Pressure

"B-Bramwell…" Marshy spoke slowly.

Her heart thumped loudly, but she tried her hardest to keep her composure.

Bramwell nodded, "May I come in? I see you are closed, I don't wanna intrude."

"I'm pretty sure it's important and all that other shit. I don't mind." Marshy moved out of the way as Bramwell walked inside to take a seat.

Marshy thought, 'Don't do anything, don't move, don't even breathe, Gunn!'

Marshy sat down with Bramwell, feeling his eerie presence within the room, it was like a wave of hostility hitting her, but Bramwell kept a straight face.

Marshy asked, "So uh, what's up?"

"I know you create herbs for the Empire, healing herbs for us; You alongside some other herbalists, but my men and women mainly come to you. Even though you refused to join the Empire, you do well by us by giving us healing herbs whenever we are wounded."

"What's this about?"

"My daughter. Eliza. You're familiar with her."

"Yes I am."

"She will be going to a local private school, and I don't want her going there in the state that she's in. She's cripple yes, I want her to connect with people and make friends. Her being in a handicapped state will ruin her chances."

"If you're worried about that, why send her there anyway?"

"With Gunn running around on the loose killing my members, it's not safe…even at the Empire base. I can't trust many. The private schools location will be under heavy surveillance and security, with my maid Catherine by her side."

"Damn, okay. So what do you want me to do?"

'Don't ask questions that are too deep. He'll be onto me if I do.' Marshy thought to herself.

Bramwell just looked at her, standing up, and walking around, beginning to look at the herbs that were in her shop.

Bramwell continued, "I want you to create a herb that could fully heal my daughter Eliza. Everyday, I damn near cry at the fact that she can't walk like the other kids. Was it a curse? For what I did to Gunn's family? Karma? I don't believe so. Those fucking witches deserved it. It makes me sick to my stomach."

Gunn, hearing everything from the other side of the wall, clenched his fists to the point where his hands bled.

He covered his own mouth so he didn't be loud, but he wanted to go full throttle against him.

'I'll kill him…I'll kill him...!'

Bramwell continued to say, "They already took my oldest daughter and wife from me, they deserved it. Every time I think about it, I get pissed."

Marshy began to sweat, feeling the wave of bloodlust and anger from Bramwell, seeing his eyes glow a little red.

Marshy gritted her teeth, her thoughts panicked, 'Shit! I can feel his aura…and Gunn's! How do I calm this down? If he gets pissed in here…if he finds Gunn..I'd have no choice but to protect Gunn.'

Bramwell grabbed a herb from a shelf, and crutches it with his right hand, his veins popping, "The thought of even having Gunn near my daughter…I'll destroy everything! All for her!"

Gunn, on the other side of the wall, was covered in a dark green and black aura, his fists popping out with veins, thinking, 'If only I was stronger to kill you right now! Dammit!'

His rage was boiling, each passing second inched Gunn's fists closer to the wall, wanting to break them down. But then he remembered something. How he and his mother would paint outside, how they would draw pictures of their dreams. His mother would call it the warmest embrace, every time Gunn would be stressed, his mother taught him how to draw so he could focus.

Gunn stood at the wall, and he turned around slowly where his bed and desk was, seeing the journal and ink pen beside it. He peered at it with lust, making his way towards it slowly, his eyes watery, he sat down, and began to draw. He could hear Bramwell talking, and the more he talked, the more he drew, but this pictures that he drew at increasingly high speeds weren't just normal drawings, he drew himself in his plague doctor outfit, killing Bramwell in many grotesque and brutal ways, each page was filled with it. He drew faster and faster the more he heard Bramwell talk, Gunn's tears hit each page, his knee bouncing up and down.

Bramwell outside said, "Fuck all of them. They're dead now, so I shouldn't be focused on the past."

Marshy slowly sat down, asking, "Why didn't you come to me earlier about your daughter?"

In the blink of an eye, Bramwell dashed towards her, and grabbed her by the throat, holding her up in the air, his eyes glowing red, he screamed, "Why didn't you offer to help?!" His voice was so loud, the entire building and block shook, causing civilians outside to think it's an earthquake.

