Chapter 5-146: Screwing Over a Sinpact (2/2)

The Staff that looked like it was made from the bone of a giant, with a human skull whose eyes were burning red Banefire leering down, didn’t help.

And then there was the man crouched in front of him, staring at him.

Four Signs. The black of a Dark Pact. The Silver of the Heavenbound. The blue of the Windbound. The square irises of the Citybound.

Heaven and Hell Pacts. Who among the Warlocks had not heard of this man, with the scars of Hell upon him? The Silent Warlock of Heavenbound Hall was here and staring at him with the cold, judgmental eyes of the Heavenbound.

Eyes that held no fears or regrets when they died.

He swallowed at the strength of the Aura breaking over him. None of his Seniors were as strong as this man. Still tugging at the iron Collar that was interfering with his Pact, he gasped, “What... what do you want?”

He had become a hardened killer, but he felt like a child in the face of this pressure.

I CAN OFFER YOU A WAY OUT.

The golden letters made of Heavenly Wrath hurt his eyes to look at them. He blinked at them a few times in shock, unable to process what they were saying.

“What?” he asked dumbly.

The letters rewrote themselves one by one into the same words. He stared at them, wondering what was going on. He had never heard of Heavenbound offering mercy to Sinbound...

“What...what do you mean?” he asked, finally abandoning clawing at his Collar. Naturally he had no weapons left on him, and even though he knew how to kill with his bare hands, he was remarkably sure any of these three could kill him literally by looking at him too hard. It was a terrifying feeling, knowing all the control he had over his own life was now gone.

The Silent Warlock slid out a dagger from behind himself, which rapidly elongated into a full-length straight sword, like some European knight of old, ebon black with a gleaming silver edge that promised to be able to cut him right in two. He stared at the seven glowing Runes on it: four for Heaven, one for each secondary Pact.

The burning red of the Hellfire was particularly eye-catching against the Stormfire and the crackling voltage of a Citypact, looking like it was spitting and clawing uselessly against the golden flames of Heaven.

PUT YOUR HAND ON MY SWORD, the letters ordered in abrupt, steely fashion. The Sword was buried point-down right in front of him, and Pedro’s hackles rose as it sank into the stone of the ground like it was wet clay.

But under the weight of those eyes, he could do little but obey. His hand trembling, he reached out and put his hand on top of the carven skull of the pommel.

Death!

He wanted to scream, but nothing came out. His mind was filled with death, and things dying at the hand of one man.

Blades. Fists and hands. Bullets. Ridden over with a motorcycle. Crushed under dumpsters. Torn apart or pummeled to death. Dragged and torn apart. Burned in fires. Electrocuted. Dissolving in holy water. Buried under a falling tree. Impaled on stakes and spears and jutting rebar.

So many different creatures, of all levels of strength and power. But naturally the ones that sang out the most were the Sinbound.

Men, and women, like him!

Pedro experienced the death of Pactbound, and their sudden screams of horror as their Pact came for them. There was no honor, no glory, no resignation. Always, always, it was fear, despair, and horror as their Pact woke up and came for their souls!

Every time, regardless of the Pact!

He was going to die, and damnation was going to take his soul forever!

“AHHHHHH!” he screamed, tearing his hand free of the Sword, and scuttling back into the corner, as far away as he could, feeling his hand smoking at the dire rejection of the Sword made to kill people like him, and seething with the power to do so!

He stared at the Warlock Master Fred, the only hand that had ever wielded that Sword, and every Darkbound that had fallen to Fred’s hand was stamped into his mind.

They were just like him; cold, apathetic, ignoring the consequences of their Pacts, doing their jobs or their wills... until they died, and their Pacts truly woke up.

He shivered in fear and horror, the Runes upon his soul pulsing madly at the thrill of his recognition of his fate, savoring his emotions as a prelude of what was to come.

It was no longer a source of power, it was a source of doom! Doom he had given himself to!

I CAN GIVE YOU A WAY OUT.

He stared at the words again, trying to keep his mind and emotions intact. So much death, and if he did not do this right, he was going to die... die, and his Pact would take him!

He knew he would do almost anything for that not to happen.

“Why would you do that?” he found himself whispering, not daring to hope.

I WOULD SAVE YOUR FAMILY.