"Are you asking an honest and above-board merchant like me to deal in people or even souls? To buy or trade them? Even though I said it was possible I could never so something like that! It's far too much a risk to taker and not something a good, upstanding merchant like myself would do!" Z declared, waving their hands with an exaggerated show of innocence, their eyes darting nervously around the makeshift camp, seemingly still not entirely convinced it wasn't some kind of elaborate trap.
John simply smiled at them, however it was a smile utterly devoid of warmth. "Oh, I'm quite aware," he replied, his voice a low, chilling purr. "I did glimpse your stats with appraisal earlier after all. So I know the merchant Z in front of me is a kind-hearted, upright and clean merchant incapable of anything illicit or morally questionable well always keeping to the rules. But," he continued, leaning in conspiratorially, the smile never faltering, "if, purely theoretically of course, a 'black merchant' were to suddenly show up and deposit either a sum of coin or a voucher here before vanishing along with certain… problematic individuals, well, I'd be delighted to split that theoretical profit with you to help keep the arrival of a theoretical black merchant secret so future deals would also be possible with you acting as a middle man between us, all purely theoretical though since what are the chances of that even happening? And it's not like anyone would even be here to notice besides you and me and even then, who would believe someone like me or ever dare accuse an upstanding merchant like yourself?"
Z's wide eyes flickered, the feigned innocence replaced with a range of emotions flashing across their eyes, first was surprise then worry followed by confusion and then a look of interest laced with desire and greed as they looked from the bound captives, still whimpering and spitting threats then back to John, clearly debating the grim implications of his offer and if it would be worth the risk or not.
John, sensing the bait had been taken, straightened up slightly more, his tone shifting to one of brisk command. "Old Man, you should head back and check on May and Lacy. Let them know everything's settled out here. Saya, could I trouble to you to go with him, make sure they're truly safe and no other stragglers snuck in and where hiding?" Upon seeing her nod and walk over to the old man his gaze moved to the two figures still standing silently beside him, one glancing worriedly at the other. "As for Ash and Alice, we're going to find the one who 'healed' Alice and find out exactly what the hell he did. And lastly you two." He added, glancing at the mage bothers, both somewhat weary as they looked at him, "either get some rest or get some practice in. I'll find you later and ensure both of you along and everyone else who did well receive a proper reward for your efforts today along for all your hard training, taking initiative like that even though it gets you a bit of warnings now and then is something I like to see, hell you even came over to help regardless of the state you where in." With that, he turned a chill similar to before when he delt with the warriors radiating from him as he moved towards the underground's entrance, the pair following behind him. Z watched them all go, eyes slightly wide and caught between their moral code and the undeniable allure of John's offer. The captives renewed their desperate pleas and curses, their voices growing fainter as John's group descended now directing there, please towards Z.
Just before he fully parted ways the Old Man addressed John in a pleading tone. "Kindly spare Ray. I'll find some way pay whatever you could hope to get for her; she's a good person who just went down the wrong path." John met his gaze, a silent understanding passing between them, "You understand she still needs to have some kind of punishment, right? She had a clear chance to choose and even if she tried changing her choice it just showed she's indecisive when it truly matters." John told him carefully making the old man sigh, "I understand, its just this old man's hope that she not suffer further then, I do agree a punishment is required but could you perhaps at least consider still making use of her? Assigning some kind of work to earn your forgiveness along side the punishment to try and shorten its duration?"
John didn't say anything further, instead turning away and continuing down to the underground, the old man knew he was pushing matters, especially after what had just happened but still felt like he should try. The last thing he heard well Saya helped lead him away to the girls was John calling out for Elena to drag Ray down to the prison, his voice echoing slightly as they went causing the old man to smile ever so slightly. "After that, focus on the greenhouse please. I've an idea for a project I want us to try later, but for now, tend to the plants and see what new types you can create, maybe gather some materials as well with interesting effects and I'll see about trying to trade them with some of our other items to get some fresh seeds from Z later as a thank you for being here and all that you've done, its honestly also my way of saying sorry for snapping at you, either way I'll make sure you have some new seeds by the end of the day." A soft, almost childlike 'yay' drifted from the gloom above as Ray, unseen to everyone but Z was abruptly pulled downwards, her muffled scream quickly fading. Soon, the group had completely dispersed, leaving Z alone with the incapacitated destroyers, vines now wrapped around there mouths to silene then.
