“Forgive us, m ’lady. We have thrown away the key. We wanted to make sure there was no way for him to get out and he was supposed to remain with those until we were sure he was dead. For the safety of my people.”

Another long, uncomfortable pause.

“I see. How very cautious of you.” And then she turned back to Luric and her smile took on a hint of mischievousness. “Mr. Visloc? If you please.”

A surprised grunt came from behind him. “What? Now? Here?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

The way the hand on his nape tightened momentarily made Luric think that the lady’s words were merely a courtesy rather than an option for the man. The man - Mr. Visloc? - grumbled, and he could’ve sworn he heard the word “bitch” somewhere in there, before he stepped around and turned to face him. He was standing so close that the width of his chest filled up Luric’s entire view. He was hunching over slightly with his back to their audience, almost as if he wanted to shield Luric from their scrutiny with the size of his body alone. Luric stood completely immersed in the man’s shadow. He gathered his courage and raised his eyes to get his first good look at him.

The man looked even scarier in the light than it did when darkness had muddled his features. He was the tallest man he had ever seen, and Luric had lived all his life around tall and big-boned people. But it wasn’t his size that Luric found most unsettling. Everything about him seemed somehow elongated, including his face. It was long and drawn-out, with deep hollow cheeks and a prominent hook nose. There were deep wrinkles around his mouth, and the way his lips were drawn up in displeasure made it very clear that those weren’t laugh lines. Thin, greasy tendrils of mud-colored hair were hanging around his face and off his shoulders in a disarranged fashion. What struck Luric the most, however, were the man’s brows, or more precisely, his lack of eyebrows; what he had instead was a protruding brow ridge that seemed to be etched in a permanent scowl. He had never seen a person without eyebrows before, and it made the man’s already alien-looking visage even more frightening. Inhuman, was the word that came to mind, but he tried to will it, and what else it implied, away. Underneath the heavily furrowed brow were two large eyes, each dotted with strangely small irises; like little black pinpricks that fixed him in place with the intensity of their stare. Eyes like that would usually hint at an unstable mind, but despite everything, the man didn’t strike Luric as mad. Just really angry, and that was only marginally better.

“You better keep quiet, you hear,” the man growled and then hunched even more, raising his shoulders slightly and dipping his head further. Suddenly Luric got the impression that rather than trying to cover him, the man was trying to shrink and hide himself behind his own mantle.

And then he felt a rumble.

Where exactly it was coming from he couldn’t tell, but his body responded regardless. An unexpected agitation rose up inside of him and he started shaking violently, breath caught in his throat. He knew now what this was. Luric had yet to come to terms with it, and as much as he believed he didn’t deserve to die because of it, he at least accepted that there really was something wrong with him. Something wrong in him. It always started in the pit of his stomach and spread from there uncontrollably all over inside his chest, radiating outwards until he felt it in the tips of his fingers. Sometimes even further than that. The last time he had felt like this was right before they found him. He had been hiding behind a pile of logs when he sensed the townsfolk surrounding him, and the closer they came, the stronger the sensation got. Instincts he couldn’t quite understand or control were warning him then, and they were warning him now too.

He had to get away from this person at all cost, but before he could dart backwards two large hands clamped around the cuffs, and he froze. Large, as in larger than they had been before. And way whiter than they were supposed to be. They looked corpse pale, with bulging blue veins snaking towards and between large knuckles. The fingers were so long he could have sworn they had one too many joints now.

And that wasn’t the worst of it. He felt something shift above him, a movement his awareness deemed so unnatural it made his skin crawl. Without looking, he knew the man was still hunching over him, and had not moved a single muscle, and yet there he was, somehow rising further in height. He kept his eyes glued to the hands, too afraid to witness whatever it was that was happening over his head. With his vision pointed downwards, he caught sight of the edge of the man’s shadow moving, its girth growing in size. The man was turning. Into what, he didn’t know, and didn’t want to know. If this was how they decided to have him killed, he’d rather not have his last image in life be that of a grotesque monstrosity.

Unlike with Baliger, he didn’t even attempt to struggle against this, and closed his eyes for the second time in frightened resignation, waiting for whatever it was that was about to happen to be over.

“Oh, will you stop being so god-dammed dramatic.”

The voice still sounded the same. Still deep and hoarse and human. That was somewhat reassuring. But before he could start mulling over the meaning of the man’s words, a loud sound pierced the silence. A powerful crack, and then he felt cold pressure around his wrists. Maybe the man had broken his arms and the pain had yet to reach. But what followed wasn’t pain. Instead, he felt a gradual warmth replacing the clammy coldness, and a series of small metallic clings resonated as pieces of something were hitting the floor around his feet.

He opened his eyes.