The remainder of their journey unfolded in a taut, uneasy silence. The landscape had grown harsher, the air thick with an unspoken tension that felt heavier than the approaching storm clouds. No further attacks materialized, a quiet John attributed to their steadily drawing closer to the Warlord's formidable core territory. He could feel the shift in the very atmosphere, a subtle but undeniable sense of being watched, of encroaching on ground fiercely defended.
Up ahead, a stark silhouette rose against the bruised sky: a massive building of black metal, aggressively jutting from formidable, solid-looking walls. These defenses were bristling with jagged spikes and what appeared to be heavy crossbow emplacements. Electric fencing crisscrossed the perimeter, emitting an occasional, ominous crackle that punctuated the oppressive quiet. John took a long moment to survey the structure, an unsettling blend of industrial might and medieval brutality. He had to admit, this was precisely the sort of stronghold he expected a powerful individual to inhabit – or perhaps, he mused cynically, a megalomaniacal drunk with an insatiable thirst for dominion.
Surprisingly, despite the menacing façade, a wide-open front gate saw a steady stream of people coming and going. Some were being checked by guards clad in the all-too-familiar, ragged armor of Chaos Marauders, but a striking few others wore bright, almost Roman-esque red armor. These, John surmised, were the Warlord's elite, a step above the common rabble.
"Get moving you lot, or do you need another beating to get ya moving? Hahahaha." A rough, boisterous voice from the side abruptly shattered John's focus, pulling his gaze towards a truly disturbing sight. It was a group of rough-looking individuals in makeshift armor, dragging along a handful of people in chains. Their clothes were ripped, their bodies visibly beaten, yet John recognized them instantly, a cold wave washing over him.
The people in chains were the ones who had abandoned his group. Jim was limping badly, his movements agonizingly slow. Tim's arms were seemingly tied in a painfully contorted position behind him; a crude bandage wrapped around his head. Nick and Smith, covered in bruises, trailed behind in little more than shorts, angry burn marks visible across their backs. The two girls, May and Lacy, were openly sobbing as they were dragged along. They had only the barest scraps of clothing left to cover their modesty and visible marks of abuse marred their arms and legs.
At this horrific sight, both Ash and Saya went wide-eyed, a choked gasp escaping Saya's lips. But before either could instinctively rush forward, a thick chain snaked out, wrapping securely around each of their waists, holding them back. "John! What are you doing! We need to go help them!" Saya cried out, her voice laced with anguish and disbelief.
John merely shook his head, his expression hardening. "No, we don't. They made their choice. I gave them fair warning and they still left. Why should I go out of my way to help those who turned their backs on us?" His voice was unnervingly calm, almost cold, causing Saya to flinch as if struck. The words were a stark reminder of the world, a brutal logic that grated against her innate compassion.
"It's the right thing to do! And you wouldn't let something like this stand before," Ash finally spoke, her voice quieter but no less earnest. "I know you're a good person and like you said, you hate the whole slavery thing!" Her words seemed to strike a nerve. John's eyes squeezed shut, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He hated the system, the exploitation, the cruelty. And seeing his former companions reduced to this… it was a bitter pill to swallow.
Hearing the yelling, Lacy and the others in chains couldn't help but be surprised, then electrified, at the sight of John's group. They pulled desperately at their restraints, trying to move closer, crying out to them.
"Hey! Behave, you bastards, don't make us beat ya more!" the rough voice from earlier boomed again, cracking a red whip against the dusty ground near the captives, the sound sharp as a gunshot. "The better condition you lot are in, the better price we can get." He then turned his attention to John's group, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "Oh? Is that some friends of yours? Hahaha, well, maybe we should add them to our little group, make it a package deal, hahaha. Those women do seem far more appealing than you lot, that's for sure." His gaze lingered lecherously on Aria and Saya, his words just loud enough for John's entire group to hear, a clear challenge in his tone.
John's eyes snapped open, a dangerous glint in their depths. He fixed the man with an icy glare that promised far more than mere words. "Try it and I can promise you will be wishing for death at the very least." His voice was low, cutting through the man's bravado like a sharpened blade.
"Please," Saya pleaded, her voice barely a whisper. "I know they messed up, but give them another chance. I'm sure this will have opened their eyes to how good and easy they actually had it with us." Ash lightly squeezed John's hand, offering a small, encouraging nod when he glanced at her. His other companions, including the quiet Z, remained still and watchful, their senses heightened, curious about what their master would choose to do. The tension was palpable, a silent question hanging in the air.
John sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. "Fine. I'll see what I can do. If I do manage to get them back though, you two will be in charge of them and responsible for anything they do. Understood?" He asked, his voice firm and left no room for arguments. A soft, immediate 'yes' came from both Saya and Ash as he detached himself from his group and began to walk towards the slaver.
"Look," John stated, cutting directly to the point. "I'm just going to cut to the chase. I want those captives of yours. So, what will it cost? Weapons? Food? Coin?"
The slaver scoffed, a glint of greed in his eyes. "Hehehe, well aren't we a rich fuck? Here's my counter-offer: you give us all you've got, the girls with ya and we let ya live." As he spoke, he pulled out a crudely made pistol, pressing the cold barrel hard against John's temple. "Or I can blow ya brains out and take them anyway, hahaha!" He started laughing, a harsh, grating sound and his group, emboldened, began pulling out their own weapons before aiming them at him. John merely sighed, a theatrical gesture that threw the slavers off guard.
At seeing his master threatened, Sieg tensed, his hand already on the hilt of a greatsword, ready to charge in a blur of steel and fury. But he was stopped by Choi, whose hand clamped firmly on his arm. Choi just pointed towards John as if it were a silent signal. John was too calm, too composed. He wasn't reacting or showing any sign of perceiving any of them as a threat he explained, therefore Sieg shouldn't either unless ordered to. He should wait for a clear order or signal. With a visible effort Sieg watched them, his muscles corded and ready, poised to draw his weapon at the first true sign of danger.
"I am trying to do this the easy way without bloodshed," John stated, his voice still unnervingly level, despite the gun pressed to his head. "I mean, the second you kill me, do you really think that the big guy over there will just let you do as you please? I'm his master. The second you try to kill me he will go mad. And honestly? I think his chances are far better than yours."
At this, the men hesitated, glancing nervously at Sieg's imposing figure. Sieg's bloodlust was almost visibly radiating from him, a palpable wave of predatory intent. Angel and Aria too, had their eyes burning with a controlled anger, their fingers twitching as faint sparks where visible, ready to unleash devastating magic at a moment's notice. The slavers though armed, clearly understood the unspoken threat.
"Tsk, fine," There leader grumbled as he lowering his gun, the bravado evaporating from his voice. "What's your offer?"
"Fifty coins for all of them, along with some meat."
"Deal!" He practically yelled, lowering his gun completely and signaling his men to do the same with their own weapons, relief evident in his sudden eagerness.
"Saya, come get this lot while I talk with…" John glanced at the man.
"Jason," he supplied.
"…with Jason over here," John finished, walking a bit further away from both groups with Jason. He reached into his pouch, withdrawing exactly fifty coins and passing them over with another sigh.
"Well, I'm glad I didn't try to kill ya now, sorry 'bout all that," Jason said, his demeanor shifting entirely once they were out of earshot. He was suddenly rather friendly and clearly apologetic. "I'm so used to people walking all over us that I gotta put on a strong front for the boys. They respect strength ya know. My gun and the hard front I put on is about the only reason they follow me, well, that and my cooking. Got a cooking class ya see, but I make them think it only works on things I kill. Oh and that I can turn people into food with it to help keep them in line." He chuckled, a genuine, albeit dark, laugh.
"Yeah, I can understand that," John replied, watching Jason give a thumbs-up to his men as Saya, moving swiftly, freeing the captives before bringing them back to John's group. "The world's gone to shit and it's dog-eat-dog, literally in some cases. So, you do this kind of thing often?"
"Hell no," Jason clarified seemingly almost offended. "Normally me and the boys scavenge what we can – metals, food, fuel, that kind of thing. These whiners came across us, started trying to boss us around with flashy lightning and making the ground shake. So we shot one in the leg. In their surprise one of my boys hit them with some fire before we rushed them. Been using a whip and a bit of force to keep from shooting them but it sure as hell ain't been easy, they're a real whiny lot and I didn't want to waste my few bullets on them. Figured we could bring them here for trade. Warlord's people are always looking to take others in after all. He caters better to the shadier and more unsavory sort than the other places."
"If you tell me about those other places, I think I could lose count and accidentally add ten more coins than I should," John offered, a cunning glint in his eye.
