Emil

Evening arrived. Like clockwork, Emil entered the watering hole. The fate of last night's delivery was heavy on his mind.

The old, rotten flooring of the dilapidated establishment creaked as he teetered forward, trudging with a slight limp from last night’s injuries. Caiside was at the front of the bar as usual—head down, occupied with cleaning a used cup. The sound of Emil's approach prompted him to look up.

“Miles?! You’re alive!” Caiside exclaimed as his eyes instantly lit up. A few of Baer’s henchmen posing as patrons also stood up to greet him.

“Well, barely,” Emil grimaced in pain as he dragged himself onto the closest seat. Without being asked, Caiside immediately began mixing one of his signature drinks.

Something alcoholic would be quite helpful right now. He needed it. Something to dull his senses and numb the throbbing aches pulsating through his body.

“You have no idea how happy it makes me to see you alive. I’ll let you tell your story later. Baer would be dying to hear how you survived Aois Nua’s Exalted,” Caiside said while rummaging through the bar inventory for a specific bottle.

“How many did we lose from the ambush?” Emil asked.

His question was met with silence. The henchmen around him lowered their heads, suddenly sullen. Caiside continued to work—the somber air filled with just the echoes of glasses being stirred and bottles being uncorked.

“There were some casualties,” he finally said as he set two glasses topped with drinks on the countertop, “But things could have been much worse if it weren't for your sacrifices. You kept the Exalted away and you dealt with the arbalists, didn’t you? Your actions didn’t go unnoticed Miles. We’re grateful. Decim is sure to award you nicely.”

Caiside raised his glass.

Emil returned the gesture. A dull clink rang through the air. He downed the cocktail, drinking greedily, taken in by the somber mood. A subtle buzz danced on his tongue. His head felt light. The injuries that were tormenting him grew somewhat bearable. He finally felt comfortable enough to ask the burning question that’s been gnawing the back of his mind.

“What about the delivery?”

***

“Miles, you’re one crazy bastard!” Baer’s voice boomed in his ears, “Hahaha! I thought you were a goner for sure!”

Emil winced as Baer repeatedly slapped the back of his shoulder. For some reason, brawny men like him had an annoying tendency to show admiration through violence.

“Baer, he’s injured,” Caiside said. Baer immediately withdrew his hands, smiling awkwardly as he realized his mistake.

“S-Sorry. Force of habit,” he coughed into his fists in a vain attempt to regain some semblance of dignity. He suddenly lowered his head in a reverent bow. The rest of his henchmen followed suit. “Thank you, Miles. If you hadn’t pushed that Exalted away, a lot of us here would probably be dead.”

Why are they doing this? Emil smiled uneasily, startled by the sudden display of gratitude. Mixed emotions bloomed in his chest. His insides churned at the revolting thought of being thanked by a members of a syndicate. His heart thumped with joy at being shown gratitude after putting his body on the line. His mind grappled with guilt for being jubilant over something trivial.

You’re undercover. Your goal is to locate the Azurite, not save a bunch of criminal's lives. The cold reminder silenced his turbulent thoughts. “Well, I was just doing my job,” he said with a practiced indifference, true to his cover.

Emil spun up a story of how he evaded the Aois Nua Exalted as the group made their way towards the auditorium. Decim had apparently called for a meeting. The status of the real delivery was still unknown—likely the announcement was to be made tonight. Emil still had no idea if his gut feelings were correct. The ambiguity weighed on his mind like a festering itch that refused to dissipate no matter how hard he scratched.

Soon, they arrived at Decim’s office.

This time the subterranean chamber was already crowded. Emil squinted his eyes at the blinding chandeliers above. The dazzling lights were just one of the many pieces of decoration that weren't there during their last visit. An array of dining tables had also been set up in the open area before the stage, the tabletop already adorned with plates and utensils. Excited clatters filled the air.

“Who are they?” he asked, confused by the plethora of unfamiliar faces.

