In the Name of Justice: Chapter XX
Since I'm not really in the mood for editing right now, and I want to lighten the load for my Christmas Eve fic-dump, I've decided to upload the next two parts of the story.
I hope it entertains.
Chapter XX
Playing With Fire
Slowly, Justice awoke. The transition from sleep to consciousness was unpleasant, like a carriage moving from smooth track to gravelled road, but eventually, he was able to pull himself to his senses and scan his surroundings.
He was lying on a bed in the corner of a small, dark room. For a moment, he considered the possibility that he was back at the inn with Nami, but as his eyes adjusted, he began to notice differences: the window was longer, stretching almost the entire length of the side wall; there was more furniture - dressers and shelves holding candlesticks, mirrors and other decorative objects; and placed against the wall, between the bed and the door, was a chair.
It was not empty.
A woman sat near, her eyes fixed upon him with light interest. She smiled politely, but Justice was far too alarmed to return the motion.
“What are you doing here?” Rapidly, he made for a sitting position, yet the the second he moved, a jagged bolt of pain surged up his back, causing his entire body to lock into position.
The woman seemed to sense his discomfort, straightening up and making her way over to him. She was young, with a face that held an adult maturity whilst still retaining its childlike roundness. Black hair reached her chin and fell above her eyes in an untidy fringe.
“Relax, Your Majesty - moving will only make it worse.” Her voice was familiar, though Justice was unable to remember where he had heard it before.
Carefully, he lay back against the bed. He was reluctant to let the woman from his sights, but the pain was simply too great to ignore.
A small sigh of relief escaped Justice’s lips as his head hit the pillow, the anguish fading until it was a dull throb that he was able to push to the back of his mind.
“Why are you here?” The question was less forceful this time.
The woman paused for a moment, confused, but then she smiled. “Oh, I'm sorry, Your Majesty. You probably don't recognise me, don't you? It's Blanche - servant of Sir Wilderness.”
Justice had to look twice before her words fully sank in. It seemed so obvious now - how he hadn't noticed it sooner he didn’t know. Admittedly, though, it was the first time he had seen Blanche without some sort of covering over her face; yet now that he was able to admire her in full, it seemed strange to him as to why she chose to hide herself in such a way. She was pretty - that much was certain - and despite not possessing a stunning beauty, there seemed no way for her to go to the usual extent she did in concealing herself.
“I hope you don't mind, but I tended to your injuries. Your legs had healed by the time we arrived here, and I noticed some blood on your shoulder, though that's been cleaned now. However, your back…”
Her words cut off and her eyes fell to her feet. Justice eyed her for a moment, wondering whether she was planning on elaborating or not, but nothing else was spoken, so he turned his attention to his middle body. Slowly, he pulled back the hem of clothing to expose the area underneath; yet instead of skin peeking through, the entirety of his lower back and front had been wrapped with long strips of dirty white cloth. It appeared to be a section of bed linen, tied in several places and crudely torn in others as a set of improvised bandages, though it was obvious that a lot of care had been put in place so as to make it as indiscrete as possible.
All at once, the memories of the previous night came back to Justice. Gideon’s figure was a dark stain on his mind, a scar he doubted he would be able to shake from himself for some time. The feeling of such helplessness, such inability to defend himself, was not a sensation that he had grown used to in his life, and one that he was determined never to face again.
“Thank you.”
Blanche looked up at his words, a slight flush coming over her face. “I-I’ll go and tell the others that you're awake, then.” She turned to leave.
“Wait.” Justice watched as she paused midway to the door and spun to face him again.
“What is it, Your Majesty?”
Now that he thought about it, the man could recall no conscious reason for stopping her. His eyes flicked around the room for something to draw her attention to before falling on what looked like a set of clothes perched on the end of his bed. He motioned with his hand. “What's that?”
“Oh, forgive me - I forgot to mention them. The Guardians gave them to me - they're for you.”
Justice nodded slowly, at which the girl bowed her head and headed once again for the door. He followed her with his eyes, but then found himself drawn almost instinctively to the items at his feet. Strangely, he was unable to recall the Guardians carrying any sort of additional garments with them - that was, of course, assuming that they were clothes. Either way, he was curious now.