Ash led John to the person who was responsible for healing Alice, the girl in question still impossibly quiet but eerily wide-eyed as she following closely behind till they reached the home of the alleged candle maker. The scent of sweet, melted wax grew stronger with every step, filling the air with an almost cloying richness mixed with something familiar he couldn't quite place. The building itself was nondescript, but upon Ash's knock, the door creaked open to reveal a calm-looking gentleman.
His appearance was instantly unsettling: his skin possessed an unnatural, waxy sheen, yet his eyes shone a bright, intelligent blue. Beyond these two arresting features, the rest of him seemed so utterly ordinary that, if someone looked away, only those piercing blue eyes and that glossy complexion would linger in their mind. He was clearly surprised to see them, yet an eager, almost childlike excitement bubbled beneath his composed exterior as he welcomed them inside. The small home was a testament to his craft, every surface crowded with candles of all sizes and forgotten pools of hardened wax, catching the faint light in a thousand tiny glints and that familiar smell far stronger than before, sickeningly sweet, the smell of rotten fruit John realized making him frown.
He felt an immediate, profound sense of unease settle in his stomach, a prickle of dread that intensified with every passing second he spent around this person and in this place. As the candle maker, Jamerson Chase as he introduced himself as, began to ramble, expressing effusive gratitude for their presence and hopes that John would appreciate his 'work,' he instinctively activated his appraisal skill. The information that flooded his mind was not just shocking; it was a cold, hard blast of revulsion that made his skin crawl and stomach twist in pure dread.
Name: Jamerson Chase
Class: Lord of Wax
Age: 54
Gender: Male
Rank: Unknown
God: The Dripping Flame
Nature: Psychotic, obsessive, depraved.
Description: Jamerson, from a young age, harbored an intense obsession with methods of preservation. This fixation deepened by a fanatical degree as he entered adulthood, culminating in his discovery of the profound splendor of wax. His journey began with a morbid fascination for 'House of Wax' movies and frequent trips to macabre wax museums. From these initial seeds, his obsession slowly developed, first compelling him to replicate the scenes on insects before escalating to small animals. He was on the very cusp of applying his twisted craft to a human subject he had kidnapped and locked away when the world underwent its cataclysmic change, granting him newfound abilities and allowing him to elevate his depraved obsession to an entirely new, terrifying level previously unimaginable further twisting his mind and vision.
John's initial unease transmuted into a leaden weight in his stomach, a visceral nausea that roiled within him as he realized what had happened but refused to accept it. His gaze, now filled with a dawning horror snapped to Alice. Fear and a burning anger began to war within his mind against his dread and feeling of sickness. His hand trembled as he shakily raised it again, his appraisal skill activating once more, this time focused on the quiet figure beside him hoping beyond hope well silently praying he was wrong but what he saw solidified his worst fears, twisting his gut into a knot of sickening dread.
Name: Alice
Class: Cosplayer (Trapped as Alice)
Age: ---
Gender: Female
Rank: -----
Race: Human into wax puppet (mid conversion)
God: @#$%&***
Nature: Subservient, Made to Obey, Limited Responses, trapped within themself.
Description: After sustaining grievous harm and succumbing to poison in a recent skirmish, her body was wracked with unimaginable pain. She was brought back to her camp only to be swiftly taken by the Lord of Wax, Jamerson, under the pretense of being 'improved' and 'healed' for his camp leader's benefit. Slowly and excruciatingly, well completely conscious and aware, he began to coat her in his special molten wax that fused irrevocably with her living flesh to slowly convert her into a wax puppet. Only her hair remained untouched by the searing material; every other part of her exterior, from her skin, her eyes, every delicate feature was fully encased piece by piece. Every orifice was directly pumped with this special hot wax afterwards to ensure it would take, ensuring her face was waxed first to ensure no screams could escape. The profound, invasive effect of the wax has now trapped her within her own mind, fully conscious and aware as a puppet-like form replaces her external self. The agonizing pain from both the fight and the ceaseless invasion of wax remained a constant, tormenting presence she can't escape or show; a cruel side effect or maybe intentionally done but either way a wax model doesn't exhibit strong reactions and now she won't ever either.