Jason's eyes widened, then narrowed in thought, a grin spreading across his face. "Well, there's the City of Light, full of priests and weird people, about twelve days away from here if you walk." He stopped to pull out a battered compass. "West, that way." He pointed. "Opposite that, about six days from here, somewhere east, is where the government folk set up their city. Well, they call it that, but it's more like a slum town where only the higher-ups get treated right and might makes right as with everywhere else. Even their soldiers are more like cannon fodder. Up north, where mountains formed, is a bunch of dragons. And down south, the way you lot came, well, not sure how far or exactly where, but it's a mess of people and mutant things always fighting and slaughtering. Hard to tell who's human there with how bloodthirsty they all are. Supposedly, it's where new creatures and the sort are supposed to come from, but that lot of bloodthirsty bastards are culling everything, same as the mutant things, making beasties and meat out here rather hard to come by. I heard there's even some real messed up group bringing the dead to life, something about cleansing the world through death, hope I never meet that lot." He finished with a shiver.
"So that's why, when I offered some meat, you were so excited? Because meat and food in general are already becoming a rare commodity?" John mused, piecing things together as he handed over the extra ten coins. "But what of farms?"
"Feh, I wish we could get one going!" Jason replied, eagerly accepting the meat John pulled from his pouch, making sure it wasn't human flesh before tucking it away. "But they get raided by either the government, the Warlord or the City of Light. It's a monopoly at best. That, or certain people give you a chance to buy or trade with them, but even then the price is what they choose." He shook his head, a grim commentary on their fractured world. John pocketed the additional insights, a silent map of power and scarcity forming in his mind. The path ahead was clearer, but no less dangerous.
The air in the clearing still hummed with the sting of their taunts, a bitter echo against the late afternoon sun. The man, a swaggering brute with a smile that never quite reached his eyes, clapped John on the shoulder one last time, a gesture of feigned camaraderie that felt more like a brand. "Well, that's all I can really think of and that I know," he said, his voice dripping with condescension, "I hope to see ya round, friend. Take care of ya self."
John merely stared, his expression unreadable. The man's smile tightened, a predatory glitter in his eyes as he looked hard at John for another beat as if trying to pierce the calm facade. Then he turned, his broad back already starting to recede but he wasn't done. He stopped a few paces away, waiting for his own group to catch up, then pivoted sharply, his voice suddenly cutting through the space, amplified by a raw, guttural force.
"Hehe," he chortled, a sound more sneer than laugh, "and make sure not to mess with us if we meet again! I was in a good mood this time but next time those women of yours will be mine!" He strode a few steps closer to his own cheering pack, ensuring his threat resonated clearly across the dusty ground, each word a stone thrown into the fragile peace. His group, a motley collection of rough-looking individuals, burst into a chorus of jeers and shouts, their voices rising in a wave of crude agreement. "Yeah! Be glad the boss was in a good mood!" they echoed, their laughter sharp and mocking, slicing at the edges of John's composure.
The declaration hung in the air, weighted with the unspoken history of their rivalry, the simmering tension that always simmered just beneath the surface of their interactions. It wasn't just a threat; it was a public humiliation, a deliberate attempt to assert dominance and undermine his authority in front of his own people. John felt the prickle of anger, a familiar heat coiling in his gut but forced himself to maintain his stillness, his gaze unwavering as the boisterous group finally turned and sauntered away, their crude celebrations fading into the distance.
With a barely perceptible shake of his head, John turned and walked back to his own small assembly. Each step was a deliberate act, a conscious effort to keep his stride even, his shoulders relaxed, despite the storm raging inside him. His gaze swept over their faces – concern, fear and a burning loyalty reflected in their eyes. He knew they had heard every word, felt the sting of the insult as keenly as he had.
'Yeah right, a good mood,' John thought, the words a silent snarl in his mind. 'If I didn't know things would escalate and cause a cascade of problems for me in this unforgiving place, I would be more than happy to rip your throat out before slaughtering your entire group.' The thought was a vivid, visceral image, a flash of primal violence that surged through him, a stark contrast to his outward calm.
His right hand, the good one, clenched into a fist repeatedly, the knuckles blanching white under the strain, then relaxing, then tightening again. The muscles in his forearm pulsed, a silent testament to the immense power he was holding in check. He imagined the satisfying crunch of bone, the burst of red, the desperate pleas that would go unheard. He craved the release, the catharsis that such an act of brutal finality would bring.
'It would blow off steam and hopefully,' he continued his silent, furious monologue, 'finally deal with this fucked-up feeling that's been festering inside me for too long.' It was a feeling born of injustice, of constant struggle, of having to compromise his own nature for the sake of survival and the safety of those who depended on him. A feeling that screamed for vengeance, for a reckoning that the harsh realities of their current lives simply wouldn't allow. The restraint was a heavy burden, a suffocating cloak over his true self and sometimes, the urge to tear it off, to unleash the monster within, was almost unbearable. He had to be smarter, colder, more patient. For now, the rage would remain a caged beast, pacing restlessly behind his eyes.