men; but lacked awareness for his surrounding in his rage.

Ultimately the result was sure. The man was larger than the boy. No matter his ferocity, the man still won.

A shame. He would've enjoyed the boy's fervor in his own ranks. But alas, Mark did not shrink on the promises entered in when once entered the ring. The man was free to go. Despite the unlikely nature of his eventual survival.