The dungeon was cold, and he could feel the rats gnawing at his ankles, yet Adrian Thorne felt safe here. They could not get to him in the depths of the heavily guarded watch barracks, and they would most surely want to make an example of him for his failure. He was told in meticulous detail the ways in which the Inferno Clan torture those who fail them. Clayhold was filled with the criminally insane, but he would be safer there than out in the open to be easily picked off. If the Inferno Clan were to have found him, he wouldn’t be killed quick and clean. No, he would be brought before him, and he would make Adrian yearn to be hung, drawn, and quartered. His fate would be much slower and more painful. He would be burnt and not quickly. Toe by toe, foot by foot, leg by leg. He would be forced to endure each limb burn until it crackled and smelt of cooked meat.
The iron doors clanked open and two watchmen entered, shutting the thick iron door behind them with a hideous screech. They wore identical soot black kettle hats and armour, the one on the left who had a black moustache and goatee grinned mockingly at him. “You clearly pissed off a lot of people in your criminal life, Adrian.” The guard’s voice was gravelly and inquisitive. “There’s a line of people wanting to have a crack at you that stretches all the way from here to Stone Sparkles.”
The other guard with a thinner face chuckled at the remark as he leaned against the was simply observing the fallen crime lord with curiosity. The guard with the black goatee grabbed a crooked chair on the floor and pulled it up towards Adriane’s small desk. “Whilst we were pulling Smithy off you, you loudly declared that you lost your wits. Is that still the case?”
Adriane silently nodded with wide and afraid eyes. A man who was once referred to as a glorious gargoyle now felt like a timid squirrel. He did not know what it felt like to be at someone’s mercy and now that he did; he knew the pain he had caused to so many others. “You don’t look too crazy to me, M’Lord?” the guard with the goatee commented. “You are sitting here patiently and making conversation with me. If you were truly insane, you would be trying to bite my face off or flinging your shit everywhere.”
Fear gripped Adrian. He slammed his fists on the table. “I implore you. Send me to Clayhold. I have done so much wrong, had so many people killed that I deserve to go there. Or simply leave me here to rot. Execute me even, just don’t throw me back out into the city.”
Stolen story; please report.
“You sound like you’re afraid of someone, Adriane?” the black-bearded guard said with a grimace. “A lot of people want you dead, half of whom reside here in these barracks. You were a crafty one. You knew how to work the legal system like a marionette. I’m afraid you’re going to have to narrow down your list of enemies.”
“I’ll tell you everything about them,” Adrian pleaded frantically. “They are called the Inferno Clan. They are an assassin cult that has ill intentions for this city. They threatened me, forced me to help them, to give my drug money to them, to house one of them. They made me a scapegoat for their wrongdoings. They won’t rest until all the Royalists are dead. I’ll even tell you who leads them-”
The black-bearded guard’s tutting interrupted Adrian’s frantic confession. “Oh Adrian, you concerned me with this talk when we apprehended you the other night. Your gargoyle mouth has grown too big for your head. It’s a shame, really.”
“I speak the truth!” Adrian pleaded. The thin-faced guard leaning against the wall left his position, waltzed up to Adrian and punched him in the stomach. As Adrian gasped for air, the assaulting guard grabbed his arms from behind with a tight, armoured grip. Adrian didn’t resist at first. I deserve this.
“Aye, you do speak the truth,” the black-bearded guard said as he stood. “That’s the problem.” He walked up to the small sconce that lit the room and unhooked the flaming torch from the wall.
When the pin dropped in Adrian’s head, he screamed and kicked. The table toppled over. He yelled and cursed in despair and anger, but the guard’s iron grip was too hard to escape from. “He never liked you to begin with, Adrian. Even I knew that. But he had faith that you would be obedient, and he still had uses for you. We were even going to find a way to have you released, yet-a-bloody-gain but then you said the word ‘fire’ whilst we were arresting you and oh how that angered him.” The guard with the black goatee raised the flaming torch mere inches from Adriane’s face. He could feel his skin start to heat. The fire felt warm and comforting, but Adriane knew it would feel quite the opposite very soon. “The Inferno burns on...” The guard dropped the torch and the flaming end dragged down Adrian’s dusty black coat and consumed his torso. The guard’s iron grip released him as the flames engulfed his entire body. He felt his skin crackle like sizzling pork, and he could smell his own burnt flesh popping. As he fell to the floor screaming, he saw the rats fleeing from him and huddling into a grimy corner. They would be chewing on him when the flames died out.
“Send word to Sheriff Redtower,” Adrian overheard the black-bearded guard order to the other as he burnt away behind them, “the Gargoyle’s dead.”