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Chapter 23: Undeserved Mercy

Chapter 23: Undeserved Mercy

The smoke continued thinning around them. Blue lantern light returned to the street, first as scattered spots and then as a cold glow covering the ruins.

Rook stood and struck his elbow against the side of the coffin.

A hidden compartment sprang open.

Inside rested several long, thin stakes of blackened iron. They possessed no ornamentation and no visible abilities. They resembled tools designed for one uncomplicated purpose.

The Reaper tried to crawl away.

Rook caught one arm and dragged it across the other. He aligned the man’s wrists against the ground, placed the point of a stake between them and drove it through both with the heel of his hand.

The iron passed between bone.

The Reaper’s body convulsed. A scream attempted to escape him, but the thunder charge caught between his teeth reduced it to a desperate whine.

"Careful," Rook warned. "Pressure."

The man forced himself silent.

Rook took another stake, crossed the Reaper’s ankles and drove it through both legs into the ground. Blood spread beneath them, darkening the ruined road, but neither wound was immediately fatal.

He checked the thunder charge.

It remained firmly lodged inside the man’s mouth.

Behind them, the poison-wielding Reaper regained consciousness.

His severed arm had already begun trying to return. Threads of dark flesh extended from the stump, reaching blindly toward the limb lying several feet away. His jaw remained dislocated, twisting every sound he made into a low, wet groan.

He looked at his pinned companion.

Then at Rook.

Understanding entered his eyes.

The stories had not been exaggerated.

If anything, they had left out the worst details.

The Reaper rolled onto his stomach and began crawling away. One arm dragged him forward while his legs pushed frantically against the stone. His broken jaw prevented him from calling for help, but a series of weak whimpers followed each desperate movement.

Rook heard them.

He turned.

The Reaper crawled faster.

Rook caught both ankles and dragged him backwards. His fingers clawed across the stone, leaving broken nails and thin streaks of blood behind him.

Rook pulled another stake from the coffin.

The man shook his head violently.

He attempted to spit poison, but his ruined jaw sent most of it spilling down his own chest.

"Don’t worry," Rook said. "I’m not going to put anything in your mouth."

He crossed the man’s feet.

The stake passed through both ankles and entered the road beneath them.

The Reaper’s body arched. Even with his jaw hanging uselessly, he managed to release a weak, wavering cry.

Rook left the severed arm several paces beyond his reach.

Mara watched from behind the coffin.

She had witnessed Abominations tear people apart. She had seen the crying child swallow creatures many times its own size, and she had spent several unbearable minutes listening to an entire forest pull another monster to pieces around her.

This felt different.

Rook was not hungry. He had not lost control, nor was he taking pleasure in what he did.

Every movement had been deliberate.

He knew exactly which wounds would incapacitate a dead soul without destroying it. He understood how much pain they could survive while inflicting as much of it as possible.

And the worst part, he made it look easy.

For the first time, Mara understood why the man who could not Cull had survived for three hundred years among those who could.

The older Reaper had not moved throughout the fight.

He stood beside the ruined building where he had begun, holding his lantern with both hands. His expression had remained tense while his companions threatened Mara, but now something approaching disgust entered it.

Not disgust for Rook.

For the two men pinned to the road.

"Fucking idiots," he muttered.

Rook retrieved his falchion from the smoke-wielder’s shoulder.

Checked his pockets for anything useful, which earned him a glare from Mara that he didn’t bother to care about. Finding nothing of use he scoffed.

He wiped the blade across the man’s coat before returning it to the coffin.

The numbness had spread through most of his poisoned arm. He tried moving his fingers, failed and allowed the limb to hang at his side.

Mara approached him carefully.

The older Reaper looked at the two mutilated men.

One lay with a thunder charge forced between his teeth and iron driven through his wrists and ankles. The other struggled weakly against the stake holding his legs to the ground while his severed arm continued crawling toward him in tiny, twitching movements.

"Why aren’t you killing them?" he asked.

Rook closed the hidden compartment of the coffin.

"Because then they’d come back."

The older man said nothing.

Mara looked between them. "Come back where?"

Rook tightened the chains around the coffin using his remaining hand. "The Eighty-Sixth’s Beacon was destroyed, but a fragment of it still functions beneath the ruins. Anyone who dies close enough to the Bastion eventually reconstructs somewhere inside it."

Her gaze returned to the injured Reapers.

"How long will that take?"

"If they die? A few days. Maybe less."

The poison-wielder continued dragging himself forward despite the stake through his ankles. The iron tore farther through both feet, widening the wounds without allowing him to escape.

Rook watched him struggle.

"Killing them would be merciful."

The man stopped moving.

Rook lifted the coffin onto his back. One chain slipped while he worked with only a single useful arm, and Mara caught it before it could fall.

He glanced at her.

She secured the hook without speaking.

Behind them, the smoke-wielder released another frightened whine around the thunder charge.

The older Reaper looked toward him. "How long are you leaving them like this?"

Rook tested the chains, then picked up his lantern.

"You can free them if you want," Rook smiled at him.

The man held both his arms up. Not wanting anything to do with this mess.

Rook started walking.

Mara followed.

The pale chain between them passed over the bloodstained road, while the two Reapers remained nailed to the ruins behind them.

Neither would dare ask Rook for a memory again.