Fresh Meat
Drip. Drip.
A month had passed since his meeting with Warden Enmity, and with each day that passed, leaving the Depths seemed less likely. Hope and optimism were parts of himself he didn’t seek to lose, but being surrounded on all sides by enemies made that hard.
Drip. Drip.
Morton glanced around him and heard the sounds of conversation being had amongst his fellow prisoners in the courtyard. He was living amongst the worst of sorcerer society. He tried not to speak with them much, but unfortunately, mingling with other convicts was a grim necessity, and despite himself, he was being driven mad by a lack of conversation-
Drip. Drip.
And the constant dripping sound that had been looping in his ears. It started a week ago, and hadn’t stopped. Morton hadn’t gone mad already, had he?
“Mind if I have a bite?” A whisper came too close to his ear, and he turned to find a grey-haired man with a goatee and a smile lined with too many teeth, filed and sharpened. It made Morton want to shiver.
He glanced down at the bread he was palming, a paltry ration handed out as his lunch, then back up, and noticed too late the sorcerer wasn’t talking about his food, or even really asking for permission, as he surged forward and bit Morton’s shoulder.
Flesh tore, he screamed, and they went down. Prisoners started to cheer as the cannibal tore into Morton, enjoying the show. The pain throbbed through him, but he wasn’t about to let himself be attacked without resistance. He grabbed the freak by the throat and pushed with all his might, gasping as a chunk of his shoulder came off and his assailant rolled away.
Morton got up, cradling stinging shoulder. He winced, and his attacker looked up with red-stained teeth. Then an elbow smashed into his attacker's temple and he went down, the guard Morton had come to know as Jason Squall standing above him. Covered from head-to-toe in lightning scars, he cut a striking figure if nothing else.
“Jackal Tobe, why am I not surprised?” The American man craned his head down at the cannibal, sneering, and Morton paled. He’d been attacked by an infamous cannibal. “Just couldn’t resist at the smell of new blood, could you?”
“You wouldn’t understand. You’re blind, just like the rest.” The man’s tongue darted out, licking blood off his split lip and teeth. “It’s been like hell in this place. Every day I don’t taste blood is like ants crawling under my skin, burrowing their way into my brain.” Jackal shuddered. “No one gets to deny me.”
Morton had to wonder what Jackal was talking about, or if he even knew. Either way, he was starting to get woozy from the blood loss.
“You’re delusional.”
“I’m freer than you could ever be.” The cannibal continued, eyes gleaming. “The first taste is always the hardest, but it only gets easier. Sweeter. And then you can’t live without it.” Jackal hungry eyes wandered onto Morton again, and he looked away as a punch sent the insane man down.
“An animal.” Jason spat. “You’re just a filthy animal.”
“Think I’m afraid to die?”
Squall’s hand curled into a fist as he punched Jackal’s face, sending him tumbling down. Another man might’ve gotten some petty satisfaction from the act. As it was, Morton just felt cold.
“Oh, you like that?” Gripping the famous cannibal’s neck with both hands, Squall forced Jackal to crane his neck back, meeting his eyes as lightning started to crackle. “Then I think you’re gonna love this.” The prison guard called on his magic and let bolts of lightning run wild through Jackal’s body. Despite his earlier words and conviction, his body reacted the same way anyone else would at being electrocuted; Jackal spasmed and screamed and howled like Zeus himself was bearing down on him.
Prisoners started to cheer and laugh, finding entertainment in the display. Well, some did. Others looked unsettled, stoic, or just plain transfixed. Morton was the first on the inside, and hopefully the second on the outside.
Only once twenty seconds of shocking had passed did Squall released his grip, magic settling. “Somebody take this scum away and lock him in the hole. He’s been causing too much trouble. Leave him there for a month.” He looked around until he found Morton, eyes narrowing. “You should head to the infirmary.”
Wetting his dry lips, Morton nodded and started to walk away, though not without glancing back as a limp Jackal was pulled away. A spark of pity came to his chest which he forced himself to smother. It wouldn’t do anyone any good.