“Members of Nostra,” Caiside said after scanning the crowd, “They’re all from the latest cohort of recruits who joined before you arrived.”

“Why?”

Caiside shrugged. “Decim must be in a celebratory mood. He has a penchant for extravagance whatever something goes well. I guess that means the delivery that we were the decoy for was successful.”

Their group was led towards an empty table by the right end of the auditorium. Boisterous conversation hollered in the air, filled with anticipation for what Decim had planned for the night.

All of it fell on deaf ears. Emil couldn’t focus. His back buzzed with heat. His mind adrift, detached from the ongoing celebrations happening around him. The chandeliers above suddenly felt nauseatingly bright. He took a seat, nodding as Baer rambled on about something beside him—fighting to keep his inner turmoil hidden within.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

…Did I mess up? Was the decoy mission not a test?

He felt sick.

The lights in the auditorium suddenly went off. Amidst the darkness, the excitement was snuffed out, until a single source of light illuminated the stage. A set of footsteps resounded against the hard wood. Decim strolled into the limelight with a brilliant smile plastered across his face, absent of his usual languidness.

“Gentlemen! I am Decim, an executive of the glorious Nostra syndicate. On my behalf, I welcome you to the family!”

Cheers and claps resounded across the auditorium. After a minute of feverish excitement, Decim beckoned for the crowd to quiet down.

“All of you have worked tirelessly for the last few days, adhering to my unreasonable requests without complaint! In honor of your efforts and success, I invite you to this bountiful feast!” Decim clapped his hands. The lights before stage flashed on, brightening the dining tables in lavish colors. Food arrived in platters from the backrooms, carried by men donned in a servant gown. Wine was being served by the barrels as cups clinked across the venue in celebration.

Emil stared at the food. The meaty stench made his head spin as he was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to puke.

“What’s wrong, Miles?” Caiside asked, concerned.

He shook his head. The nausea made it difficult to think. His thoughts spiraled with the possibility of failing his mission.

“Is the food not to your liking?” The question slithered into his ears. It came from Decim. The Nostra executive was making his rounds around the tables.

“I—” Emil winced. Headaches ravaged his skull as he struggled to come up with an excuse.

“…I think his injuries are still bothering him, sir,” Baer joined in to help.

Decim gave a curt nod. “Well, it’s fine. Don’t feel pressured to partake. Just make yourself comfortable,” he said, “It is a celebration after all.”

The hairs on Emil’s back suddenly rose. Alarms blared in his head as he caught a glimpse of Decim's mouth curve into his signature conniving smirk.

Twenty minutes passed when Decim returned to the stage. By now, the auditorium was crowded with drunk Nostra members slumped in their seats, basking in the joy of an exquisite meal.

“I’m glad you’re all enjoying this banquet I’ve prepared,” Decim said to the accompaniment of drunken cheers, “I wanted to take this time to highlight some of our recent successes. Over the last few days, I’ve asked nearly all of you to partake in some sort of mission despite the declining the stability of the slums. Escorting a delivery, negotiating a deal, collecting a shipment, amongst many others.”

He suddenly paused. His head scanned the crowd. Emil stared at him, watching closely as his hospitable smile suddenly grew sinister. The eyes that were gleaming in celebratory joy instantly turned cold and detached.

“During that period of time, I’ve found at least ten instances of sensitive information being leaked to our rival syndicates.”

His proclamation echoed like thunder. Silence suffocated the auditorium. Confusion rippled across the tables. Eyes widened. Mouths agape.

“Tell me,” Decim demanded, his eyes dancing with madness, “Just what could this possibly mean?”

His question cut through the air. No one dared to utter a word. Then suddenly, a glass shattered against floor.

Someone collapsed from their chair, flopping onto the ground with a heavy thud. Without warning, their body began to convulse. Their face writhed in agony. Pained rasps escaped their mouth before a profusion of dark blood forced its way out.

They weren’t alone. Another person dropped to the floor as well, tormented by the same symptoms. The strange affliction spread like a plague. Within seconds, almost the entirety of the auditorium was infected.

