Chapter 169: The Ropes (4)

"Where's the new woman?" The dark skinned man asked, his braided hair shifting to the side as he cast a glance towards the doorway. There, the Guardian class adventurer, Fargo stood -- staring into the small room. It was made to bed at least six people at a time,but there were currently only four. It was a sobering reminder as to their current predicament, Fargo had seen many people come and go in his time as an adventurer. Rarely did a death hit him so hard.

Though he hadn't outwardly shown emotion during or after the fact, the death of Ashe -- Glint's best friend, had actually hit him quite hard. Originally the bald, husky man dismissed his erratic emotions as simply "getting soft". After all, it had been quite some time since he'd been pressed into servitude, a life beneath the thumb of Enzo Gaines.

*One mistake. One moment. It's funny how something like that can ruin your life.* Fargo thought this as he responded to Glint.

"She decided to alter her mark. It's been nearly an hour, she should be done soon."

Glint's face shifted to surprise, disappointment then acceptance.

"Can't blame her. Maybe if I had a pair of tits I'd do the same." Glint responded as he turned back to his work -- whatever his work was.

"What are you doing?" Fargo asked as he stepped into the room. The other men in the nearby bunk beds did little else unless directly ordered or spoken to. Fargo had quickly written them off as the living dead, and with good reason. Even now, Fargo's dreams were haunted by the sight of bodies bursting into black flames -- the last funeral pyre of an adventurer who had been pressed beyond a second death.

He clenched his fist, almost simultaneously as a sensory memory triggered the scent of burning flesh mixed with magical flames. For the briefest of moments, Fargo could envision a skeleton falling to the floor and eventually bursting into black embers as well. He pressed his eyes shut, willing himself to force the thought out of his mind.

Despite this, Fargo was beginning to truly believe that the same would be his fate. He knew very well the power of Gaines' slave mark and he cursed whatever god or deity saw fit to place such an ability into this twisted world. Any entity or creature that placed such a broken "power" into that man's hands….

Don't speak ill of him. Don't harm him. Don't defy him in any way. Don't do anything that would prevent him from making new slaves. Gaines' set of rules were ironclad, and paid in blood for anyone who dared to test them. Crippling, mind numbing pain awaited those who slipped up or tested the waters. And a fate worse than that bared down on any who persisted beyond that point.

Fargo, many times -- whether out of stubbornness or simply defiance -- had often had his will stripped away from him. At those times, it was like watching yourself speak and act while you were pushed to the fringes of your own consciousness. What's more, the very act of this happening was indescribable. Paralyzing, all encompassing, burning -- these were just a few words that came to mind as Fargo mulled over his smoldering thoughts of resentment.

Glint gazed over at Fargo rather than responding and offered a smirk. Due to this , Fargo had an idea exactly what Glint was up to.

"Give it up. We're gonna fucking die here. Unless someone kills that fat fuck first. Maybe his pet psycho will do the honors for us one day." Fargo practically grunted. Even as he insulted the man he felt a burning pain flood the frontal lobe of his brain. This was brought about by the sheer malice he held towards his "doyenne". Hell, even so much as thinking terrible thoughts about their captor was enough to bring anyone to their knees.

"You can die here. But I swear, I'll be the one to--" Glint's words trailed off as he gazed upon Fargo's pained expression. The older man had, by then, pulled up a seat at the small table which sat against the nearby wall. He watched silently as Glint continued.

"Watch." Glint said as he turned his attention to the table where he was busy manipulating a pair of daggers using little more than his own mana.

"I can see the mana threads which connect your blades. So what? It's just a stupid trick." Fargo asked. He seemed unimpressed and annoyed for the most part. Glint realized it had little to do with himself, and more so their collective situations. After all, who enjoyed being a slave? Except perhaps that psycho Zipher?

"Now.. look again." Glint said as he focused more intently. This time, the daggers stopped spinning counter clockwise to each other and slowly came to a stop. Instead, blue mana began to unlatch itself from the daggers, the strands resembling a snake being charmed by music.

Slowly, haphazardly the strands began to flop over on one another like each was subjected to a wild breeze. Or perhaps even enough gravity to cause them to fold, each in their own direction. Gradually this strange dance of mana strings began to reveal looping symbols, which then formed into very rudimentary letters.

Fargo watched, searching for some kind of meaning to the feat being shown to him. Clearly mana strings weren't meant to be used for this. Furthermore, it seemed as if Glint was pushing himself to extremes in order to hold the fluid strings to a form of any type for such a short while. Yet, as the words began to take shape, Fargo began to smile.

His smile slowly turned into his first real heartfelt chuckle for quite some time. Soon, he could scarcely control it and the "dead men", the ones who reacted to nothing, craned their heads to see what the fuss was about.

And just as suddenly as Fargo erupted into laughter, he abruptly stopped and got to his feet. Glint, his face covered in sweat and his hands shaking from over exertion of mana, spoke up once more.

"Still think it's a stupid trick?"

Fargo's eyes were alight with possibility now. For the first time in a long time he felt as if there was some kind of hope, a light amidst the gloomy shit of his everyday life. He couldn't help but smile like an idiot as he thought back to the words created by Glint.

"I'm going to end him."

"This is it. We finally found...an opening." Fargo whispered, turning around to face Glint once more.

"We can.. We can.." There were so many possibilities, but so little time.

"Yes. But…" Glint used his hands to gesture calmness, then pressed his pointer finger to his mouth in hush. Fargo nodded, yet the smirk would not fade, nor would the renewed fire burning within his heart.

*We can use this. We can definitely use this.* Fargo thought as his gaze met Glint's. The two nodded at one another, just a moment before their newest recruit appeared at the door.

The blue haired wolf-girl known as Rena seemed disheveled, almost distracted as she glanced into the room. Her brow was glistening with a sheen that had been worked up through laborious action. Fargo struggled to contain his smile, for fear that it might be misinterpreted as he stepped towards his new recruit.

"I think it's time we visit the town." He placed a hand on the wolf -girl's shoulder.

"Glint. Care to come with?" Fargo asked as he peered back over his shoulder.

"Yea. I could use some fresh air."