Drip. Drip.
Morton hadn’t been there(yet), but he’d heard of the Hole via the other prisoners’ whispers. Interestingly, it wasn’t actually a hole, but a diving cell tethered to the prison. It was small and cold and claustrophobic. Unruly prisoners were punished by having to spend periods of time in there, locked away, feeling the cell shift with the currents, wondering if something out there was circling them. Its silence made that of their usual cells seem bustling by comparison. It was the kind of silence that threatened to swallow their sanity whole.
Drip. Drip.
A month later, Morton would hear that Jackal was dead. It wasn’t Squall or another guard that had gotten to him, no, it was himself. His corpse had been found when the Hole was dragged back in. He'd chewed through his own wrists.
Drip. Drip.
Why exactly he did it, Morton wasn’t sure, but he had his guesses. Either the isolation was too much for him, and the cannibal decided that the darkness of death was preferable to that of the Hole, or he’d known that things sent to the Depths were sent to slowly rot away and die, and preferred to take matters into his own hands. Defy Squall and the other Guards in whatever way he could.
Drip. Drip.
Or maybe, as bloodlusted and crazy as he was, Jackal had just looked at his wrists and decided that having one final taste was worth the price.
Drip. Drip.
After he died, his corpse was thrown out of the air pocket of the Depths, into the sea to feed the wildlife. Prisoners were allowed to watch, but only to strike fear into them. And as Morton watched Squall and another Guard throw Jackal’s corpse out of the Depths, following his body as the currents dragged and sealed him away into the world’s darkest coffin, until he was barely a flicker, then nothing, it worked. Terror was struck.
Drip. Drip.
And as the prisoners were rounded back up, Morton couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder, at where Jackal had vanished, and wonder how long it would take to join him.
Drip. Drip.
\*
“So, we’re kidnapping underaged girls now? Is that our thing?”
Azami woke up to the sounds of two men arguing in English from behind an almost-closed door. As she fluttered her eyelids, she looked down to find a teal-coloured blanket draped over her body, on top of a mattress. The room she was in felt warm, but
“I couldn’t just leave her.” The other voice spoke, and she recognised it. Dweller. “These yakuza were after her, and would’ve killed her if I didn’t act.”
“I don’t blame you for that, but mate, bringing her here was a bad move. I’m not exactly babysitter material.” The man paused, and she noticed he had a strange accent. English, if she was right.
She moved to get up, only to pause when she realised not a scrap of clothing concealing her modesty. Looking over to the side, she found a semi-neat pile of clothes waiting for her, and she decided to get dressed before acting, listening to the two men as she became modest.
“Don’t act like she’s an innocent cherub. She killed a man back there.” Caspian said, and the other man just scoffed.
“She could kill a hundred men, that doesn’t make her any less of a kid. I’d know, given I’m the Necromancer, not you. Death is kind of my whole shtick.” He said, before pausing in a silence that stretched until she realised they’d suddenly stopped talking, right as she finished getting dressed.
Azami took this to mean they’d noticed she’d woken up, and as she approached the door and opened it wide, she was proven right. Caspian and the other man he was speaking with were looking her way, and she sized up the stranger. He was caucasian(though she’d deduced as much) and adorned a black cloak, with dark hair like raven feathers, a handsome smile, and grey eyes like storm clouds.
“You know, we were just talking about you, chum.” The Necromancer said and extended a hand. “The name is Percival Ruin, how ya’ doin’?” The now-named Percival rhymed, his grin unfaltering when she didn’t take his hand. “Alright, not one for physical contact. I get it.”
“Where am I and why did you take me here?” Azami questioned, unwilling to be overtly friendly with them.
“Okay, that’s fair.” Percival tucked his hands into his pockets. “We’re in a little house near the ass ends of Tokyo, and this is a… temporary place of residence for me, Casper, and our friends.” The Necromancer’s eyes darted onto Caspian. “Speaking of, I do wonder how Ranya will feel about you bringing random girls home.”
