Mud clung to Varas's legs like a second skin as he walked, his face a mask of disdain. The tunnels breathing quietly around him. A low, damp inhalation that smelled of earth and old secrets. He kept his hands folded behind his back, fingers brushing the seam of his jacket in a habit that had once been practiced at a table of fine wine and polite lies. The faint clink of small trinkets at his belt whispered with each step, tiny promises of debts unpaid and favors owed.
He sighed, a sound like a hush in the muddy cave. He missed his hometown at odd times: the crooked alleys, the drunken laughter of old friends, the way the rain there tasted cleaner somehow. This kingdom had done for him what the gutter had not. Though it elevated him, lacquered him, taught him how to speak of justice while cutting throats behind embroidered screens. Nobility had been a fine suit he had learned to wear with ease; power, a game he now played with an appetite. Securing a high-mana creature from smugglers would be hardly more than a coin tossed into a hungry hand.
Still, the queen chewed at him. Her commands had gnawed at him for months. Endless seams of tasks, some lewd, born of her fetish desires, and others dangerous, exercises in cruelty masked as loyalty. He had bent so often that sometimes he wondered whether the shape he wore now was entirely his own. He had been walked thin by conspiracy and expectation; still, the weave of wealth and influence that came with her favor was intoxicating. He would not give that up. Not yet.
Activity thrummed in the rotten capital even here, deep beneath the glitter of court. He had been walking these tunnels more and more lately. A river of errands, of promise and threat. As he moved, a shadow uncoiled from a side passage: Redback, the centipede, his many legs a whisper against the stone. Redback had carved a shortcut for the outlaws. "Shriv is back," Redback said without preamble, eyes like wet coal in the dim.
Varas nodded once and followed. The shortcut spat them out into a door that protested with a long, slow creak. Beyond it the hollow smelled of oil and old soot. The torchlight was thin, jittering across the walls.
Shriv lay on the floor when they entered. A small, withered thing among broken crates and scattered vials. Once, the blind cave-roach had been a repository of strange knowledge and darker curiosities; now he was a ragged heap of cracked shell and shallow breaths. Blood traced a dark line under his chest where it soaked into the floor.
For a moment the room was only the sound of Shriv's gasps, the rasp of breath ragged as torn paper.
Varas stepped in with his usual grace; hands folded behind his back. His calm steps carried him across the room, though his sharp eyes quickly fixed on the broken form of Shriv.
The roach lay sprawled across a heap of rags, red bubbles of clotted flesh swelling across his body. Each breath rattled, each exhale dragging a wet gurgle from his lungs. When Shriv's gaze caught Varas's silhouette in the doorway, his lips curled into a trembling half-smile.
"Varas…" he croaked, his voice fractured.
Varas approached, tilting his head slightly as though studying a painting gone dull. "Ah, Shriv. Did you enjoy your adventure?" His smile was faint, almost tender, though his words carried no warmth. "What a pity, to see you end up like this."
Shriv let out a weak, broken laugh. The sound dissolved into a fit of coughing, blood splattering onto his chin. "You… knew this was… going to happen… to me."
Varas's smile widened. He crouched beside him, "I knew it... from the moment I saw that red powder..." Blood spews from his mouth with every breath he takes. "I knew you wanted them dead..."
Shriv's chest heaved, and his voice dropped to a rasp. "The spider… it won't last long. The poison… already eats it alive. The others… their souls… already scattered." His body quivered as a new bubble burst on his side, leaking fresh blood.
"Well, that is wonderful news! Though it's a shame, if the Queen had ordered me before, I would've loved to capture it. Nevertheless, great job!" Varas said cheerfully, and in a sudden flick of motion he tapped a fist against one of the swollen red bubbles on Shriv's shoulder. Shriv's scream tore through the room, echoing against the stone walls before dwindling into a low, pained whimper.
Varas rose smoothly to his feet, turning his back on the roach without a shred of hesitation. His voice, calm as ever, drifted toward the centipede waiting by the tunnel. "Tell me, Redback—how fared your search for the mines?"
The great creature stirred, its antennae twitching as it replied in its deep, echoing tone. "We met resistance. Nula insisted on handling it herself. Hence, I returned."
Varas let out a soft, theatrical sigh. "Ah, that tiny mite and her enormous ego. One day it will bury her." He paused, reaching into his cloak and pulling free a small vial of faintly glowing liquid. With a lazy toss, he set it down near Shriv's quivering hand.
"A potion," Varas said flatly. "Made specially for you. Make sure you drink it. I don't want you dying on me just yet." Varas's smiled gleamed brightly.
"As for me, I have business with Lord Carabus once more, I am afraid. See that this place doesn't collapse without me."
And with that, Varas vanished into the tunnels, his graceful stride carrying him deeper into the shadows, leaving behind the smell of blood, the bubbling flesh of Shriv, and the hollow echo of laughter that didn't quite sound like mercy.