Chapter 10: A Glimpse of Godlessness

[POV: Jandar]

“Boss, are you… Okay?” asked Stabs.

Jandar didn’t answer immediately. He remained kneeling, one hand gripping the floor while the other clutched the silver cross dangling from his neck. A moment ago, it had felt like it was searing through his flesh, but now, when he looked down, it lay cool and inert against his skin. The pain had never been real, at least not physically. It was something deeper, something in his mind… or perhaps his soul.

“Damn it…” Jandar muttered, pushing himself upright, his knees cracking with the effort. Stabs reached out to steady him, but Jandar batted the hand away and snarled, “Don’t touch me.”

He shoved aside a nearby crate and yanked open the small compartment behind his seat. From within, he pulled out a corked vial of clear liquid. It was holy water. He uncorked it with a flick of his thumb, pressed two fingers against the lip, and flicked droplets across the room like a priest performing an exorcism. They splashed harmlessly against Stabs and the kid. Neither screamed, combusted, nor hissed with smoke. They just blinked, bewildered.

Stabs broke the silence first. “Boss, what’s the problem?”

“Stay where you are, Stabs,” Jandar said, his voice tight and low, the kind of warning that shouldn’t be ignored. “You might be one of my most trusted, but push me, and I’ll break your skull like a dried gourd.”

“…Yes, boss.” Stabs stiffened and said nothing more.

Jandar slumped back onto his throne-like seat with a heavy breath. The chair, built of dark wood and crudely decorated with pelts and iron studs, creaked under his weight. He touched the cross again, rolling it between his fingers like a gambler feeling out dice before a throw.

The tension in the room hung thick. Stabs stood stoically, though Jandar could see the flickers of unease behind his hardened eyes. The boy looked completely lost, blinking and glancing between the two older men like a child tossed into a wolf’s den.

“What’s your name, kid?” Jandar asked, his tone cooler now.

The boy startled, pointing at his own chest. “S-sir?”

Stabs jabbed him lightly in the ribs. “It’s boss, not sir.”

“That’s right,” Jandar said, lips twitching in the barest hint of amusement. “I’m not your knight, your priest, or your teacher. I’m your boss.”

Ken nodded rapidly. “Y-yes, boss! My name is Ken!”

Jandar scratched his bald head, dislodging a few flecks of soot from his scalp. He inspected the black under his fingernails and blew it off absently. “Sorry for the theatrics earlier, Ken,” he said with surprising frankness. “Bosses are supposed to show strength, not… whatever the hell that was. But things’ve been strange lately. Makes a man… twitchy.”

It was true. For weeks now, the city had been roiling with problems. Vampire attacks in the slums. Adventurers vanishing without a trace. Cults cropping up like mold in a damp cellar. And now, witches. Always the damned witches. If Jandar didn’t have enemies in the spiritual realm yet, he was sure he’d made some recently.

He tossed the half-full vial of holy water to Stabs, who caught it with ease.

“Drink it,” Jandar said. “Just to be sure.”

Stabs did without question, though he made a face as he swallowed. He passed the vial to Ken, who took a hesitant sip.

“Uuh… where should I put this?” the kid asked, holding the empty glass.

Jandar raised a finger and flicked the air. With a sharp pop and a crackle of compressed wind, the vial shattered in Ken’s hand, tiny shards scattering across the floor. The boy yelped, a thin red line blooming on his palm.

“Good,” Jandar said. “Means you emptied it.”

Ken stared in horror. “W-what was that?!”

“A demonstration,” Jandar said. “Air Render. That’s what I call it. A little gift I got after getting kicked around by a monk in the highlands. Took my nose, left me a power. Fair trade.”

Ken still looked shaken, but Jandar didn’t give him time to recover as he continued business as usual.

“Stabs,” he said, voice slipping back to business, “what’s the situation?”

“No one’s at the cottage,” Stabs replied. “Little girl’s likely been alone. We’ll have a street rat keep watch just in case someone circles back.”

“Ah yes… the silver-haired girl,” Jandar mused, stroking his beard. “Unusual color, that. Hair like hers could mean nobility, or something more dangerous… hidden potential. Either way, she’ll fetch a decent price on the market.”

Stabs didn’t comment. He knew how the business worked.

“But let’s not get too distracted,” Jandar continued, eyes sharpening. “Tonight, we make our move on the nun… Lydia, is it? The woman’s becoming a hindrance lately…”

Ken shifted uneasily, his fingers fidgeting against the frayed hem of his tunic. “Is that w-wise?” he asked, voice trembling. “Won’t we go to… hell?”