Marshy kept a straight face, not moving an inch.

Bramwell let Marshy go, and turned his back, saying, "Apologies. I shouldn't blame you, haha. Maybe I didn't ask for your help before because I needed motivation to kill enemies, threats who oppose the Empire, each district of the world, and most importantly, my daughter. It was selfish of me. I used my daughter's crippled state to fuel my justification for retribution. With her in a private school, the means I need to create traps and plans to capture and kill Gunn. And when I do catch him, I shall be the one to publicity kill him. Please have a nice day, and forgive me for disturbing the peace here. Oh, and no need to get angry about me choking you, you couldn't stop me anyway. Make my daughter a herb that can fully heal her. I'm giving you one week to do so."

Marshy replied, "Have a nice one."

'I hope I get to see the day you die, Bramwell.'

Bramwell walked out, leaving Marshy alone.

Marshy let out a sigh of relief. Why? She's glad Bramwell didn't find Gunn in there, and that he didn't destroy the entire shop. Marshy loves money as well, her shop being destroyed by an Empire means she'd have to pay for it by herself. 

Her legs shook, she tried to stand, she made it forcefully.

'I didn't have to fight. I kept my composure against that man. I didn't want a repeat of before. Besides that, I wonder if Torch is at Ivann's house yet.'

…

Perched atop the glistening slates of a rooftop was Torch, but to none other, he shifted his weight subtly, his form seamlessly expanding to grant him a superior vantage point. His gaze was fixed, not on the bustle of the street below, but on the warm glow emanating from the windows of a grand house nearby.

"Ah, there they are, as radiant as ever," Torch murmured to himself, a tone of arrogance lining his otherwise affectionate mumble. He watched his small human children running about in the garden, their laughter piercing the evening air. His heart swelled yet ached; a curious blend only those forced away from their kin could understand.

"Mary looks well," he remarked with a sigh, noting the way his wife deftly managed to corral the children from his lofty perch. Even from such a distance, her grace was unmistakable. It had been several months since he'd been transformed by an ill-tempered witch into what he was nowâ€"a creature of the day and night, cloaked in fur rather than fabrics of high society.

"If only they could see their father now, eh?" he chuckled softly, though the humor didn't quite reach his eyes. "A sleek, majestic feline—far from the businessman they knew." With a leisurely stretch that rippled through his muscular, elongated body, Torch adjusted his position, shrinking just enough to nudge behind a chimney for a better, hidden perspective.

The cat's ears twitched as he overheard snippets of conversation from below, his family discussing mundane things that he once took for granted. "How trivial those things seem now and how dearly I miss being part of that triviality," he thought, his tail flicking in irritation mixed with fondness.

The sky bright, and lights within the house twinkled to life one by one. Torch's eyes, ever adaptive, caught every detail. "I must be vigilant," he reminded himself. "To return to them, I mustn't dwell but act." Yet, in his heart, fear lurked the fear of never finding the witch who cursed him, of being trapped in this feline form forever.

Every so often, he'd expand to his fuller, grander size, indulging in the all-too-human trait of vanity. "Still got it," he'd smirk to himself, noting how the moonlight caught his sleek fur. But as quickly as vanity arrived, it was replaced by a pang of loneliness.

"Those little tykes, growing without their father's guidance. And Mary, managing without her husband." His voice broke a little, the typically arrogant tone faltering. It was these moments that brought the vastness of his situation crashing around him.

Yet, Torch was resolute. "I'll find that wretched witch. I'll reverse this damnable spell," he swore into the night, his voice a determined whisper against the whistle of the wind. It was this promise that fueled him, giving purpose to his otherwise aimless nights.

In the meantime, he fulfilled his role as silent guardian. From rooftops, he'd watch. From alleyways, he'd ensure no harm came near. And in the quiet hours of the night, he'd slink close, lying outside their door, a sentinel shrouded in darkness.

"There's a certain poetry to this," Torch considered, the philosophical musing coloring his self-dialogue, "to be so near yet so unseen, to guard what one can no longer touch." It was a solitude he adopted as both armor and penance.