Standing up was not as painful an exercise as Justice had anticipated, providing that he moved his lower back as little as possible. Finally on his feet, he moved to the end of the bed and inspected the items laid out before him. Indeed, it seemed that he had been correct in his assumptions, as he looked down at what appeared to be a full set of clothes. He took a moment to run his eyes over his own outfit, surprised by how torn and dirty it was in comparison; despite his reluctance to part with it, there was no denying that a change was needed.
The new outfit felt somewhat strange against his skin, yet as he inspected himself in the reflection of the window, he was taken aback by how much it suited him. Truly, it was as though the materials had been grafted to his body: the leathery material formed long sleeves and a high neckline, mottled with black and white all over. The whole piece fitted together like a tunic around the waist area, but beneath that, there was little to cover his mid-thighs from the elements.
“Oh.”
Justice’s expression was somewhere between alarm and horror as he searched the area for something to conceal his legs with, but there was nothing. Gritting his teeth, he turned back to the window and inspected himself again. It wasn't too obvious, he concluded: everything else was rigidly covered, although he did feel that the choice in design had been influenced in part by Carbuncle and his less-than-modest way of dress.
Carbuncle.
The Guardians!
All at once, Justice found himself overcome with a new sort of alarm, one that pressed him more than any petty clothing issue. Did they know he was here? He relaxed a little when he remembered Blanche talking about ‘the others’, though he was anxious to find out nonetheless.
It became clear to him as he stepped out of his room that he was in an inn, much larger than the one in Ashlington, but carrying the same home-like feel to it. Identical doors lined both walls of the corridor - perhaps five or six on each side - and to his right, he spotted a narrow set of stairs which he presumed led to more rooms. Carefully, Justice closed his own door behind him and began to make his way to the end of the passage.
What met him on the other side, however, was the exact opposite.
The door opened out onto a balcony, with wooden staircases on either side leading down into a room rippling with activity: tables lay set out around an open stone bed of flames, and all over men were dancing, laughing and drinking. One or two held lutes, whilst others clutched tankards of what appeared to be mead. Justice's eyes passed from face to face, trying to pick out any he recognised, though there was no-one; what did catch his attention, however, was a small figure in the corner, a hood pulled low over their head. Curious, he made his way across the room to approach them.
“So you’re alive, I see.”
The voice startled Justice, who had barely even reached the table. Slowly, the figure turned to face him. The hood cast shadows over most of his face, though it was no difficulty to spot the unmistakeable shade of red hair peeking out from underneath the folds.
“Filthy, isn't it?” he mumbled as the other took a seat opposite. “They're like animals - give them a bucket of offal and they’ll probably all run to feed from it.”
It took Justice a moment to realise that he was referring to the men in the room. It appeared that they were celebrating something - a victory, perhaps - yet the festivities had clearly fallen short of reaching the one seated before him.
Glowering, Carbuncle leaned forward in his chair to address the black-haired man. “Believe me, it was not my choice to bring you here. This… Place was the only accommodation for miles around. Though now I’m beginning to think that even a gutter would be more suitable than this squalor…” His words faded into another scowl.
Justice ignored his comments. “Where are we on the map, exactly?”
“Some pit called Briar's End.”
“I see.” The name rang a bell, though Justice was unable to remember where exactly he had heard it mentioned before.
Before he could say anything else, however, the pair were approached by a small figure bearing two tankards of something sweet-smelling. Blanche set the first upon the table in front of the fire vampire.
“What is this?”
“Mead, My Lord.”
“I thought I told you not to call me that here,” Carbuncle hissed. Then he turned his eyes to the frothing metal tankard. “I also told you not to waste my gold on this.”
A shocked expression came over the girl’s face. “I'm so sorry - I didn't think you meant-”
“Just go and find Willow,” snapped the Guardian. Even with his hood covering most of his face, Justice could tell that Carbuncle’s features were weighted with his mood.
Bowing apologetically, Blanche hurried away, leaving the two men alone in the corner again.
A few tables away, a man suddenly jumped to his feet, brandishing a half-full glass bottle. He swayed drunkenly for a moment before his face twisted in disgust and he roared at the ones around the fire, “Someone's pissed in my drink!”
The sound of laughter rose. “Calm down, Orik, you old sod.”
Yet it seemed that the one named Orik was in no state to calm down. He staggered forward, still clutching his drink, and launched himself at the group of men, who scattered, cheering him on like spectators at a cattle fight. One even went so far as to empty the remains of their tankard over his thick back, as if to wind up the situation further.
“You’ve chosen to wear the king's clothing, then.”
