Baltsar

Marcus was in such a state of rage that he couldn't stop his cheek muscles from twitching. For years, he had been secretly amassing his treasure to escape Baltsar's grip. Whenever he could, he would pilfer whatever was within reach. Everyone knew of his strong penchant for shiny objects. Thus, he earned the nickname "the Magpie."

Without his treasure, Marcus felt deeply empty, as if his soul had been ripped out. He had a small idea of where it might be. Without thinking, he began to run through the empty and silent corridors of the underground tunnels. In the main hall, he bumped into Sybille, a thirty-five-year-old woman who had been part of the gang for nearly six years now. She was originally a prostitute, but a client had slashed her face so deeply that she couldn't continue her profession. She had found shelter and family in this gang of thieves.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, Marcus! You're going to knock someone over."

Marcus didn't even turn around to apologize to Sybille, who had a heart of gold and was one of the very few people he liked in this gang of ruffians. He continued on his way to the area monopolized by the gang's "leaders." Baltsar was there, seated like a king in a large armchair worn out by time and its trials.

Marcus's blood boiled at the sight of Baltsar playing with his engraved silver bracelet.

My bracelet! My treasure! I knew it! Bastards!

Fortunately, he managed to stop himself from jumping on him to take back what was rightfully his.

"Ah, Marcus," said Baltsar, spreading his arms wide with exaggeration. "I've heard about your awakening and Annabelle's. What an honor for us all! Two awakened ones! Just like that! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Marcus didn't smile like Baltsar and his "officers." His face was contorted with anger, and his eyes resembled daggers. Baltsar, on the other hand, was comfortably seated, flanked by his three trusted men, all three renowned in the neighborhood as well as others as great fighters as well as thieves. There was Artus the One-Eyed, Magon the Soul, and Himilcon the Scarred. Of the three, the one Marcus feared the most was Himilcon, because every time he robbed someone, blood ended up being spilled. He was scum among scum in Marcus's eyes. Always with one or two knives on him, he earned his nickname from a huge scar that ran across his skull from his eyebrow to the back of his neck, passing above his right ear. He was a killer unlike Marcus, who had never physically harmed anyone.

"Give it back to me, Baltsar."

"Huh? Give you back what? This?" he asked, pretending innocence.

"Yes, that. And everything else you stole from me."

"Stole? Oh, no. I didn't steal anything from you. I found it with the rest in the small room with the paintings. Maybe it's been there for a hundred years?"

The three men who accompanied the leader in a game of cards laughed as if they had heard a good joke. Marcus had no doubt they were waiting for him to make a mistake so they could take even more from him.

"Don't play dumb with me. I put them there. They're mine, and I want everything back."

"Tut-tut, you know the rules. Anything of value goes into the pot to meet the group's needs. No stashing away items. Especially not as precious as this one. Absolutely splendid! I'm sure I'll get a good price for it."

"It belonged to the high priest of Eshmun. You'll never be able to sell it. And since it's an artifact, it's useless to you. You're not a magus, Baltsar."

"You won't be able to sell it either, Marcus, or use it without betraying yourself. I believe each artifact is unique even if the manufacturing methods don't change. So they'll quickly find out who it belonged to."

"And so? It's mine, and I want it back. Whether I can sell it or use it is none of your business!"

"On the contrary, kid, because this bracelet doesn't belong to you. It belongs to the group. Everyone must participate. No exceptions. And you know the consequences, don't you?"

Baltsar's expression became terribly threatening.

Bastard! You think I'll let myself be stolen from without saying anything?!

Marcus knew the rules well and knew what the consequences were for fraud. Keeping a valuable object for oneself meant stealing from the gang. The punishment incurred was a phalanx. For each stolen object!

"Hey, Baltsar, the brat has hidden a lot of items. A phalanx is far from enough. I say we cut off all his fingers, then his toes, then his ears, then his tongue, then his nose, and then his eyes. I'll take care of it if you want!"

The situation was unprecedented. Never had so many items been hidden from the gang. The maximum had been three objects, or three phalanxes, meaning one entire finger. His treasure easily counted fifty glittering objects. They could be pearls, rings, necklaces, stones, or silver or gold coins.

Annabelle then emerged from behind a wall, tears in her eyes.

"No! You mustn't cut off big brother Marcus's fingers! Nor his toes, nor his ears, nor his nose, nor his eyes!

"Oh, Annabelle. It's because Marcus made a big mistake. So he must be punished. That way, the others won't want to make the same mistake."

"That's not true! Big brother Marcus never makes mistakes! He's nice! Don't hurt him!"

Himilcon stood up and pulled out a very long knife before walking towards Marcus, who took two steps back. He was really scared, but tried to hide it as much as possible. He knew he had no chance against Himilcon.

Then something surprising happened. A small orange flame appeared between the hands of the frightened little girl. Marcus's gaze was immediately drawn to the flame produced by the young girl, a spike of fear in his heart. He didn't like fire. He was even terrified of it when it was close to him and bigger than a fireplace fire. Fortunately, that wasn't the case here. The one produced by Annabelle was as big as one of her child-sized hands.

"Ah! Fire! I have fire in my hands," exclaimed the young girl in panic.

"It's magic! She knows how to use magic," said one of Baltsar's men, most of his teeth missing, in the same tone.

"Shit!"