The entire structure felt compelled to remain in shape solely due to the presence of its' master. Compuslory to the staff to obey, as trapped by invisible chains to this old presbytery. Perpetual momentum of maids serving meals and news of weapon traffickers' recent actions. No signs of an escape, mind altered to focus on the task at hand like a laser on a fly.
But such a presence alone does not justify such a reaction. They feel trapped, and Ismael, armed like a special forces madman, understands this absolutely. The cracked wood was not just present but overwhelming, and overall the deeper you'd go the more disturbing the general aura would be.
About thirty meters down the surface at the entrance, it came to Ismael's mind that choosing a fight in the first place was a rancid idea. He even barely stopped his footwork for a brief second.
"They usually do this. You wish to continue?"
"That's my friend, down there."
"Let's hope it still is."
Ismael remembers the days when they were young. The interactions with Basil were partially eclipsed from his memory, but for the little that he still knew of him, he did feel highly of him, as he does with all his friends.
There was a moment. Ismael is persued by Basil and trips on the hard ground. While he's down, Basil picks him up and they go the bathroom. He helps him to wash his blood off his mouth and then Ismael does it alone. And they started talking about video games, comic books, wrestling, and it was just this one interaction. This one short moment in summer that felt like heaven is deeply engraved in his memory, he could never forget it. And then he sees himself again, in recess. But this is not a normal recess, and Genova is talking to them about different types of weapons and possible tactical situations. They all laugh and they are so happy that their hearts suffocate. The sun was high and strong and the moment, unreal.
They arrive at a newtork of high-tech rooms integrated to the infrastructures gave the place a more human feeling; although the door in the middle, going so far high, felt like a portal to the underworld.
"Theigon?"
"Standing here is the procedure. You've crossed the line on the floor, he knows you're here."
"Didn't even see this one. Come on, Ismael. You grew up with this person. Block out the fear."
Ismael grabs the doorknob and pushes it down, quickly gets inside and closes the door behind him. In pitch black darkness, two highly malevolent green eyes opened a few feet from him. The most evil and soul-shattering, will-breaking set of eyes ever to be seen.
They move, left, right, up and down. Basil Morgan moves his things around to stand up and Ismael, who prepared a speech in his mind to break the ice, realizes there's no word to appease his own mind anymore. He doesn't even want light to shine in this place, by fear of seeing what his host might look like. In a way he also wished to be relinquished in profound darkness to avoid psychological harm. In a way, he had been dragged down so low that he wanted to be part of this dark world also.
The very instant Ismael tried to utter a word to regain confidence in his capability to negotiate a dialogue, Basil Morgan stood up in a violent mechanical noise of different items laying around. The two green eyes rose higher than normal, higher and higher. Always higher. Ten. Fifeteen meters. Twenty. Now the eyes are so high, Ismael stares in shock and confusion. They squint in superiority, as to judge his guest.
"Basil, long time no see, old friend."
"Allow me to make myself clear." The voice was deep and resonating. Chilling. Inhuman. "Your intelligence or lack thereof, that hath brought you here today, is carried by a need to make yourself look better than the rest of us. For you have left behind your life, you will stay in Renegald or walk your way to hell on land."
"I'm not better than anybody else. You must understand that after what we went through all together, we can't just perpetuate this mechanism of war. I came here thinking you had kept on trafficking weapons of destruction. But Theigon assured me you didn't."
"I assure you the one you're looking for is Raven. Mateni died. I'm not a threat to you. And Genova is way out of your league in terms of abilities. You'll find Raven Perma at the next city, C.Y. Lens."
Ismael loses patience and unseathes his gun.
"So it is the lack thereof."
"You've trafficked weapons nonetheless, haven't you?"
"You must think you're God or something. At Nara you've killed hundreds if not more. Should I have you publicly executed?"
"I am the one that shoots down those with no morals. No ethical standards. I was working for the Cressenie State, the entirety of my life was dedicated to this place. I am a vigilante that serves justice."
"Oh, spare me the speech, Is."
Ismael arms the gun.
"You've lost your mind."
"Try me."
"You have no idea what's pointing back at you. You do remember me as the fastest, don't you?"
Ismael's eyes got used to the darkness and his vision was able to form out the atrocity of what he was even talking to in the first place, and his confidence was erased once more. He could also make out of what weapon Basil was using. Finally, the glowing green eyes were now shaped in a way that he could tell he was smiling as hard as he could. He lowered his gaze and gulped his saliva.
"I'll be there. When you frantically sell weapons out of boredom or excitement, just know I'll have my rifle at your head. For now I'll let you live."
"Hey, Ismael. Raven never lets anyone interfere with her illegal activities. She'll take something away from you before you even understand how to confront her."
"Will remember that, creature."