Chapter 168 (1/2)

Randidly burned with shame. He didn’t understand the value of a life…? Wasn’t this all because Shal had made him swear to stick with him through this process…? Wasn’t all of this the repayment of his debt…?

So when Shal came, violence in his eyes, Randidly responded in kind wordlessly rushing forward and activating Empower and Haste. His shoulder was already mostly healed, the pain nothing particular to speak of. If Shal wanted to fight-

But the Shal Randidly was facing now was very different from the Shal that usually sparred with them. Although Shal was usually impossible to pin down, the current Shal seemed to phase out of existence before Randidly’s very eyes. This..

This was Spear Phantom’s Footwork. At a level that neared 200.

Randidly felt his arm snap in half, and the sharp flash of pain that followed, and grunted. But he did not stop, because that was not how he had been taught. He lashed out with his leg, hoping to catch Shal in the back of the knee, but Shal was already gone. His other arm now fell limp, this time with the shoulder joint absolutely smashed to pieces. Shal began to speak, his disdain clear.

“Perhaps I have driven you too hard. I forget how soft you started. Two years of violence…” Shal seemed to pause there, as he once more disappeared and smashed Randidly’s knees and ankles. “Two years of violence have taught you that killing is necessary, but not why. You are blind. You fear the killing, as you should, yet you resent your fear, and you kill more to show yourself that you do not fear. You wound yourself pointlessly, pridefully… Well let me show you. What you truly need to fear.”

Shal continued to systematically destroy Randidly’s body, and Randidly grunted, tears forming in his eyes. This was all because of you, Randidly wanted to say, but his jaw was broken and his tongue was ripped. That old, slowly waking part of him shook his head sadly.

‘No, it’s not.’ Randidly said to himself. ‘You chose this. Accept it, or go mad.’

Randidly collapsed, unconscious.

****

Helen stood calmly over the body of the man she had watched tortured and eviscerated before her very eyes. Again, she thought it remarkable both how peaceful he seemed while asleep, and the crazed violence that had been in his and his master’s eyes earlier that day. There was some deeper lesson going on between them, but honestly, Helen didn’t really give a fuck.

After all, it wasn’t like she was some fucking angel. Some lessons were hard to learn. Some lessons had to be taught the hard way. It was a violent world she had grown up in, but it was all she knew. Strength was power.

And power was everything.

The Ghosthound stirred, his eyelids flickering. His black hair had grown long in his time in the prison, hanging to his shoulders, and he now had a bristly beard like a jobless merchant. Helen’s lip curled up in distaste. That would need to go if she was do to what she thought was necessary. Both for herself, and for him.

So when he awoke, Helen held up a razor and a bowl of cream, and cocked her head at him in askance. For several seconds, she was held there by his emerald eyes, where a whirlwind of emotion seemed to seeth. Then it slowly settled. Then his eyes roamed over her, lingering quite long on her neck and chest. She held still, now actively trying to suppress the shiver.

It was strange, how much similar gazes from men had disgusted her in the past. And now she felt a hot sliver of enjoyment from the attention. Her mother had always said she would understand the use of her looks someday, and well…

Perhaps today was that day.

FInally, the Ghosthound nodded, and Helen moved closed, trying her best to not wrinkle her nose at the absofuckinglutely disgusting smell. Holy christ, had he bathed at all in his time in prison?

Helen supposed that was a dumb question. She honestly didn’t even know the last time she had bathed. They had been waiting for these fuckers to break out of the prison, after all. But there was a clear disparity between them in terms of smell, and it was a problem.

One disgusting step at a time.

A downside of increased Endurance was how resilient the hair became. The Ghosthound was no exception. She carved more than she cut, slowly cleaning his neck and face. After 10 minutes, she had mostly completely the process and she leaned back, satisfied with her work. But again, she was caught by his gaze.

With his dark hair, pale skin, and almost glowing eyes, the Ghosthound regarded her. The look in his eyes turning decidedly hungry. Her heartbeat sped up, but she let nothing show on her face. She slowly cleaned the blades she had used, taking her sweet time. Stroke by stroke, she wiped the last razor clean.

The whole tent seemed to be pulsing now, filled with a strange need. Helen couldn’t believe how much it was carrying her away. She tried to think of how covered in blood and sweat the man was, but all she really ended up doing is looking up and once more finding herself pinned down by that gaze. It was a light green now, like mint and chemical fire.

Helen took a calming breath, and then said, “Take off your clothes.”

She delighted in the way his eyes once more filled with wild emotion, need, panic, fear, hunger, confusion… but then it all passed, and there was a slow and sure confidence that filled his gaze. He smiled, almost lazily. “What?”

Waving her hand, Helen produced the washtub she carried around with her everywhere. It was just big enough for a grown man to submerge himself in, and then she began pouring hot water into it, to fill it up.