CAPITULO V: Shares some smoke

Part III

The air seemed to exhale, but the lights did not return, only a stagnant dimness remained, along with the arcane stench of an ancient magic spell.

As if everything had been a ceremony, and it had just ended.

—Well, that was intense…

—In the tutorial I watched this didn’t happen…

—I even bought the same book and everything, in the video it was just the chains, they wrapped him up and that was it. —said the Human Doctor, in a slight state of shock.

—You’ve got to be kidding me… A tutorial?!

—I’m never trusting you again, you’re crazy… I thought you had already done something like this. —exclaimed the Lizard Doctor, lighting her way with the glow of a pure elixir.

—Hey, I’m a doctor, not a mage, though it’s never too late to learn. —the Human Doctor replied with a crooked smile, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

The air still carried that metallic scent left behind by dark spells when they dissipated; the walls, once covered in the shadows of spirits, now felt harmless, empty.

—Look on the bright side, everything turned out fine, and best of all… we won’t have to stay overtime. —the Human Doctor added with a carefree tone, as if forgetfulness were the best antidote to what had just taken place.

—Tsk… —the Lizard Doctor clicked her tongue while replacing the burnt-out bulbs.

—This meal better be worth it… —said the Lizard Doctor, pocketing the elixir.

—It’s on me —said the Human Doctor, raising her arms. —... But stop complaining.

And with that feigned lightness, they both left the room.

Thus, the doctors left everything behind as if it were no longer their concern.

Clonk… Clonk… Clonk.

Shortly after, the sound of boots announced the arrival of the royal guard.

They entered in formation, and one of the guards, a man of stern appearance but with small dog-like ears and a severe face, knelt beside Bayón’s body, which still lay on the slab.

—Slave mark identified —he murmured.

From his gloved hand sprouted a floating magic circle.

The spell cast a faint bluish light over Bayón’s neck, and when it touched the slave mark, it reacted with a dull purple glow.

The spell activated.

Small fragments of text and floating lines began to revolve around the magic circle, revealing encoded information: master’s name, slave number, obedience level, record… and further down, in red letters, an extra note.

“PROFITABLE POSSESSION”

—House Bull’Dark… those bastards again and their nomad slaves. —said the dog-eared guard, standing up and deactivating the spell with a brief motion.

—Looks like this is a rented sex slave who managed to escape two days ago.

—Though for a sex slave he’s not very good-looking… —said a human guard, trying to stifle a slight laugh.

—Well, maybe it’s for exotic tastes, heh heh heh —softly chuckled another guard, an ogre.

—Seriousness, people. Well, since we’ve got his data, let’s take him to the cell and wait for them to come pick him up. —said the dog-eared half-human guard.

—Those nobles… that’s already several slaves House Bull’Dark has dumped here. —said the ogre guard.

—The good thing is, if they don’t come for him, this time we’ll be able to fine them however we like. —said the human guard.

While one guard muttered curses about the mess they had to clean and the structural damage to the south sector, another was already grabbing Bayón’s ankles with a listless gesture.

With the indifference of someone dragging a sack of garbage, they began hauling him away, dragging his body down the prison corridor.

The echo of their boots resounded through the underground jail’s halls, and Bayón’s already healed body, though free of wounds, thudded against the polished marble plates with a dull clack each time they crossed a step or descended a ramp without slowing their pace.

—Think he’s in a coma? —asked the ogre guard.

—Better if he is, that way the fine goes up for custody type —said the human guard.

When they reached module 7, they opened the farthest cell of the corridor, and without a word, they tossed him inside, as if throwing away a sack of waste.

—“Mark verified.” “Risk level: medium.” —His master decides whether he lives or dies. —announced the dog-eared guard before slamming the door shut with a metallic bang.

Hours passed.

Time in that cell wasn’t measured with clocks, but with the intermittent dripping from the ceiling.

Bayón finally blinked.

His eyes adjusted to the dimness, with the involuntary tremor of his muscles, with the cold seeping from the marble floor into his bones.

Bayón opened his eyes, slowly, and he could still make it out: he was whole.

—Eh…? —his voice was barely a rasp in his throat—. Can I move?

He lifted one arm, then the other, bent his legs. His chest hurt, but it was no longer that beastly pressure that had crushed him hours earlier.

He sat up with effort, and the first flash of confusion struck him: there was no blood, no wounds, only the sweat and dried blood from the fight.