Justice drew his eyes away from the scene across the room to look at Carbuncle, who seemed to be admiring him in full for the first time since sitting down.
“My father's?”
“Of course,” Carbuncle snorted. “Isn't it obvious? When Kircheis sent for his army after the meeting, he ordered that they bring the clothes along with them from his castle, and, well, he's been carrying them ever since.”
Justice took a moment to re-examine his outfit. Perhaps he had known all along that they had belonged to the king, though hearing the words out loud filled him with a strange kind of warmth. “Are the others here?” he asked.
For a moment, Carbuncle said nothing, but then his face fell slightly. “No.”
Justice raised an eyebrow, waiting for some kind of elaboration. “No?”
“No.” The fire vampire repeated the word as if it were a ball being thrown from one to the other. “The human girl, Blanche, was the first to notice you were gone. Of course, we all awoke, and that led us to notice Wilderness’ absence as well...”
“Wilderness?” The black-haired man’s eyes widened. “He’s gone?”
“Yes, he is.”
A sinking feeling came over Justice, his mind rolling subconsciously back to his conversation with Rafaga the previous night. Had the earth vampire been present then, listening in on them? Was that the reason why he had left?
No, he was jumping to conclusions - if anyone else had been nearby, then surely either him or Rafaga would have sensed it. Hiding from a vampire was no easy task - in fact, it was impossible. He needn’t worry himself.
“The others, then - are they here?” Justice asked dryly.
“They chose to take their own path through the mountains,” said Carbuncle. “This tavern seemed like the only place within tens of miles that seemed suitable to house you until you recovered. At the moment, it is only you, Blanche, Willow and I here. The others are to meet us-”
He was cut off as a person who Justice recognised as Orik flew towards them, stumbling into Carbuncle and knocking his chair forward; there was a moment's struggle, but then the man hit the floor beneath the table, panting. The fire vampire stood over him.
“You...” Carbuncle seized his collar, dragged him to his feet and slammed him against the nearest wall. Despite having half his build, he handled him as though he were a straw doll.
“How dare you,” he spat. Carbuncle’s pale hands were taught as he held onto the man, one hand wrapped in his clothes, the other digging into the base of his throat with bared nails. Orik looked shocked - clearly, he was too drunk to realise what was going on. “Look, I didn't mean-”
“Shut up!”
The fire vampire's hand tightened, drawing a dribble of blood out from under his nails. Orik's expression was pained, though he made no effect to try and free himself.
However, it seemed that the ones around him were of a far different mindset. Shouting wildly, one of the men from the fire assembly began to sprint towards the vampire, raising his tankard with which to strike him across the head. Yet Carbuncle was not short of speed: in a second’s length, he spun around and caught the man, throwing him back across the table, where he slid and collided with a chair.
Needless to say, the situation took a turn for the worse. Man turned upon man as fights erupted across the room; clearly, Carbuncle's actions had only been the spark, to ignite a barrage of struggles that proceeded to spread through the tavern like wildfire.
From the bar area, a figure who Justice recognised at once as Willow leaped over the littered chairs and people to help his master, who was busying himself fending off two individuals brandishing short swords. Justice himself was just wondering whether it would be wise to lend the Guardian his hand as well, when all of a sudden, he froze.
Blood.
He could smell blood.
It had barely reached him before, but now the scent hit him with full force, as though he were suddenly being plunged into it. The very odour was enough to make his throat burn and befog his vision. Was it Orik? Perhaps if there had not been such chaos, then the answer would have been ‘yes’, but it was all around him, dripping from open wounds as people lashed out at one another with blades and nails. The violence was everywhere.
He had to get out of here before he lost control.
With the appearance of a drunkard, Justice began to stagger through the tables, making sure to keep to the walls so as to avoid getting swept up in the brawl. How long had it been since he’d last drunk? Four or five days, at least… He was a fool for leaving it so late. The hunger was an agony now, as was usually the case in such times: his body craved blood like a fish craved water, and he knew that if he remained without it for much longer, then there was no telling what his actions might be.
It was a relief to finally climb the stairs, close the door and sever himself from the alcohol-fuelled chaos of the main room, yet still his throat burned on. With one hand against the wall to steady himself, Justice moved through the corridor, only pausing to raise his head and occasionally look up. His room lay ahead of him, but he wasn’t headed there - not yet, at least. Instead, he took a left turn and made his way up the stairs he’d spotted earlier.