Reading every horrifying detail, John almost gagged, a bile-like taste rising in his throat. He hadn't known Alice long in a personal capacity, but she had been a stable, constant presence since the world had irrevocably shifted, his brief time with her before the recent fight having sparked feelings he was still figuring out. She had grown on him, a quiet light in the encroaching darkness. He could still vividly recall waking that first night after the change, finding her unexpectedly curled up beside him like a silent comfort that, if he were finally honest quite enjoyed and now this. This unspeakable violation, this living tomb her flesh had become happened to her. Once more, he felt the crushing weight of guilt, a bitter accusation that this was entirely his fault, another consequence of his not fighting alongside them from the very start.
Self-loathing, sharp and agonizing, quickly curdled into a furious, unbridled rage as he rounded on the candle maker. Before Ash could register what was happening, he lunged, a chain lashing out with terrifying speed as it wrapping tightly around Jamerson's neck. "How do I undo what you did to her? How do I turn her back!" John roared, his voice raw with a fury that vibrated through the very air as his other chains began to slam angrily against various candles around them causing Ash to step back in surprise.
Jamerson, momentarily stunned, managed a choked, delighted laugh. "You can't! And honestly why would you? I did this for you! Now she will gladly listen and do whatever you want, she's perfect now! There isn't a way to reverse it, but this is far better! She can't refuse or say no to anything you order her to do! Now she can be truly perf—!" He didn't get a chance to finish his grotesque sales pitch as the chain around his neck constricted violently before, with a sickening snap, four more chains snaked out from John's outstretched hand, wrapping around Jamerson's limbs.
"I didn't want something like this! Change her back, now!" John screamed, his anger a palpable force that made Ash recoil. Jamerson could only offer a gurgling, confused laugh in response. "Can't! Change can't be stopped. Not possible to undo!" he forced out, his eyes wide with genuine bewilderment as he couldn't understand John's rage. In his mind the girl was better this way, more obedient, devoid of random thoughts or undesirable behaviors! So much more beautiful, so wonderfully controlled!
But Jamerson's thoughts were abruptly drowned out by a searing flood of pain as his joints began to pop and dislocate from their sockets. The chains tightened further, muscles slowly tearing as his limbs were agonizingly ripped from his body. Yet, not even a scream could escape his lips; the chain around his neck, though not fully severing his windpipe tightened just enough to allow the barest gasps of oxygen, rendering him mute in his torment. Sharp blades and cruel hooks formed along the chains, slowly rotating around his neck, slicing into his flesh. Two more chains manifested, weaving over his waxy body, covering him in thin, papercut-like slices, one after another, each a fresh agony.
He wanted to scream, to ask what he had done wrong to anger him so, to beg for release but nothing came out. Agonizingly slowly, his left arm was the first to tear free entirely, followed by his right leg, then his left. His deep blue eyes, once eager and excited now seemed to plead for death, but no such mercy was granted. Instead, the chain around his right arm pulled one way and the chain around his neck the other, ripping his last limb clean off. With a slight mental command, the chain around his neck to move a bit, forming its own razor-sharp edges cutting into his spine and nothing else, yet John was far from finished. He released the severed limbs, allowing them to drop with wet thuds before and then commanded the chains to whip him, each hook pulling small bits of skin or flesh.
For a full five minutes, the horrific sounds of tearing flesh and grinding bone filled the small, wax-scented home. Ash, nauseated by the sheer brutality and the pungent, horrid aroma that seemed to exude from Jamerson's dying form, had thrown up moments earlier, his face pale and drawn but refused to allow herself to look away. As for Alice, she merely watched, her new state not permitting much else. Her eyes, unnaturally wide and fixed in their permanent, glossy stare reflected the carnage and her smile, forever plastered on, remained unmoving. What was left on the floor after John's brutal display was an unrecognizable, pulped mass of flesh and bone, a testament to a rage barely contained.