Marlon hung limp from the chains, his arms stretched high above him.
His bare torso bore the ugly colors of bruises, creating a map of purples, blacks, yellows.
There was no sound in the room except his breathing, which rasped unevenly, carrying a stubborn rhythm.
The faint light from the lantern hanging next to the cell door glimmered against his sweat coated skin.
He had no idea how long he’d been here, but his mind kept telling him to do whatever it took to get out.
So, he waited, a peculiar ball of fear, anxiety, and thirst, settling in his gut.
When the heavy door finally creaked open, Marlon raised his head with effort, his lips cracked.
"Water..." he croaked.
No matter how much he swallowed, he still couldn’t get rid of the slight burn in his throat.
Lord Rowe entered, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor.
He tilted his head at Marlons’s words, and headed to the corner of the room.
There, he picked up the jug on the low table, pouring water into a small cup.
He walked forward, tilting it to Marlon’s lips.
The prisoner drank greedily, choking on the first gulps before steadying and draining the rest.
His head lolled back, water trailing down his chin.
Rowe set the cup down, folding his hands behind his back.
"I don’t enjoy this," he said quietly. "I’m not Osiris, nor am I one to break men for amusement."
"Torture, as a practice, disgusts me. But circumstances..." His gaze hardened. "Circumstances demand that I push further than I would like."
Marlon’s eyes darted nervously. He was still thirsty, but with the words he just heard, he didn’t dare ask for more water.
He swallowed, voice hoarse. "I’ll tell you anything. I’ll answer. Whatever you want."
"Good." Rowe nodded, expression solemn. "Then let us begin."
"Snake. How did you come to know him?"
The battered man licked his lips. "I— I met him a long time ago. Through the underground fight rings."
"We were friends back in the day, but I hadn’t seen him for a few years until a few days ago."
"So, you’re saying Snake approached you?" Rowe asked.
"Yes." Marlon nodded frantically.
"And what did he want?"
"He... he came to me before my match. Offered me a potion. He said it was a chance. That it would help me stand against Toboggan."
Rowe’s expression didn’t change. "The potion. Did you know where he got it from?"
Marlon shook his head frantically. "No! He just gave it to me. Said if I wanted revenge, I need only drink."
"I— I didn’t know it would turn me into," his voice cracked, "into that thing."
Rowe stepped closer, his shadow falling across Marlon’s face. "Where is Snake now? Where does he hide? Who shields him?"
Marlon trembled. "I don’t know! I swear it. He comes and goes. He just gave me the potion. Then he disappeared!"
Rowe’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing every twitch in the man’s face. He leaned in, his voice cold.
"Listen to me well, Marlon. The only reason you’re alive is because you, too, were used. A victim."
"But if I find a single detail of your statement twisted, a single inconsistency..." He tilted Marlon’s chin up with two fingers, forcing their eyes to meet. "You will regret ever being born."
Marlon’s eyes brimmed with tears. He nodded frantically. "I told the truth. That’s all I know."
Rowe let him go, straightening.
His gaze flicked to the guards by the door. "Take him to the cells. Keep him alive. If he lies, I’ll know."
The guards moved, unhooking the chains and dragging the fighter away.
Rowe turned, striding from the interrogation room. His cloak swirled behind him as the heavy door slammed shut.
He quickly made his way back to his office, feeling the growing weight of his own failure pressing down on him.
He’d been served Snake on a silver platter, and now, after the operation, he still had nothing.
No answers, no closer to Snake, and the masked man still loose.
He sat at his desk, leaning back as he exhaled slowly. His temples throbbed faintly, and he pressed a hand there.
A knock resounded on his door. "Enter."
Garret stepped in, his expression serious, and a folder tucked under his arm.
He bowed slightly. "My lord."
Rowe gestured. "Report."
Garret set the folder down, hesitating. "Before that... the council. The noble council is demanding a statement."
Rowe groaned. "What do they want this time?"
"They ask why we sealed off an entire district last night without warning or explanation. They insist on details."
Rowe snorted, a grim smile appearing on his face at the thought of the idiots at the council.
"The council can bark. That’s all they’re good for. They won’t receive the details they want. Let them stew."
He turned to his right hand man. "Now, report."
Garret inclined his head, opening the folder.
"We scoured the district from last night until dawn. Every street and every cellar. We combed through the rubbles of the destroyed places, and the underground facilities."
"We also interrogated everyone left behind and got their statements. We found... nothing."
Rowe leaned back in his chair, already expecting this. "Nothing?"
Garret’s jaw clenched. "No trace of Snake, and no trace of the masked man in the leather cloak."
"Either they found a way out despite the barrier, or they hid themselves too well, slipping out after it fell at dawn."
Silence filled the office.
Rowe’s fingers drummed on the desk.
His mind replayed the fight, the shadows curling around that cloaked figure, the defiance in his eyes.
There had been something in them, something familiar.
Garret cleared his throat. "If I may, my lord... the agents believe the masked man may be tied to a monster hunter guild. Perhaps, a recent graduate of the academy."
Rowe’s hand froze. His eyes narrowed. "Yes. He was young. But powerful enough to match me spell for spell."
He leaned back, gaze distant. "Those eyes. I’ve seen them before."
Garret waited, silent.
Rowe’s fingers began tapping away on his desk.
His voice, when it came, was low and certain. "I know those eyes. I am sure of it."