As expected, Justice arrived at another passage of rooms, and his heart leaped to see a young girl standing beside one of the doors. She eyed him inquisitively as he approached.
“What are you doing here?” Even the simple task of keeping his voice on the same level was a strain.
The girl seemed somewhat anxious at the figure who stood before her, but replied nevertheless. “Oh, I’m waiting for a friend-”
Before she had finished speaking, however, Justice had caught her lips with his own. One hand snaked around the back of her neck to draw her closer, whilst the other slid slowly down her hips through her dress, resting when it reached the top of her thigh. He could feel her pulse in his fingertips, the very sensation causing his own heart rate to leap into frantic pulse. It wouldn’t be long now… The thought was the only thing that drove him onwards and stopped him from caving in then and there. He just had to be patient.
Sharply, Justice pulled away, then leaned towards her ear and whispered, “Meet me in the last room to the right on the main corridor. Alone.”
The girl nodded, a deep flush plunging her features into red as she watched the stranger return back down the corridor.
Barely two minutes had passed before Justice could sense movement outside his door; and sure enough, the girl was standing before him.
This time, though, there was no holding back: the moment she was inside, the man slammed her against the wall, took hold of her shoulders and bit down as hard as he could into the side of her neck. A scream escaped her lips, but was cut off at once by the hand that clamped over her mouth and tilted her head back, exposing more of her throat. Blood spilled out like a river, splashing against Justice's tongue, replenishing him at last. Some dribbled out from the corners of his mouth, but he was beyond caring now - all he could concentrate on was the feeling of sweet relief that shook his whole being. It was like fire, though completely different to the burning hunger that had scorched his throat in the corridor: no, this was a soothing warmth, one that washed around him, more intoxicating than the strongest of wines. Truly, there was no parallel sensation.
A sensation broken only by a single sound.
Screaming.
A figure stood in the doorway, frozen as though set in stone. Her mouth still hung open from the shriek that had shattered the air, eyes wide in a mixture of shock and horror at the scene before her.
“No...” The moment Justice pulled away, the woman slipped out from underneath him and hit the ground with an audible thud. He watched as the other's eyes fell to the unconscious body, then returned to him once again. For a second, he thought she was going to pass out, or at least scream again, but instead she dropped the bag in her hand, turned and sprinted back down the corridor before Justice was able to stop her.
Next Chapter →
I hope it entertains.
Chapter XX
Playing With Fire
Slowly, Justice awoke. The transition from sleep to consciousness was unpleasant, like a carriage moving from smooth track to gravelled road, but eventually, he was able to pull himself to his senses and scan his surroundings.
He was lying on a bed in the corner of a small, dark room. For a moment, he considered the possibility that he was back at the inn with Nami, but as his eyes adjusted, he began to notice differences: the window was longer, stretching almost the entire length of the side wall; there was more furniture - dressers and shelves holding candlesticks, mirrors and other decorative objects; and placed against the wall, between the bed and the door, was a chair.
It was not empty.
A woman sat near, her eyes fixed upon him with light interest. She smiled politely, but Justice was far too alarmed to return the motion.
“What are you doing here?” Rapidly, he made for a sitting position, yet the the second he moved, a jagged bolt of pain surged up his back, causing his entire body to lock into position.
The woman seemed to sense his discomfort, straightening up and making her way over to him. She was young, with a face that held an adult maturity whilst still retaining its childlike roundness. Black hair reached her chin and fell above her eyes in an untidy fringe.
“Relax, Your Majesty - moving will only make it worse.” Her voice was familiar, though Justice was unable to remember where he had heard it before.
Carefully, he lay back against the bed. He was reluctant to let the woman from his sights, but the pain was simply too great to ignore.
A small sigh of relief escaped Justice’s lips as his head hit the pillow, the anguish fading until it was a dull throb that he was able to push to the back of his mind.
“Why are you here?” The question was less forceful this time.
The woman paused for a moment, confused, but then she smiled. “Oh, I'm sorry, Your Majesty. You probably don't recognise me, don't you? It's Blanche - servant of Sir Wilderness.”
Justice had to look twice before her words fully sank in. It seemed so obvious now - how he hadn't noticed it sooner he didn’t know. Admittedly, though, it was the first time he had seen Blanche without some sort of covering over her face; yet now that he was able to admire her in full, it seemed strange to him as to why she chose to hide herself in such a way. She was pretty - that much was certain - and despite not possessing a stunning beauty, there seemed no way for her to go to the usual extent she did in concealing herself.
