Jack felt the wounds in his stomach begin to heal. Hallucinations from the poison. He knew healing wasn’t within the Viscount’s talents, and the Gods never listen to nobodies like him. Accepting that his torment was almost at an end, Jack forced a weak, bloody smile through clenched teeth.

  Just a little longer, and my pitiful life will be over. Despite his failure, Jack felt a weight lift from his weary soul at the thought of no longer enduring the torment of grief, of unfinished vengeance, of a wound that had never closed.

  He prayed to be reunited with his murdered family in the Asphodel Fields, the part of the Underworld where ordinary souls found rest. He could hope the Gods would grant him this small mercy.

  Greaves loosened the iron grip around Jack’s throat, allowing him to breathe. Jack’s head lolled to one side as he gulped air, easing the burn in his lungs. The Viscount leaned in, his voice calm but laced with menace. “Who sent you?” he asked in a soft voice. “Speak while you still can.”

  The noble was so close that Jack could smell his breath. Urgh, garlic. The fat swine had eaten garlic at a brothel. But, no alcohol? The thought disturbed him more than it should. Confused, he frowned. He knew Greaves to be a heavy drinker; the man overindulged in everything.

  What does it matter? I’m dead. He forced a defiant smirk as blood dribbled from his lips. The thought was almost funny. He wanted to laugh, but instead, tears dripped down his cheeks. He had failed his family. Again.

  It had been twenty long years since Greaves, then a Baron, had murdered them. Since Jack had crawled from the fire with half his face seared off and the rest of his life stolen. The Baron’s greasy ascent through the aristocracy had deepened Jack’s hatred.

  It was not fair; it never had been. That fat face, those stupid jowls, and that wispy blond hair touched with grey would be the last thing he saw before the Gods of judgement, Minos, Rhadamanthus, and Aeacus, rendered judgement on his soul. The Viscount’s smug grin and ridiculous top hat, like those worn by every other pompous noble, would be burned into his mind for all eternity as he wandered the Underworld, a failure.

  He wanted to punch, kick, bite, anything to hurt the bastard who killed his family. He seethed with rage and vengeance. All he could do was hang there like a limp, pathetic failure, gasping for breath while he died.

  Jack felt his anger rise. I fucking hate you! All he wanted now was to remember his family’s happy faces. But even those memories had faded, blurred by time and trauma. Life was cruel and indifferent to vengeance and grief.

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  The pain still flared whenever he thought of his family. Raw and gaping, like an open wound, untouched by time, and as fresh as it had been on the day of their murders. The smell of burning flesh was always there, seared deep in his nasal cavity, like a brand on his soul.

  The memories had turned into curses, relived each night in his vivid nightmares and each day in his thoughts. Every joyful memory was tainted by fire, by screams, and corrupted by the orange glow of a home-turned-pyre. His mother, father, his younger sister, and his little brother, just old enough to start school, were all blackened and charred.

  The ruthless Baron had slaughtered them all to protect a forbidden grimoire, one filled with blood magic spells. A book that only Jack and his father knew about. The secret would’ve been safe with only their deaths, but Greaves had killed them all. If only we’d…

  His pitiful thoughts were disrupted by a fresh wave of agony tearing through him as the dagger slid back into his gut.

  “Who sent you?” Greaves asked with impatience. “Was it Viscount Daelrath?” the noble’s tone sharp with suspicion, “Or the scheming drow, perhaps?” he shook his head at his own question.

  Jack gritted his teeth at the pain. I won’t answer.

  There was genuine confusion from Greaves now. “You clearly know them. How else would scarred scum have one of their blades and wield it so badly?” Greaves’ voice was tinged with disdain.

  Jack remained silent.

  Greaves’ voice rose in fury, “Answer me!” The Viscount tightened the grip around Jack’s neck again, crushing his windpipe until it felt aflame.

  Jack choked, half-conscious, with his eyes rolling. The scent of burnt flesh filled his nostrils. A cruel reminder of his family, burning, screaming… No! Not that, no! The world narrowed into fire and grief, and for a moment, he was back in his burning home trying to save his family.

  He blacked out for a moment as the poison took its toll on his body and mind. His extremities were already numb, and the hallucinations were worsening. He could see faint tongues of flame flickering between the Viscount’s fingers like he was a Fire Mage playing with a low-level cantrip.

  As one final act of defiance, he spat blood at the man who had killed his family over a damned book. If only my blood were poisonous. It wasn’t, and most of his spittle splattered short, staining the hem of the Viscount’s elegant crimson waistcoat.

  “Filthy dog!” Greaves roared, driving the dagger into Jack’s belly half a dozen times with savage force.

  The pain was like burning coals in his gut, spreading fire through his insides. The poison dulled the agony, yet it was still overwhelming. He groaned but refused to speak, stubborn even in death. I won’t speak. I won’t.

  His silence enraged Greaves further. The Viscount’s face flushed an angry red as he slammed Jack’s head against the alley wall. “Who! Sent! You!” he spat, each word punctuated by another brutal blow.

  Jack felt his body healing again. That’s not possible. He thought through the pain. Only a Master Healer or a divine miracle could save him now.

  Below is a spoiler hint, it's not a true spoiler but a 'pay attention hint' that in a future chapter some readers will see the link.

  I won't be adding them often, it's for those who want to check if they've missed something important or if their suspicions might be right without being given true spoilers.

  Chapter 004 Slay All The Dragons