What the hell is going on? Emil spun towards the stage. Decim was watching the scene unfold with a crazed, insidious delight as if he was observing a spectacle amongst animals.

The realization dawned on him. It’s the food. He turned to the people seated at his table. Shockingly, each one of them was fine—only disturbed by the hell descending around them.

“There's only one explanation—there are traitors lurking in these seats,” Decim declared with his hands outstretched, “And it's only fitting that traitors deserve the most painful of deaths!”

“Decim! You bastard!” Several Nostra members rose from their seats. Their bodies staggered, eyes bloodshot, mouth drooling with dark scarlet spittle. Forcing themselves to move, they charged at Decim with a frantic desperation.

“Oh, please.” Decim snapped his fingers. Blood drops that stained the floor suddenly surged into the air. They gathered together and solidified into sharp tendrils. In a blink of an eye, they exploded outwards, skewering the rebelling Nostra members.

Gradually, the auditorium grew silent.

The cacophony of suffering ceased as those afflicted croaked their last gasp of life. Emil stared at the aftermath in disbelief. Hell was an apt description for the insanity before his eyes. A crowd of over a hundred boisterous Nostra men was reduced to a bloodbath of corpses. The bodies were sprawled along the ground, draped over chairs, or laid toppled against the tables. Tortured expressions were permanently etched on their faces—a sign of the agony suffered in their final moments.

Right, this is a syndicate. The callous reminder poured over his head like frigid waters.

The brotherhood of Baer’s cadre made him forget, but this level of cruelty was not atypical amongst the gangs of the slums.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Decim’s footsteps thundered across the silent stage. Slowly, he took a seat by the edge. His mouth widened into a maddening grin as his eyes fell on Baer’s group. Emil realized they were the only ones still alive. Suddenly, the people by his table all stood up and kneeled in reverence. He quickly joined.

“Congratulations. You were the only group who didn’t leak any information and fulfilled their mission till the very end. As expected, this group was the most trustworthy.”

“Sir...” Baer spoke up. His voice was trembling. "If I may ask, what is the meaning of this?”

“Of course, my dear Baer,” Decim said condescendingly, “I gave everyone under my direct control a test of loyalty. That was your mission last night. In truth, there was no actual delivery. I was examining how you lot would act. Would you falter in a dire situation? Would cowardice seize you at death’s door? Would you be tempted by greed? Or did your allegiance lie elsewhere in the first place? Those were the questions I sought to answer out of every group in attendance today.” Decim beckoned at the crowd of corpses. “The dead here were amongst groups that failed the test.”

Emil shuddered, awash with a mixture of revolt and relief. I knew it. His gut feelings hadn't been wrong. Last night's mission was no more than a farce.

“But was it necessary to kill all of them?” Caiside added, “Perhaps I'm wrong, but I sincerely doubt all of them were disloyal.”

“You’re not wrong, Caiside. If I were to give an estimate, there were probably five to ten rats at most,” Decim said, eyeing the Nostra members that were skewered by his Gift, “But well, identifying who the exact traitors were would have been a monumental effort. I don’t have the time nor do I possess the means. And frankly, none of those dead are irreplaceable. There’s plenty of rabble to scour from the slums.”

Still, what a reckless way to eliminate traitors. Emil frowned. If he had leaked the information to Steiger, then perhaps he, along with Baer and Caiside, would have also been lying dead on the ground tonight.

Decim suddenly clapped his hands, “Now that the traitors have been cleaned up, it's time for the actual main event of the night. We have a job to do. An actual job this time. One that requires the utmost secrecy.” He waved them over, beckoning them to climb onto the stage. Emil followed alongside Baer and his henchmen, careful to not step on the disturbing gore littered along the floor.

“I’m sure the bloody spectacle was a feast for your eyes,” Decim exclaimed, giggling with glee, “Hopefully all of the excitement was enough to wake you from your drunken daze.”