“I hope you don't mind, but I tended to your injuries. Your legs had healed by the time we arrived here, and I noticed some blood on your shoulder, though that's been cleaned now. However, your back…”
Her words cut off and her eyes fell to her feet. Justice eyed her for a moment, wondering whether she was planning on elaborating or not, but nothing else was spoken, so he turned his attention to his middle body. Slowly, he pulled back the hem of clothing to expose the area underneath; yet instead of skin peeking through, the entirety of his lower back and front had been wrapped with long strips of dirty white cloth. It appeared to be a section of bed linen, tied in several places and crudely torn in others as a set of improvised bandages, though it was obvious that a lot of care had been put in place so as to make it as indiscrete as possible.
All at once, the memories of the previous night came back to Justice. Gideon’s figure was a dark stain on his mind, a scar he doubted he would be able to shake from himself for some time. The feeling of such helplessness, such inability to defend himself, was not a sensation that he had grown used to in his life, and one that he was determined never to face again.
“Thank you.”
Blanche looked up at his words, a slight flush coming over her face. “I-I’ll go and tell the others that you're awake, then.” She turned to leave.
“Wait.” Justice watched as she paused midway to the door and spun to face him again.
“What is it, Your Majesty?”
Now that he thought about it, the man could recall no conscious reason for stopping her. His eyes flicked around the room for something to draw her attention to before falling on what looked like a set of clothes perched on the end of his bed. He motioned with his hand. “What's that?”
“Oh, forgive me - I forgot to mention them. The Guardians gave them to me - they're for you.”
Justice nodded slowly, at which the girl bowed her head and headed once again for the door. He followed her with his eyes, but then found himself drawn almost instinctively to the items at his feet. Strangely, he was unable to recall the Guardians carrying any sort of additional garments with them - that was, of course, assuming that they were clothes. Either way, he was curious now.
Standing up was not as painful an exercise as Justice had anticipated, providing that he moved his lower back as little as possible. Finally on his feet, he moved to the end of the bed and inspected the items laid out before him. Indeed, it seemed that he had been correct in his assumptions, as he looked down at what appeared to be a full set of clothes. He took a moment to run his eyes over his own outfit, surprised by how torn and dirty it was in comparison; despite his reluctance to part with it, there was no denying that a change was needed.
The new outfit felt somewhat strange against his skin, yet as he inspected himself in the reflection of the window, he was taken aback by how much it suited him. Truly, it was as though the materials had been grafted to his body: the leathery material formed long sleeves and a high neckline, mottled with black and white all over. The whole piece fitted together like a tunic around the waist area, but beneath that, there was little to cover his mid-thighs from the elements.
“Oh.”
Justice’s expression was somewhere between alarm and horror as he searched the area for something to conceal his legs with, but there was nothing. Gritting his teeth, he turned back to the window and inspected himself again. It wasn't too obvious, he concluded: everything else was rigidly covered, although he did feel that the choice in design had been influenced in part by Carbuncle and his less-than-modest way of dress.
Carbuncle.
The Guardians!
All at once, Justice found himself overcome with a new sort of alarm, one that pressed him more than any petty clothing issue. Did they know he was here? He relaxed a little when he remembered Blanche talking about ‘the others’, though he was anxious to find out nonetheless.
It became clear to him as he stepped out of his room that he was in an inn, much larger than the one in Ashlington, but carrying the same home-like feel to it. Identical doors lined both walls of the corridor - perhaps five or six on each side - and to his right, he spotted a narrow set of stairs which he presumed led to more rooms. Carefully, Justice closed his own door behind him and began to make his way to the end of the passage.
What met him on the other side, however, was the exact opposite.
The door opened out onto a balcony, with wooden staircases on either side leading down into a room rippling with activity: tables lay set out around an open stone bed of flames, and all over men were dancing, laughing and drinking. One or two held lutes, whilst others clutched tankards of what appeared to be mead. Justice's eyes passed from face to face, trying to pick out any he recognised, though there was no-one; what did catch his attention, however, was a small figure in the corner, a hood pulled low over their head. Curious, he made his way across the room to approach them.
“So you’re alive, I see.”
The voice startled Justice, who had barely even reached the table. Slowly, the figure turned to face him. The hood cast shadows over most of his face, though it was no difficulty to spot the unmistakeable shade of red hair peeking out from underneath the folds.
