Christophe’s corpse looked so much smaller than he’d been. That might’ve been because it was missing his head, but the bloat from the river should’ve made it seem bigger. Of course, nothing could be as big or imposing as Christophe’s darkly menacing presence. Something even Piro occasionally dreaded when his best friend had reason to be angry with him. Most of the time he had a good reason for it. Now he’d never be mad at Piro again.
“...demands that we respond to this, as soon as possible. We’ve taken too many losses recently, and I fear the loss of Christophe will invite the others to come after us,” said Byrne, standing a healthy distance from the body. It already stank and dripped all over the floor.
“Bad enough they killed him, did they really have to throw him in the river?” Piro groaned, taking a step closer, holding his nose closed. “That’s just disrespectful. That’s adding insult to injury. This is personal.”
Byrne stared at him for a few seconds before he regained his composure. “Sir? Did you hear anything I’ve said?”
“Yeah yeah, gang war and our control collapsing if I don’t do something about it,” Piro sighed, waving him off.
A day passed without Christophe reporting in. Then came the caught body down by the docks south of the city, where the great river met the ocean and fisherman and scavengers cast their nets for all the city’s leavings. Eventually the body made its way back home after shards passed hands a few times and some of their boys pulled the bloated corpse along in a cart.
“We need to act quickly, sir. If we don’t, things could get very ugly for us. We might even consider making an exit from the city, cutting our losses and taking whatever we can with us.”
Piro turned slowly to face Byrne, an inscrutable expression on his face. Byrne stayed neutral, meeting Piro’s eyes without flinching or looking away. The shaper respected that, even as he considered lighting him on fire. Byrne could burn, wouldn’t that be something? Piro almost laughed, but nothing came out.
“We’re not going anywhere, Byrne. Well, you can. It might piss me off and I’m in something of a mood right now, but if you feel it’s what’s best…Good luck!” He flashed teeth in a mockery of a smile. “But this is my home and I’m not going anywhere. This is my city. They took my best friend from me and my best lover and now they’re going to keep taking until they get everything that’s mine. I don’t think I’ll let them, Byrne. And I think it would be a lot easier with your help.”
Byrne nodded, a sharp, short jerk of his head. “You’ll have it, sir. It will take a lot of work and we’ll need to be smart about it, but I’m confident that together we can -- “
“Together?” Piro snapped. “Together? You work for me. We do not work together. Christophe and I worked together, and you are not replacing him.”
His mask cracked. “No no sir,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I only meant that I will need to work harder and have more authority if I’m to pick up some of the slack left from Christophe’s loss. I cannot and will not replace him. It would take multiple of me to even come close.”
“Was that a fat joke!?” Flames erupted from Piro’s hands, flickering violently. He took a step towards Byrne, who backed up. His eyes widened, and he swallowed hard.
“N-no sir, it’s a compliment to how good a leader he was, I swear!”
The flames went out. Taking a long, deep breath Piro adjusted his tunic. “I believe you. It’s not you I’m mad at. Go make some plans. We’ll discuss them later. For now? You don’t want to be around me.” Piro smiled.
Byrne nodded, half bowing, before he got the hell out of there and left Piro alone with the remnants of his best friend. Piro took a deep breath, accepting the awful fucking smell as part of the cost of saying goodbye.
“I can’t believe they disrespected you like this,” he said. The only reply was the call of the birds overhead, circling and considering the meal below. “Back when we thought you killed Quintius, we left the body for them to do what they wanted with. It’s only right, you know? But here they took your head and dumped you over the bridge. I…I’m going to do far worse to them than that.”
He laughed breathlessly, body wracked with pent up sobs. Tears filled his eyes and streamed down his face, but the laughter didn’t stop. If he stopped then everything else could come rushing in. All of this, and Piro couldn’t help but think of who exactly to blame.
Fucking Quintius, and his foolish insistence on getting in the way of him and Razia. For that matter, Razia herself had plenty of blame herself. Piro found himself wondering if she was worth pursuing after this, or whether he should maybe consider lumping her in with her cursed boyfriend and just finish the two of them off. Gods, that sounded appealing right about then.
Anything would be better at looking at a lump of flesh and bone that used to be a person capable of commanding hundreds.
“I’m sorry, brother,” Piro whispered. “I’ll get them for this. You have my word. Quintius will die, and Razia…If she lives, then I’ll make sure she regrets her part in this. I’ll break her down to the absolute bare fucking minimum a person can be and keep her as a pet. Maybe I’ll burn your name into her skin so she can never forget. Or maybe, just for you, I will kill her. Maybe.”
