Chapter 36

Suffisticuts stood behind his master like an ice-sculpture, watching him work.

They were in a dim, underground room, lit by a pale, red light, hovering near the ceiling. Around them, wooden tables, shelves and cabinets were stacked, taken from the original owners or lugged from aboveground.

However, this wasn't Cedric's study. Instead, the room's function was more… gruesome.

From floor to ceiling, narrow glass cases were stacked, transmuted from sand and molded into rectangular shapes. First to last, they were stuffed with organs. Brains, hearts, livers, spleens, intestines, muscles, nerves and bone hovered in a strange, yellow-orange preservation liquid—cross or bisected, pressed tightly against the glass.

Needless to say, these were also 'taken' from the underground labyrinth's original owners, as well as the traitorous members of Silver's original gang.

Feeling lightheaded, Suffisticuts swallowed thickly. If he hadn't somewhat gotten used to this, he'd have emptied his stomach all over the floor.

Currently, his master – and indeed, he only knew him as 'master' – clutched a strange, spongey brush soaked in black ink. He was drawing lines and indecipherable symbols on the glass, and over the organs.

Now and then, the fair-faced, young warlock would frown, taking an alcohol-soaked rag and erasing a few scribbles, then rescribing the glass. Eventually, he sighed, setting the brush down and rolling his neck.

"…don't hover behind my head like a fly. Frankly, I don't know why you're even here—worst case of shaky-hands I've ever seen. Besides, didn't I give you a list of regents earlier today? Why haven't you fetched them yet?"

Suffisticuts paled, taking a step back and lowering his head. After his captain left, he'd taken it upon himself to assist their master.

"I w-wanted to bring it up, but you were b-busy, sir. The thing is, I… c-can't read."

Cedric sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Of course you can't. Don't know why I expected differently. Sometimes I wonder why I ever bothered with the rest of you—aside from Silver, you all were basically useless."

Suffisticuts lower lips started trembling. Clenching his fists at his sides, a drop of sweat slid down his temple.

"Please have m-mercy…!"

"Oh, shut up. Take that list and get it to someone who can read. Since I'm in the middle of something, I can't go with you…"

Cedric paused, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"…and you better get me exactly what I need."

Suffisticuts' head whipped up and down so hard it seemed he might break his neck. He didn't even need to hear any threats—what he'd experienced the past few weeks was more than enough. Saying he'd rather die than disappoint his master was no exaggeration.

"Yes, you can c-count on me, master. I'll be back soon…"

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When Suffisticuts surfaced in the warehouse, making his way out and into a side alley, the first thing he did was keel over, retching onto the ground. In the end, he couldn't suppress his disgust. Not only that, but the fear coiled in his belly like a serpent, twisting and turning nauseatingly.

"Ugh, I can't deal with this-…"

After spitting and wiping his mouth, he straightened slowly, his face pale and wan. He couldn't understand what he did to deserve this. Serving his monstrous master was a living hell. At least that enormous, many-armed thing left with his captain. If Suffisticuts had to keep an eye on it for longer, he might've truly gone insane.

His legs wobbling unsteadily, he set one foot in front of the other, trundling down the dank alleyway. Toward the end, he had to shield his eyes, the sunlight stinging painfully. Days spent underground practically turned him into a mole.

However, the moment he stepped out into the busy downtown road, the tip of his boot caught something. There was a loud metallic noise as a bowl went flying through the air, scattering rusted bronze coins over the pavement.

"Ah-, The money…!"

Childish voices sounded, a pair of boy beggars leaping to their feet. Evidently, they'd clung to the edges of the road, waiting for any generous passers-by.

One immediately scurried forward, wanting to retrieve their coins. However, the other shot Suffisticuts a dirty look, retreating slowly while keeping an eye on him.

Seeing such an expression on the face of someone half his age, the young pirate's repressed emotions boiled over. Since when did he have to take disrespect from a little dung-crawler?

Suddenly, he lurched forward, one hand reaching for the kid's arm. Both fast an unexpected, the child's wrist was already grabbed and twisted before he could take more than a single step backward.

"Fuck, you're a skinny one. I like 'em that way though. What say you earn some extra money, huh? Better than begging, and it'll feel good too-..."

The look on his face was half deranged, staring at the urchin in front of him. The kid had started kicking, scratching and hissing like a cat, but weak and malnourished as he was, it was useless.

"No, what are you doing-…!"

Having caught wind of what was happening, the other boy stopped his scavenging, rushing over with the mostly-empty bowl in his hands.

Suffisticuts sneered, turning the oldest sibling's wrist. A cry of pain left the child's mouth, his knees buckling.

"Shut your shit-eating mouth. I'll put it to good use later, don't worry~..."

Suddenly, his other hand reached into his raggedy overshirt, plucking a knife from somewhere. The rusted steel flashed coldly, but not so other pedestrians could see. People were unlikely to stand up for a pair of orphans, especially in this part of the city, but it was better not to ignite anyone's protective instincts.

"Those tight little asses of yours better come with me. After we had our fun, I pay you, got it? I'll loosen you two up nicely, hehe!"

Without waiting for an answer, he wrenched the oldest kid's arm again, all but lifting him off the ground. The kid was about to scream, but a sharp tip dragged across his back, drawing blood—a deadly warning.

With tears in his eyes, the boy clenched his teeth clenched his teeth. Mustering his willpower, he spat out a few words, wanting to save his brother from a terrible fate.

"Sam, you run-…"

However, the knife suddenly flashed again, leaving a long, shallow cut across the side of his neck. An inch closer, and he'd be bleeding out on the dirt.

"None of that, now. Don't cause trouble, just come with me. I hear so much as a peep from either of you, or you try to get the guard involved and, well…"

Suffisticuts smiled at the younger sibling, his teeth crooked.