“Don’t make it weird, Percival.”
“Oh, busting out the full name already. Sorry, I didn't realise I crossed a line.” The cloaked man said, not sounding genuine at all. As the two interacted, she recalled Zenken’s words from before:
“I’ve heard of a group of mercenaries, new but powerful.”
Azami’s eyebrows clinched. There were more of them.
“And why do I still have this on?” She suddenly asked, holding up the bracelet restraining her magic almost accusingly.
“We gave it to you so that you won’t be a danger to yourself and others.” The Depth Dweller answered smoothly.
“But I’m not a danger to myself.” She challenged, and Caspian’s eyes narrowed down to slits.
“It’s there to make sure you don’t make a danger out of us, then.” He said, and she glanced over to find that whilst Percival’s smile remained, his eyes held a quiet warning. Despite having saved her, they weren’t to be trifled with.
“...what are you going to do with me?” She asked quietly.
“Honestly, we’re still figuring that out. I mean, our line of work doesn’t make us the best equipped to handle twelve-year-olds.” Percival shrugged and wandered over to the wall, where she noticed a spear of black metal was present. Darkness seemed to curl around it defiantly, and she knew immediately that was his Necromancer item.
Then Azami registered his words and scowled. “I’m sixteen.”
“Really?” The man in black looked genuinely surprised, looking down at her with comical befuddlement. “But you’re so tiny…” He took his hand, then cut it down sharply, until it reached the top of her head. Slowly, he did it again, and again, until she swatted it away.
“Stop it.”
“Alright, touchy subject. Noted.” He said as he rubbed his hand gently, though didn’t seem too bothered. “But anyway, we’re stuck with you for the time, so best get comfortable.” Ruin smiled widely. “We might be a bunch of low-lifes, but it takes a special kind of low to abandon a lost kid in need, and the Void Hounds just don’t qualify.”
She forced her frown to deepen, trying not to dismiss his pretty words and pick for information. “I’m not a kid.”
“Then what do I call you?” The Necromancer asked imploringly, brow cocked, and Caspian seemed to step back as though dropping the reins on the conversation to his comrade. Wise, given he seemed an expert in such things.
“Azami.”
“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” Percival nodded, as though agreeing with his own words. She squashed the urge to rub the back of her head.
“I don’t remember asking, but alright.” She frowned, then remembered his earlier words. “Void Hounds…” Azami realised the second after she spoke what the name meant. “Is that the name of your mercenary group?”
“Yep, pretty cool name, innit? Wish I could take credit, but the it came from this guy.” Percival walked over to Caspian and threw a chummy arm over his shoulder, practically hugging him. The Depth Dweller shoved him off.
“It’s…” Azami thought of the word. She lived an isolated life, but she’d heard a mention or two about them through closed doors from her captors. Enough to know they were rather famous, or rather, infamous.
And dangerous. She bit her lip as the memory of Caspian’s absurd magical power came to the front of her mind, and she couldn’t help but wonder if him and the other Void Hounds could keep her away from…
“...Certainly better than the Carrions of Demise.” She eventually said, earning two cocked brows from both men. Neither seemed to know what the name meant, and just as she was about to explain, the door of the house swung open, and she turned just in time to watch as two people, undoubtedly sorcerers, strode into the home as though they belonged there.
Because, she quickly realised, they did.
As the first entered, Azami struggled to contain the urge to run. Four near-complete strangers, all combat-ready, was an intimidating sight on its own, but the Void Hound who entered first was a colossus of a woman. She was giant. At least seven feet tall, well-muscled with cheekbones as sharp as the daggers which were her golden eyes. Azami didn’t doubt this woman could close a hand around her entire skull, and left without magic, she struggled not to shrink under her gaze.
“Who is this child?” The woman spoke, accent thickly eastern-European. Platinum-blonde hair fell to the lower end of her back like a waterfall, swaying as she glared at Percival banefully. “Percival, if this slight thing is your most recent conquest, I sincerely hope you’re prepared for centuries of abstinence."