The cell was a marble rectangle with metal repairs, a marble slab as a bed, and a rusty bucket in one corner.

On the floor, the trembling reflection of a stagnant puddle of water returned his image.

—… I’m, alive?…

He stood up slowly and walked to the dampest corner, where water dripped from the ceiling and formed the dirty puddle.

He looked at his reflection. He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him, for he remembered his face full of wounds.

—… I’m… healed?… How? —he whispered, as if speaking too loud could break the miracle.

The memory of the fight cut through him like a rusty knife: his torso shattered, the final blow to Torgann’s jaw, bones splintering from the impact…

—What the hell is this?…

He bent down, the symbol on his neck burned like a fresh wound.

A pattern of twisted lines and runes, a black circular mark, a spiral design with claw-like lines stretching outward from the center.

A tattoo seared slowly into his flesh.

He reached out to touch it.

—Ahh, shit! —the burning made him grit his teeth—. What the fuck is this? Did they tattoo me while I slept?

—No… no fucking way… Is this the slave mark?

—It’s similar to the ones the servants outside had.

—…What the hell did they do to me… Where the fuck did I end up? —said Bayón with a sigh.

He lifted his gaze; there was no trace of the luxury he had noticed outside, not even a straw bed—only a solid marble platform jutted out in one corner.

—I really appreciate the miracle, but damn, I’d rather have died than be locked up.

—That damn blond elf screwed me over… if only I’d had a little more time, I could’ve escaped for sure.

He tried to sit on the “bed.”

—So now I belong to someone, huh? —he muttered with a grimace.

—Fantastic, just like that my freedom’s dead… damn it, like a dog, and I didn’t even notice.

He tried to laugh ironically, but the sound was dry, hollow. His neck hurt, his soul hurt.

And the marble bed didn’t help.

—Shit, at least I can relax… damn, it really is cold.

—I hope the lady’s stall is doing okay, that was some crazy shit.

—Bah… better sleep before I start philosophizing more.

He lay down on the bed—or tried to.

It took him a couple of minutes to find the least uncomfortable position, the cold and hardness of the marble seeping into every corner of his back.

But due to exhaustion and mental fatigue, he fell into a deep sleep.

Part II

He had managed to sleep only a few hours, nothing more. Exhaustion had knocked him out, but even sleep didn’t taste like rest.

Then—

CLANG—CLANG—CLANG—

The metallic crash jolted him upright, and the door shook violently.

The sound wasn’t a simple call, it was a threat.

—Up, pig! —shouted the dog-eared guard.

Before Bayón could even open his eyes properly, a boot rammed into his ribs.

He felt the air rush out of him and the taste of iron rise up his throat.

—We told you to get up, damn nomad! —said the ogre guard, pulling his leg back and straightening up.

Three guard figures entered, the same ones who had thrown him into that cell hours before: one carried a shock baton, the other two wielded long clubs. Their gazes were identical—empty of compassion.

—Name, affiliation, and purpose of your escape attempt —snapped the human guard, pointing her electric baton at Bayón’s face.

He blinked, not fully understanding the question, dried blood still crusted on his eyelashes.

—Are you ignoring us, scum?! —roared the ogre guard with a threatening face.

A second blow, this time straight to the abdomen, bent him over, nausea barely contained.

What a basic interrogation strategy: disorientation, shock, pain… nothing new.

Bayón kept his gaze low, his breathing steady. He had expected something a little different, considering this was another world.

I suppose the same strategies will work. I must not react, they need to think I’m calm—maybe they’ll take me for crazy. Otherwise I’ll just become a target.

—How many escaped with you from House Bull’Dark? —asked the dog-eared guard.

Bayón lifted his face slightly, breathing deeply; his voice came out hoarse, but steady.

—Gentlemen… I have no idea what you’re talking about, I don’t remember anything —Bayón said with a look of confusion.

—The only memory I have is waking up in the middle of a river, walking a bit around the city, and then you started chasing me like I was some freak.

One of the guards clicked his tongue in fury.

—I don’t believe a word. —said the human guard, bringing the electric baton closer to Bayón’s face.

—How the hell did a slave without magic manage to evade a squad of armed guards? —growled the dog-eared guard in a strangely cute way—. Who taught you to move like that?