Gods, how depressing could this get. One of the gulls landed on the corpse. It darted forward, beak snapping over a bit of soft, rotting flesh around the neck. Piro lifted a hand and pushed hard with his power. Flames bathed the gull and the body. He kept it up, channeling more and more magic at a slow, steady pace to keep the burn going, slowly moving his hand left and right to torch the entire thing.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
It wasn’t better, burning the remains like this. No service, no audience, no nothing but two close friends saying their goodbyes. Sort of. The best Piro could say was that it stopped the birds and bugs from eating him, and it’d keep Christophe from stinking and rotting. It took several minutes and nearly drained Piro dry, but eventually a pile of char was all that remained. Another light effort and the wind carried ash and leftover chunks of bone off the cart and back into the river.
“Good luck, my friend. May you spit in the Darkstar’s face before you face atonement.” He bowed his head and sent a silent, wordless prayer. Then he got to work.
The trick, Piro decided, lay in choosing what to focus on. The Warlords weren’t finished, but they were beaten for now. Nearly half their men gone over the past month, their field leader dead, and chaos throughout the city all sent a clear message to Piro. His future didn’t involve gangs. At least not to the same extent his past did. Razia and her pet attack dog proved more capable than expected. More and more Piro regretted humiliating her and driving her away. If she hadn’t, the entire south would’ve been his.
Oh well. Onwards and upwards. Piro made a few stops in to the remaining safe houses and taverns where the remaining half of his men still spent their time. After a series of bald faced lies and reassurances, the Warlords would spread the word: buckle down and hold what you’ve got until recruitment could go up. Maybe their rivals would close in, maybe they wouldn’t. It didn’t matter anymore.
The rest of the day he killed time, running from fire to fire and putting it out before the sun set and he collapsed in the back room of his rundown tavern, the Belly of the Beast. It had been Christophe’s, and named for him. Now…Well, Piro wouldn’t change it. Let it be one last tribute to the angry beast of south Orchrisus.
He took his meal alone for a change, drinking glass after glass of wine, thoughts consumed with his loss and the events leading up to it. A few glasses eventually ended up the whole bottle; a lot of wine for such a small body. Piro welcomed the drunkness, and the freedom that came with it. Rage, pain, sadness, and an irresistible urge to get something done.
He knew it to be a stupid move, but still Piro found himself heading north on unsteady legs, ready to go nuts on the first person to give him trouble. The late spring night had a cool breeze, but the world burned around Piro, choking and stifling him. He made it all the way across the bridge without any issues, rambling to himself the entire time.
The Watch were out in force now that the danger was over, of course. The useless fuckers weren’t much of a help to anyone, and only ever seemed there to hurt others and act like things were under control. Truth was, the only control in a city like Orchrisus lay in the movers and shakers establishing it. Their little war had destabilized it, but he supposed it over now, technically. Of course the Watch would take this opportunity to act like they’d been there all along.
“Evening there, Offiff..Ofiss…Copper!” Piro giggled, bowing deeply at the unimpressed young man watching the bridge.
“Somebody’s been celebrating,” one of the other coppers muttered under their breath.
Piro jabbed a finger in their general direction. “Sort of! Mourning. Celebr…Celeb…A toast to an old friend, no longer with us.”
The lead copper sighed and motioned with his hand for Piro to keep moving along. “Have fun, just don’t cause any problems, yeah?”
Piro grinned, pale face flushed with the alcohol. “Who? Me? I promise I’ll only burn down a couple houses tonight. No more than that, swear to the gods.” He giggled and moved on, making his way to the Boulevard, where trouble would no doubt find him.
Even drunk off his ass, the first tails were on him in minutes. Piro pretended not to notice them at first, just stumbling down the street as people made a point of ignoring and avoiding him. Too many fights and deaths left everyone uneasy around any possible disturbance. He used it to his advantage, keeping people between him and his pursuers. No doubt they’d love this chance to kill him. Well, not until he said his piece.
A chill settled in his veins as he turned down the right street to get to the garden. Two shades were posted out front, and they saw Piro about the same time he saw them. They looked to each other, nodded, and one ran inside. The other drew his sword and advanced on Piro, raising his weapon.