"…you won't be seeing your big brother again, Sammy. Be obedient and you'll both get out of this alive. Sore maybe, but with heavier pockets. Not a bad deal, right?"

Seeing they'd attracted a few looks from the bystanders, he grunted, hauling the older boy further down the street.

"Nothing to see here. I know both of 'em. Just a little disagreement between us three."

His eyes flitting left to right, he half dragged, half pushed the kid onward while the small one trailed helplessly behind. When the whole gang was around, people wouldn't have dared look up if they fucked a kid in broad daylight. It happened too—standing in a circle and taking turns.

An image appeared in Suffisticuts' head, a face he'd grown to loathe and fear in equal amounts. It was his witch-boy master, handsome and with delicate features, framed by a halo of red-golden hair. Not for the first time, he wondered how it would feel, stuffing his cock between those pale, soft-looking lips…

Grunting to himself, his grip tightened on his victim's wrist, eliciting another squeal of pain. He doubted that fuckable freak peeked at his thoughts every minute of every day, but it was better not to dwell top long on such thoughts.

"Here we go. This is the place."

A few minutes later, Suffisticuts arrived in front of a nondescript looking building, lopsided and run-down, packed between two larger ones. It was, well… a brothel, though one not open to the public.

Pushing the door open, he pressed his knife against the older boy's back. By now, the child's wrist was turning purple, either sprained or dislocated.

"In you go. You too, Sammy. Don't worry, it'll be over quick. I can't hang around all day-…"

Still in the middle of a sentence, he stepped inside, his prisoner stumbling over the threshold alongside him. The oldest brother's feet barely touched the ground, trying and failing to alleviate pressure on his abused wrist. There were tear-tracks on his dirtied cheeks, but he refused to voice his sobs.

However, before Suffisticuts could hail the madam for a bath and a room, a big, hairy fist suddenly shot toward him from the side, slamming squarely into his jaw. His head jerked to the side, blood spraying from his mouth as his snaggle-teeth scraped across each other, slicing open a lip and biting into his tongue.

He smacked hard against the floorboards, his body sliding a solid two yards, knocking up dust and peeling splinters from the old, dry wood.

With his head pounding and his mouth dripping blood, he couldn't even begin to catch his bearings before a thick-soled boot crushed his fingers like twigs, still gripping tightly onto his old knife.

He screamed, spittle and blood flying from his ruined face. Through blurry eyes, he vaguely saw a humongous figure lumbering over him, a dark-haired, dark-skinned and stubbled man wearing an open-buttoned shirt. Suffisticuts couldn't make out his features, but a massive barrel-chest and a mass of tangled chest-hair stood out to him, clear as day.

A deep, hoarse and reverberating voice sent the two urchins running, disappearing into the streets within the span of a single second.

"Fuck. Off."

The opening was then shut and bolted, but not by the man. Instead, the madam had creeped up behind at some point, a middle-aged woman caked in makeup.

She looked like she wanted to speak, but the big man's boot rose and feel again, this time landing squarely on Suffisticut's sternum. There was a loud 'crack' as it broke.

"Mr. Scroop, no! He can't die-…!"

The madam screamed something, but the young pirate could barely hear her. Pain flashed intensely in his chest, shooting outward like ice cracking into a spiderweb. There was a ringing in his ears, his eyes rolling up in his head. He realized he couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

The same enormous hand reached down, plucking him up by the hem like he weighed nothing. Wind rushed through his hair, whipping his shirt as his back slammed into a wall, dashing him like an egg against a stone.

Everything went red, then black.

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Like a machine switched on and off, Suffisticuts awoke to a sharp, electrical pain, stabbing through his face and body. A bucket of icy, fishy-smelling, stagnant sea-water had been emptied over his head, burning his wounds like fire.

He spluttered and coughed, trying to expel the rancid liquid from his nose and mouth. Involuntarily jerking, he came up hard against the rope around his wrists and ankles. A scream tore from his throat as his pain tripled, his crushed chest pulling agonizingly.

The same animalistic sound soon faded to nauseous sobs, snot and bloody spittle dripping from his nose and mouth. Every labored breath caused his pain to spike, his body shivering and hands trembling fitfully—one crushed and broken, with three fingers pointing in odd directions.

It was a long, unbearable while before he was able to regain something resembling composure. Blinking slowly, vision returned to one eye, the other having swollen entirely shut—the result of some assault he couldn't recall.

Above him, a lantern burned, hanging from a hook attached to the ceiling. He was tied to a tilted bench, cast in a circle of light. And in front of him… a hulking figure crouched.

Even seated on a three-legged chair with his arms on his knees, hands hanging loosely, the man from earlier was head and shoulders above Suffisticuts.

A deep-chested grunt sounded from him, standing slowly, apparently having waited for his victim's senses to return. His size seemed never-ending, standing at no less than six-and-a-half feet, his curly, messy black hair almost touching the ceiling. The floorboards creaked dangerously under him, almost as if they'd snap at any time.

A heavy, thick-boned face and brooding, black eyes sat under a pair of furious eyebrows. He was unmistakably human, but with an ethnicity that was hard to discern. Dark pigmented as he was, he didn't exactly resemble the desert people near Surda.

Without speaking or asking a question, without so much as a single word, he turned, picked up a soaked cloth from a nearby table. Taking a step, he roughly grabbed Suffisticuts' hair, pulling the foul-smelling thing over his head and tying it.

The pirate started screaming, his voice muffled by the cloth. Inside the darkness, his eyes were wide and frantic. The prospect of torture and inability to so much as defend or speak up for himself quickly shattered his fragile psyche.

However, more than anything else, it was the fanged, evil-looking skull - tattooed on the man's shoulder in the color of blood like a fresh wound - that struck fear into his soul.

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