“Filthy, isn't it?” he mumbled as the other took a seat opposite. “They're like animals - give them a bucket of offal and they’ll probably all run to feed from it.”
It took Justice a moment to realise that he was referring to the men in the room. It appeared that they were celebrating something - a victory, perhaps - yet the festivities had clearly fallen short of reaching the one seated before him.
Glowering, Carbuncle leaned forward in his chair to address the black-haired man. “Believe me, it was not my choice to bring you here. This… Place was the only accommodation for miles around. Though now I’m beginning to think that even a gutter would be more suitable than this squalor…” His words faded into another scowl.
Justice ignored his comments. “Where are we on the map, exactly?”
“Some pit called Briar's End.”
“I see.” The name rang a bell, though Justice was unable to remember where exactly he had heard it mentioned before.
Before he could say anything else, however, the pair were approached by a small figure bearing two tankards of something sweet-smelling. Blanche set the first upon the table in front of the fire vampire.
“What is this?”
“Mead, My Lord.”
“I thought I told you not to call me that here,” Carbuncle hissed. Then he turned his eyes to the frothing metal tankard. “I also told you not to waste my gold on this.”
A shocked expression came over the girl’s face. “I'm so sorry - I didn't think you meant-”
“Just go and find Willow,” snapped the Guardian. Even with his hood covering most of his face, Justice could tell that Carbuncle’s features were weighted with his mood.
Bowing apologetically, Blanche hurried away, leaving the two men alone in the corner again.
A few tables away, a man suddenly jumped to his feet, brandishing a half-full glass bottle. He swayed drunkenly for a moment before his face twisted in disgust and he roared at the ones around the fire, “Someone's pissed in my drink!”
The sound of laughter rose. “Calm down, Orik, you old sod.”
Yet it seemed that the one named Orik was in no state to calm down. He staggered forward, still clutching his drink, and launched himself at the group of men, who scattered, cheering him on like spectators at a cattle fight. One even went so far as to empty the remains of their tankard over his thick back, as if to wind up the situation further.
“You’ve chosen to wear the king's clothing, then.”
Justice drew his eyes away from the scene across the room to look at Carbuncle, who seemed to be admiring him in full for the first time since sitting down.
“My father's?”
“Of course,” Carbuncle snorted. “Isn't it obvious? When Kircheis sent for his army after the meeting, he ordered that they bring the clothes along with them from his castle, and, well, he's been carrying them ever since.”
Justice took a moment to re-examine his outfit. Perhaps he had known all along that they had belonged to the king, though hearing the words out loud filled him with a strange kind of warmth. “Are the others here?” he asked.
For a moment, Carbuncle said nothing, but then his face fell slightly. “No.”
Justice raised an eyebrow, waiting for some kind of elaboration. “No?”
“No.” The fire vampire repeated the word as if it were a ball being thrown from one to the other. “The human girl, Blanche, was the first to notice you were gone. Of course, we all awoke, and that led us to notice Wilderness’ absence as well...”
“Wilderness?” The black-haired man’s eyes widened. “He’s gone?”
“Yes, he is.”
A sinking feeling came over Justice, his mind rolling subconsciously back to his conversation with Rafaga the previous night. Had the earth vampire been present then, listening in on them? Was that the reason why he had left?
No, he was jumping to conclusions - if anyone else had been nearby, then surely either him or Rafaga would have sensed it. Hiding from a vampire was no easy task - in fact, it was impossible. He needn’t worry himself.
“The others, then - are they here?” Justice asked dryly.
“They chose to take their own path through the mountains,” said Carbuncle. “This tavern seemed like the only place within tens of miles that seemed suitable to house you until you recovered. At the moment, it is only you, Blanche, Willow and I here. The others are to meet us-”
He was cut off as a person who Justice recognised as Orik flew towards them, stumbling into Carbuncle and knocking his chair forward; there was a moment's struggle, but then the man hit the floor beneath the table, panting. The fire vampire stood over him.
“You...” Carbuncle seized his collar, dragged him to his feet and slammed him against the nearest wall. Despite having half his build, he handled him as though he were a straw doll.
“How dare you,” he spat. Carbuncle’s pale hands were taught as he held onto the man, one hand wrapped in his clothes, the other digging into the base of his throat with bared nails. Orik looked shocked - clearly, he was too drunk to realise what was going on. “Look, I didn't mean-”
“Shut up!”