Piro waved his hand to the side, pushing power into the motion. Force exploded sideways, hurling the poor bastard into the wall. His sword stayed in place, clattering to the ground. He groaned but didn’t get up. Oops, must’ve put too much power into it.
“Quentin Quintius!” Piro shouted, voice almost cracking partway through it. “Get your beautiful pale ass out here, we’ve got some things to discuss!”
He didn’t have to wait long. The moonkissed bastard came out, dressed in a black and gold toga, with the outline of lips against his cheek. He furrowed his brow deeply, scowling at Piro. Well fuck you too buddy, Piro thought. Two could play that game. He pointed at Quentin and growled, “You’re a dead man!”
Quentin sniffed the air and made a face. “Is that why you came here? You want to finish this?” His hand went to the knife at his belt but he didn’t draw it. A few more faces peeked out of the door behind him, including the traitorous bitch herself.
“No!” Piro blurted. “I’m not going to kill you tonight, Quintius. That’d be too easy.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Quentin said, lips twitching in a facsimile of a smile. “You can’t even stand up straight. What do you think you’re going to accomplish here?”
“A warning,” Piro said, wobbling in place. Gods, he wished he had more wine. He made a show of looking at the outside of the villa and up down. “It’s a nice place you’ve got here, Quintius. How long do you think it’d take me to destroy it?”
He sighed, covering his face with his hand. “You’re drunk, Piro. If you want to have a fair fight where we kill each other like civilized men, come back later.”
Razia slipped out behind him, keeping Quentin between them. “Just kill him now, Quentin. You don’t want to let him go if he’s dumb enough to come here alone.”
Piro threw his head back and laughed. “Do you think you could? You think some lucky meathead can compare to the power I have at my command? I could crush you in an instant! But I didn’t come here for that!” What was he saying again? Right. “A warning. I’m going to break you, Quentin Quintius. I’m going to take everything you love and hurt you as bad as I can. And by the end, you’ll be begging me to kill you!”
Quentin’s jaw set. “Is that all? Why even come here to tell me what you’re going to do instead of just trying to kill me right here? I don’t get you, but I’m about out of tolerance for threats towards me or mine. Why don’t you go home while I still let you?”
“Quentin!” Razia nudged him. He shook his head pityingly.
In that moment, Piro hated him more than he hated anyone else. He looked past Quentin to Razia. “You still have a chance to spare his life. Come back with me. Right now. Christophe is dead, so you get your way. That’s compromise, right? Neither of us is happy, but we get a little of what I want.”
Razia bared her teeth at him. “I want you dead. Can you make that happen?”
A sound behind Piro reminded him they weren’t alone and he was surrounded. He smiled and held his hands up. “I get it. Too many lovers, right? I’ll fix that.”
Opening himself up to magic when drunk felt great. Better than great, amazing. Nothing could compare with the rush of pure power flowing through his body, channeled by his will to change the world. Unfortunately, even at the best of times his control could be iffy. He poured too much into the spell and a jet of flames emerged from his hands and bathed Quintius in their overwhelming heat. The moonkissed had enough time to shield Razia with his body before the flames engulfed him.
Piro laughed, pouring more power into the flames until somebody crashed into him from behind, sending them to the ground. Piro landed hard, tasting blood as he bit his lip. He wriggled and writhed but his attacker had a good grip on him. No matter. He flexed power and threw the man off with magical force. He climbed to his feet.
Several other Shades made to move at him but stopped when he held his hands up. Quentin remained on fire, panic in his eyes as he slapped at his arms and chest, somehow managing not to scream until -- oh, there it was, he cried out in pain. The sound was the greatest music Piro had ever heard. “Heal up and we’ll settle this later,” he cried.
Then he focused his energy beneath his feet and threw himself into the air. Piro couldn’t fly, but he didn’t have to. He landed on the roof of the building across the street from the Moonlit Garden and took off running, adrenaline cutting through his inebriation just enough to push him to run home. When he got to the edge he pushed again and leapt forward twenty feet to the next rooftop. He hit the ground running.
No one followed. They couldn’t. The way Piro saw it, either the rumors were true about Quentin’s immortality or he hurt him bad. He hoped the fucker survived, just so he could take it all from him. He laughed, an unhinged sound piercing the night. He had such plans, and more than ever he needed to see them through.
This didn’t call for a Warlord, or a mad shaper. He’d break him out in the open and use the entire city to do it. Piro launched himself into the air, laughing like a fool.