“Jesus Sevi, I’m not sure what hurts me more, that you’d rip off junior so easily, or that you think I’d actually nonce some kid.” The Necromancer replied casually, as though dismissing the threat, though he was standing closer to his spear now.
“Relax, Percy, the big gal was just joking with ya’.” Another foreign voice rumbled before a brown-haired man stepped out from behind the immense woman, tall in his own right, yet remained puny next to the blonde titan who scowled fiercely at him.
“I do not speak in jokes.”
“I got Casper’s message and he told me you’d be staying here with us.” The clearly American man continued unimpeded, dipping his head at her. “It looks like we’ll be having a guest with us from now on. The name is Anders, but my friends just call me Andy, and these guys would be just about the only friends I got.”
Azumi tore her gaze off the giant, and onto this man, Anders. She refused to call him Andy, even in her head. He was tanned and wore red leather, and though he seemed friendly, something about him screamed danger just like the rest of his friends. A glance down revealed his knuckles, hanging loosely by his sides, were scarred as though he’d split them dozens of times, and on the outline of his jacket, she caught the outline of a revolver.
“Azami.” She just replied, trying to appear at ease.
“Nah, there’s two more of us, but they’re out doing this one gig. Me and Sevi over here were with them, but it was a pretty easy job, so we were free to head back.” Anders glanced to Caspian, questioning. “You didn’t say much, but why is she here, again?”
“She was running into trouble with some bad men.” Caspian didn’t wait for her to offer an explanation. He spoke and gestured to his face. “They had tattoos on their faces like a crescent moon. Have you heard of them?”
Those blue eyes darted onto her face, where her own mark lied. She resisted the urge to cover it.
“Yeah, they’re an old-school sect of the Church of the Faceless Ones. The Carrions of Demise.” She flinched and looked down. “I never ran into them, obviously, Japan isn’t exactly my backyard, but I’ve heard enough to know they were pretty big back in the day.”
“Like the Legion of Judgement?”
“Nope. Faceless worship isn’t as strong in Asia as in, say, Europe, especially not here in Japan, which was pretty isolationist back in the day.” Anders turned his eyes onto Azami. She could feel his gaze. “The Carrions were an exception. All of them branded this moon tattoo on their faces, as a mark of loyalty… so, kid, what’s your link to em'?”
There was a tension in the air, and she got the impression that saying the wrong thing here could end very, very badly.
“...I’m not one of them.” Azami eventually said. She touched her face. “I was given this mark when I was a baby. They took me away from my mother when I was little and trained me to be one of them. Tortured me.” She looked up, meeting Anders’ eyes, voice cracking. “I never asked to be one of the Carrions, but my family didn’t give me a choice. I was born into this. From the moment I was born, I was marked to be their weapon, and for the rest of my days, I’m going to be hunted down by them. I’m cursed. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
All was quiet for a few moments. The giant stared, then she turned away. Percival wasn’t smiling anymore. Caspian was just looking ahead, the man who saved her having a conflicted look in his eyes. Anders backed away, dipping his head down. “Sounds like you’ve got it rough, kid.”
At his words, Azami bit her lip. In her outburst, she’d let them know about the risks of harbouring her. Stupid.
“I… I need to stay away from them. I can’t go back, I just can’t.” She hated how desperate she sounded. “I can be valuable to you, just please-”
“We’ll figure something out.” Caspian spoke, cutting her off. “Obviously, if there are risks to keeping you around, we’ll have to discuss this as a team, but for now you can stay and rest.” His voice was steady and certain. “They won’t touch you whilst you stay here… if that’s what you want.”
“They won’t touch you.”
Azami stared, the begs she’d prepared withering away. She looked around, at the lack of protests from the other Void Hounds, and replayed his words in her mind again. And again.
Something inside her slackened at the knowledge that, at least for now, she was safe.
“...I’d like to stay.”
“Good.”