HAHAHAHA, no… why? Why does he growl like that… If I laugh they’ll kill me, hahaha —Bayón thought, keeping a poker face.

—I don’t know… —Bayón murmured, panting, with a faint, almost imperceptible laugh, —Instinct, I guess… if I had stayed still, I’d be dead. That simple.

—And let me say this straight, I’m not a slave. Before ending up here I didn’t have this mark, when I woke up in the cell it was already there.

—Are you playing dumb? —said the ogre guard, clearly annoyed.

—The mark on your neck belongs to Hass Tervel, sex slave of House Bull’Dark, registered addict, with a record of smuggling and three escape attempts. Are you going to deny that too? —said the human guard, showing an orographic panel projected from a bracelet.

Shit, that guy doesn’t even look like me… I don’t think they even looked at the picture. Just existing here is already a crime in this world… —Bayón thought, tilting his head.

Since Bayón wasn’t cooperating, the ogre guard smiled. The other two looked at him and nodded, as if giving permission—and the beating began. He started with the sides, the legs, the kidneys. They targeted the spots where the pain would last longest but leave no marks.

—I already told you, I’m not who you think, I don’t remember anything… I was just enjoying the city. —Bayón said calmly, never losing composure.

—Did the drugs fry your brain? —said the human guard, lighting a cigarette and staring coldly at Bayón—. I don’t like being lied to… your record gives you away.

—Where did you get the drugs from your last deal? Who supplied them? —shouted the dog-eared guard.

Seeing they couldn’t break him, the ogre guard moved on to his face.

He borrowed the electric baton and struck, bursting Bayón’s lower lip.

—Where did you learn to fight like that? You’re no ordinary slave!

—Did your master use you as a mercenary?!

The dog-eared guard shouted questions while the ogre kept pounding him, blood running down Bayón’s cheek, mixing with sweat.

—Please, stop. I’ll tell you everything, just don’t hit me anymore, please —Bayón said with a dumb look—. I won’t be any more trouble, I’ll answer everything I know, just let me take a drag from your cigarette to calm myself a bit.

The human guard hesitated for a second, but seeing Bayón’s face, decided to give in a little.

—Fine… but you’d better say what we want to hear. —said the human guard as she leaned in to offer him her cigarette.

Bayón enjoyed the smoke as if it were a fine wine, which caused a slight smile in the human guard.

—Thanks, I needed that… —Bayón replied, releasing the little smoke he had left.

—You’d better start talking now, damn it! —shouted the puppy-eared guard, about to strike Bayón.

—Calm down… the man is enjoying the smoke —said the human guard with a cold gaze —Let him smoke a little more and answer calmly —the human guard said in a commanding tone.

—I appreciate it, thanks for the smoke, but it’s not my favorite —said Bayón calmly, knowing what was coming.

«Well, no matter what I tell these bastards the result will be the same» Bayón thought, laughing as he exhaled the last of the smoke in his lungs «To hell with them.»

—Here’s the truth, I stand by what I say: I don’t remember anything, I don’t even know if I’m that damn Hass Tervel… —he replied, barely lifting his gaze.

Bayón kept his gaze firm, it wasn’t feigned bravery, he was fed up, exhausted.

—Wrong answer… —said the human guard, taking the electric baton to deliver a strong blow to Bayón’s face —And to think I was being kind to you.

The human guard tilted her head and pulled out another cigarette —Well, if that’s the case, now I don’t give a damn who you are.

—Who’s going to pay the two hundred and twenty thousand credits in repairs for the structural damages? —said the human guard, blowing smoke as she wiped the little blood that had splattered on her glasses.

—The repair of the statue of my beloved Princess Syleh will cost at least ninety thousand credits in magical channeling to rebuild it! —said the ogre guard, squeezing Bayón’s skull tightly.

—Speak, you damn bastard! —the ogre guard shouted, squeezing as if he were trying to crush a watermelon.

Bayón spat in the ogre guard’s face, his left eye throbbed, but even so… he looked at them without fear.

—Charge the one who destroyed it… First of all, I’m not even capable of destroying the city like that.

—And second, even if I don’t remember anything, I know I don’t give a damn. —he muttered.

The three guards froze for an instant.

—What did you say?!... —the ogre guard released Bayón’s skull and violently grabbed his neck.

—Are you deaf?… —Bayón spoke with a choked voice, barely managing to emit a sound.