The fire vampire's hand tightened, drawing a dribble of blood out from under his nails. Orik's expression was pained, though he made no effect to try and free himself.
However, it seemed that the ones around him were of a far different mindset. Shouting wildly, one of the men from the fire assembly began to sprint towards the vampire, raising his tankard with which to strike him across the head. Yet Carbuncle was not short of speed: in a second’s length, he spun around and caught the man, throwing him back across the table, where he slid and collided with a chair.
Needless to say, the situation took a turn for the worse. Man turned upon man as fights erupted across the room; clearly, Carbuncle's actions had only been the spark, to ignite a barrage of struggles that proceeded to spread through the tavern like wildfire.
From the bar area, a figure who Justice recognised at once as Willow leaped over the littered chairs and people to help his master, who was busying himself fending off two individuals brandishing short swords. Justice himself was just wondering whether it would be wise to lend the Guardian his hand as well, when all of a sudden, he froze.
Blood.
He could smell blood.
It had barely reached him before, but now the scent hit him with full force, as though he were suddenly being plunged into it. The very odour was enough to make his throat burn and befog his vision. Was it Orik? Perhaps if there had not been such chaos, then the answer would have been ‘yes’, but it was all around him, dripping from open wounds as people lashed out at one another with blades and nails. The violence was everywhere.
He had to get out of here before he lost control.
With the appearance of a drunkard, Justice began to stagger through the tables, making sure to keep to the walls so as to avoid getting swept up in the brawl. How long had it been since he’d last drunk? Four or five days, at least… He was a fool for leaving it so late. The hunger was an agony now, as was usually the case in such times: his body craved blood like a fish craved water, and he knew that if he remained without it for much longer, then there was no telling what his actions might be.
It was a relief to finally climb the stairs, close the door and sever himself from the alcohol-fuelled chaos of the main room, yet still his throat burned on. With one hand against the wall to steady himself, Justice moved through the corridor, only pausing to raise his head and occasionally look up. His room lay ahead of him, but he wasn’t headed there - not yet, at least. Instead, he took a left turn and made his way up the stairs he’d spotted earlier.
As expected, Justice arrived at another passage of rooms, and his heart leaped to see a young girl standing beside one of the doors. She eyed him inquisitively as he approached.
“What are you doing here?” Even the simple task of keeping his voice on the same level was a strain.
The girl seemed somewhat anxious at the figure who stood before her, but replied nevertheless. “Oh, I’m waiting for a friend-”
Before she had finished speaking, however, Justice had caught her lips with his own. One hand snaked around the back of her neck to draw her closer, whilst the other slid slowly down her hips through her dress, resting when it reached the top of her thigh. He could feel her pulse in his fingertips, the very sensation causing his own heart rate to leap into frantic pulse. It wouldn’t be long now… The thought was the only thing that drove him onwards and stopped him from caving in then and there. He just had to be patient.
Sharply, Justice pulled away, then leaned towards her ear and whispered, “Meet me in the last room to the right on the main corridor. Alone.”
The girl nodded, a deep flush plunging her features into red as she watched the stranger return back down the corridor.
Barely two minutes had passed before Justice could sense movement outside his door; and sure enough, the girl was standing before him.
This time, though, there was no holding back: the moment she was inside, the man slammed her against the wall, took hold of her shoulders and bit down as hard as he could into the side of her neck. A scream escaped her lips, but was cut off at once by the hand that clamped over her mouth and tilted her head back, exposing more of her throat. Blood spilled out like a river, splashing against Justice's tongue, replenishing him at last. Some dribbled out from the corners of his mouth, but he was beyond caring now - all he could concentrate on was the feeling of sweet relief that shook his whole being. It was like fire, though completely different to the burning hunger that had scorched his throat in the corridor: no, this was a soothing warmth, one that washed around him, more intoxicating than the strongest of wines. Truly, there was no parallel sensation.
A sensation broken only by a single sound.
Screaming.
A figure stood in the doorway, frozen as though set in stone. Her mouth still hung open from the shriek that had shattered the air, eyes wide in a mixture of shock and horror at the scene before her.
“No...” The moment Justice pulled away, the woman slipped out from underneath him and hit the ground with an audible thud. He watched as the other's eyes fell to the unconscious body, then returned to him once again. For a second, he thought she was going to pass out, or at least scream again, but instead she dropped the bag in her hand, turned and sprinted back down the corridor before Justice was able to stop her.
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