Jandar’s jaw flexed, his teeth grinding audibly before a sharp tch escaped from between his lips. The boy’s question scraped against the last of his patience. He leaned forward slightly, preparing to put fear into him, but before he could say a word, Stabs moved first.

With practiced cruelty, Stabs kicked Ken behind the knee, sending the boy buckling down. Then he smacked the back of his head with an open palm, not hard enough to knock him out, but enough to remind him who was in charge. The boy gasped and folded in on himself, clutching his bruised pride.

Jandar sighed and shook his head slowly, the chains of his pendant jingling softly. “You’re too soft, Stabs.”

“If I didn’t stop you, boss,” Stabs replied evenly, “you would’ve crippled the kid.”

Ken, still kneeling, stammered, “S-sorry, boss… It won’t happen again…”

Jandar leaned back against his throne-like chair, the fur of his coat rippling as he shifted. He exhaled through his nose, eyes cold and unimpressed. “It’s good that you’ve got fear in you, kid. Keep it. But don’t fool yourself into thinking God’s watching. If He was…” He gave a bitter chuckle, “…you think I’d still be breathing after all the things I’ve done?”

There was no mirth in his laughter, only a calloused acceptance of the man he’d become. Murder, extortion, trafficking… Jandar had long ago stopped counting the sins he’d accumulated. Whatever conscience he’d had once was buried beneath the gold piled at his feet.

“Anyway,” he continued, waving one hand as if brushing away cobwebs, “welcome to the Twinfist Gang.”

Ken nodded shakily, slowly standing up and getting his bearings back.

Stabs cleared his throat and stepped forward, arms folded. “Boss, if you don’t mind me asking… why’re we going after the nun? Lydia’s harmless, isn’t she?”

“Harmless?” Jandar repeated, as if chewing on the word. “That changed the moment she got in my way. For the last half-month, she’s been gathering urchins to her little church. Feeding them. Sheltering them. Giving them the idea they don’t have to earn their keep anymore because sweet Sister Lydia will kiss their foreheads and pray away their hunger.”

He spat to the side, the loathing clear in his voice.

“She’s been cutting into my business. I don’t feed mouths out of charity. Every brat I take in knows that. They eat because they work. And now they think they’ve got options.”

Ken blinked. “So… are we going to… kill her?”

Jandar leaned forward, eyes alight with something crueler than anger. “Kill her?” he echoed, grinning. “No, no, that would be such a waste. Word is, she’s a beauty… soft-spoken, delicate, the whole saintly package. We’ll break her, one way or another. And when she finally cries out for her god to save her, and no one comes? Then we’ll send her to the brothels to work off every coin she’s cost me. Let her learn firsthand how silent the heavens are.”

Stabs grimaced but said nothing.

“She won’t be defenseless,” he added after a moment. “Thieves’ Guild says she’s a former adventurer. Knows some white magic too.”

Jandar shrugged. “She’ll fold. They all do. People like her always think mercy is a shield… but that only works when you’re not up against someone like me.”

Just then, there was a sharp knock at the door.

“Come in,” Jandar called, not bothering to rise.

The door creaked open and in stepped a large man with pockmarked skin and shoulders like barrels… It was Ollie. He held a little girl by the wrist, dragging her gently as if unsure how much force was too much. The girl wore a clean, well-fitted dress now, her silver hair brushed and tied with a ribbon. No longer the soot-covered waif from the outskirts.

“Ollie,” Jandar said, eyes narrowing. “That’s great. Looks like she’s ready for the auction block…”

But something wasn’t right.

Moments ago, Jandar had seen this girl crying, screaming, clawing, and resisting every hand that touched her. But now? She stood too still. Her eyes, though glassy, were alert and watching. Her fingers were folded politely in front of her, but her gaze kept flicking to something or someone beside Ollie’s shoulder.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” Jandar said slowly. “Now, she’s behaving like a proper lady…”

Ollie scratched his head, uneasy. “Uuh, I didn’t do anything, boss… She just stopped being loud and noisy all of a sudden…”

Jandar’s frown deepened. “Never mind, then…”

The girl raised a timid hand. “Uuh… Mister… can I say something?”

Her voice was too quiet, but loud enough to be heard. Her head didn’t turn to Jandar. Instead, she was whispering toward thin air, eyes trained just beside Ollie’s broad arm.

“What is it, little girl?” asked Jandar carefully.

The girl shuffled slightly. “Uuhm… Renzo says… er… Ren says that if you let me go, no one has to be hurt.”

Jandar stiffened, unsure of himself.