—That I don’t give a damn about this damn city… —struggling to swallow saliva and air —This damn world, and your fucking Princess Syleh… —Bayón muttered, enduring the pain.

The ogre guard simply stepped back, clenched his teeth at Bayón and at that moment delivered a direct kick to his face.

Bayón fell on his back, disoriented, but without letting out a single scream.

However, he still had that look: neither submissive nor defiant, just… present.

—This bastard’s got me sick of him already… —said the ogre guard with a clearly annoyed expression.

—Well, pig, he’s tough —murmured the human guard, once again cleaning the blood that had splattered onto her glasses. —We’ve already given him a good lesson, but he keeps denying everything.

—Can we kill him?... —both guards said in unison, with a dense shadow of death.

—Mmmmm, no, stop it, if you keep going they’ll want to charge us for it —said the human guard, glancing at her watch —We already got what we needed, the rest is protocol, tonight his master will come for him.

—Rest, damn pig —said the human guard, blowing smoke onto Bayón as she leaned closer to whisper in his ear —Not bad…

A final spit from the ogre fell on his face.

When the guards left, silence returned to the cell, only Bayón’s body remained, lying like a forgotten corpse, in the middle of a pool of his own blood…

He could hear the slow thudding of his heart.

«Even though this is another world… it doesn’t want me alive either» —he thought, barely closing his eyes, without strength to move a single finger.

—But just like in the last one… I’m not going to give them the satisfaction.

And so, while his breathing weakened, his mind remained active, silent, but awake.

«How tiring all this shit is… my soul is already so worn out…, I need to recover a bit, at least I want to stay in bed, the insects are biting me.»

And in Bayón’s mind, he managed to drag himself to the bed, but in reality he had once again lost consciousness on the floor.

Hours passed as Bayón recovered until the guards arrived in the middle of the night, and threw a bucket of cold water on him to wake him.

At last the representative of the Lord of House Bull’Dark had arrived to answer for the damages caused by one of his slaves.

The guards reproached him for his fallen comrades, but it was all a façade to coerce and receive a generous sum as an apology to the royal guard.

The representative only looked at Bayón with disdain and said:

—A fitting punishment awaits you, you’ve made us spend several thousand royal credits.

—I hope your escape was worth it, because you’ll never do it again. —I’ll make sure the Lord orders your execution —said the representative with a cold tone.

The representative cast a spell that made magical chains emerge from his hands.

—I am not a sla…! —Bayón tried to say something, but was silenced immediately by the chains that sealed his mouth.

He was dragged through the cells. As he passed by them, he could see hands of people of different races, with various wounds or malnourished, in inhuman conditions, begging for water or a little food.

Most were slaves of lesser houses that didn’t have enough money to pay the large fines imposed by the government, or were simply abandoned by their masters.

But House Bull’Dark didn’t have that problem, in fact, they hadn’t come for Bayón because they cared, but because to them it was more important to keep good relations with the crown, and for it to look the other way so they could continue their shady dealings.

Bayón was dragged like a wounded animal to the ascent platform, chained hand and foot, his body still weak, but tense, resisting to yield.

Upon reaching the surface, a carriage was waiting at the private dock, floating a few centimeters above the ground on an anti-gravitational platform over the water.

The carriage was a deep purple color, on the back doors, the emblem of House Bull'Dark was proudly displayed: a black bull, whose amber lines shone under the artificial light of the hangar.

At the rear, a reinforced cargo compartment unfolded.

Inside, a tempered glass cell awaited, with tinted crystal walls, interiors turned translucent by magic.

Without saying a word, the guards threw Bayón inside.

He fell on his side, hitting the glass with a dull thud.

The chains binding him automatically adjusted to the cell with a dry buzz, the doors closed without a glance back and the double-view crystal activated.

—Well, that’s all, gentlemen —said the representative in a cutting voice, wiping his hands as if he had finished an unpleasant task—. In the name of House Bull’Dark, we offer our apologies.

—For the inconveniences, we will make a donation to the royal guard… And we will provide compensation to the families of your fallen comrades.

—I guarantee you this situation will not be repeated… we appreciate your discretion, the respective credits will be transferred to your accounts.

After saying that, he climbed to the front of the carriage; in an instant, the vehicle lifted smoothly and launched toward the city.

Bayón, still motionless inside his transparent prison, could see the outside world through the tinted glass of the cell.