Torch's wife Mary looked his way, just seeing a normal cat. Torch thought, 'I've thought about returning to your Mary, and the kids. I can't come to you like this. Mary, u wouldn't be able to do the nasty stuff with me—focus, Torch. They wouldn't accept me in this form, they're all allergic to cats anyway. Fuck. I will soon be reunited with you. Please don't find another husband.'

Torch dashed away, saying to himself, "Head to Ivann's house, look for letters from the other Commissioners, tell Gunn and Marshy, then hunt them down."

…

In the darkened corners of Thornville, where the cobbled streets meshed into the muddy lanes of the slums, Lars stood motionless before the rickety wooden door of her humble abode. Her heart pounded loudly against her ribcage as she inhaled deeply, trying to steady her nerves. She was a stark silhouette against the dim light, her clothes mottled with dark, drying stains—-blood.

She kept thinking about what happened at the exams, all the death, brutality, and gore. She clenched her chest, trying to forget  about it.

'If I would've known it would go like that…'

Gritting her teeth, Lars pushed the door open and stepped inside, the familiar squeak of the hinges sounding louder than usual in her ears. As she released the breath she'd been holding, her muscles relaxed ever so slightly, though her mind remained taut with tension.

"Lars! You're back!" The voice of her little brother, Timmy, cut through the stillness, filled with uncontainable joy and curiosity. Timmy was of a slight build, his youthful face framed by untidy chestnut locks that fell into his bright, inquisitive eyes. His clothes were hand-me-downs twice over, patched at the elbows and knees, speaking to the reality of their life in the slums. Despite everything, his smile was a beacon in their dim, greying world.

"How did the Empire exams go?" Timmy asked eagerly, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he looked up at his sister, totally oblivious to the gravity of her appearance.

Lars forced a tight smile, subtly trying to hide her bloodied hands by tucking them into the folds of her coat. "Challenging," she managed to say, her voice slightly strained under the weight of her experiences. "Very challenging."

Timmy's nose wrinkled as he inched closer, peering curiously at the stains marring Lars's clothing. "Why are you covered in blood?"

Quick on her feet, Lars chuckled awkwardly, brushing off his concern. "Oh, this? It's just tomato sauce. I bumped into a vendor's cart on my way back. Clumsy, right?"

However, Timmy leaned in, sniffing slightly at the air around Lars, his expression turning from curiosity to confusion. "It doesn't smell like it—."

Lars cut him off, striding past him with a little more urgency in her step. "Where's mother?" she asked, skillfully deflecting his probing question. 

"In bed, she's been sleeping a lot," Timmy replied, trailing behind Lars as she made her way up the creaky staircase. His brow furrowed in worry, not just for their mother, but now also for his sister.

Reaching the small room they shared with their mother, Lars paused at the door, swallowing hard as she observed the frail form of her mother, ashen-faced and still, resting on a threadbare mattress. The sight unleashed a flood of emotions in Lars, each one crashing over her like relentless waves.

Gently, almost reverently, Lars approached the bedside and carefully sat down, her movements causing no disturbance in the fragile peace of the room. She reached out, her blood-stained fingers trembling as they brushed a few stray hairs from her mother's peaceful face.

Finally allowing the façade to fall away, tears began to stream down Lars's cheeks. Her shoulders shook silently as she enveloped her mother in a gentle embrace, her body wracked with silent sobs. Here, in the quiet communion of mother and daughter, Lars allowed herself to feel the full weight of her fears, her hopes, and her resolve.

Outside, the muted sounds of the slums continued unabated, a stark backdrop to the poignant scene unfolding within the dimly lit room. And under the weight of her burdens, Lars cried for the path she had chosen, for the sacrifices she had made, and for the future she so desperately hoped to secure.

'That man…Bramwell..he's a true monster…I need to find Gunn, quickly..after seeing what Bramwell has done, Gunn's case proves more to be righteous..I don't know how long I can go on for. Please God. Let me make it through. I can still change the Empire into what it's supposed to…but it's impossible. With a madman like Bramwell around, and me with no power, what can I possibly do?'