The hands were back to normal. Still large, still dirty and calloused, but normal. The warmth was coming from the man’s palms that were now wrapped directly around his skin. Laying in pieces on the ground were his shackles. The man then gripped the sides of the leather bag tied around Luric’s hands, and in one try, ripped the material in half.  

Luric stared at his bruised and swollen limbs in amazement.

The man – Mr. Visloc - straightened and turned around to reveal Luric’s form to the lady.

“Happy?” he grunted in annoyance.

She only smiled in return.

“Oh, mother’s love, why would they do that?” a woman wailed. Mrs. Lasre, the butcher’s wife?

The sight of him out and unbound had sent the townsfolk in a frenzy, some running to stand closer to Baar’s shrine, others making a start towards the exit, but stopping when they realized that the lady and her group of men were standing between them and the door. Luric would’ve been lying if he said that he didn’t get any satisfaction from watching them shake and whimper pathetically like that. His eyes didn’t linger on them for long, and instead were drawn back to the lady’s dazzling figure.

She was watching them too, her head slightly turned in their direction, glancing at them from the corner of her eyes. She seemed to take some delight in their discomfort as well. When her eyes glided back to look at him her smile widened; he felt like they were sharing a private joke.

It was Priest Santr’s turn now to disentangle himself from the gaggle of squirming people. He stepped forward boldly, back stiff and head held high, all the while throwing a steely glare in Luric’s direction.

“Please forgive us, my lady. We are a community of poor and simple mountain people. We are so often at the mercy of the forest and the darkness that dwells within it, and with only our faith and this house to serve as protection. The king’s well-meaning oversight seldom reaches us, and we are often left to fend for ourselves. I had heard from my brethren in Pelase about an official decree to inform the prelacy of any apparitions and cursed men, and I did send a letter a few days ago when the boy’s true nature revealed itself. We just didn’t expect to receive any help so soon and chose to take matters into our own hands so no more of our people could fall victim to him. This is …the only way we know how.”

“And just how many have fallen victim to him?”

The lady’s prompt and dispassionate reaction to his little hardship tale left the priest a little flustered, and he paused for a moment to consider her question. He licked his lips nervously and stuttered a reply.

“There was – well, that is - he hasn’t yet, uhm - oh, Carshtin! He-he killed the teacher. The man that raised him, accepted him as family, was eaten by this wretched creature.”

“LIAR!”

It felt like he had made the very walls shake with the force of his outburst, but he knew that it was just his own flesh that was trembling in uncontrolled rage. Something was rising in his chest again, but this was a familiar sensation that he recognized and understood well. And it was human. He had been living with muted anger lingering in the depths of his soul for years, occasionally lapping at the edges of his consciousness when things got bad, but he always tried to snuff it before it could consume his mind. Mr. Carshtin had always told him a clear and calm head was what separated them from the brutes that always picked on him, so he tried to live by his guardian’s rule. Also, when you’re small and weak you can’t afford to act up whenever you want. Stay quiet, stay alive. But staying alive was off the table now, so what use did he have now for impulse control?

It was just too much. The pain, the fear, the cruelty, the unapologetic unfairness wrought upon him by these people, and now hearing this out-right brazen lie accompanied by murmurs of agreement whispered behind the priest. Did they expect him to say nothing? To stand by quietly and docile, as they spouted their self-serving bullshit? Not this time. This time he’d let the flames run rampant through him, because Luric didn’t care anymore about how all of this would end for him. This entire miserable debacle had been an unending lineup of agony and despair, and every time anything that gave him hope presented itself, it was quickly followed by a blow that left him reeling in disillusionment.  Like these strange people that took off his restraints and smiled kindly at him.

They were sent by the clergy, or some other high and important people, but apparently, they were executioners too. They just had nicer clothes. This meant that it didn’t matter what he said, how he said it, or if it was true or not. His fate was already decided. Luric couldn’t keep the bile raging inside from spilling out anymore, so he might as well have this one final moment of catharsis.

Every eye was on him now, and he met their frozen stares with fearless accusation.

“You fucking liars! How dare you!? You killed him! All of you! You beat him! An defenseless man! Then left him bedridden, and abandoned him to die alone and in pain.” With every blared word in their direction, he saw them draw back in terror more and more, as if being the target of his verbal barrage alone was dangerous. He enjoyed watching them squirm. It was the least they deserved. He couldn’t hurt them with his claws and fangs, but he would settled for seeing them piss themselves like this. 

He then turned to the lady in blue, eyes wide with desperation. For some reason he wanted for her to know his side of the story, regardless of what she intended to do with him.