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“Is that,” Lilia taunted, pausing only to heave in a needed breath, “all you got?”
To be frank, the situation was… hmm… not good, to put it lightly. Very bad, actually. He had known that the anti-fae faction within the city of Daybreak had still existed all this time, but the centuries had tempered them, dwindled their numbers, and forced them to be less brazen. Lilia remembered when it was worse; he remembered the days surrounding the war. He never stopped being careful in these areas… or so he had thought.
Not even he would imagine that they would so boldly kidnap a fae off the streets just to prove a point.
Ugh, and to think: Lilia had just intended to pick up some fast food as a treat.
At least it meant Silver was still on the other side of the city in that old light fae’s forge. With any hope at all, Silver would not find him before Lilia figured his own way out. He did not want his son to see this—the worst humanity had to offer.
A member of the small, angry mob of cult zealots threw another rock. It struck his shoulder fairly hard, enough to elicit a bit-back hiss. “Silence, demon!” he screamed, rather dramatically.
The little faction had done their research, he will give them that. A worrying degree of research, truly, though Lilia suspected that the tips and tricks on subduing and torturing fae had been passed down generation by generation within their group, and it was not something they looked up at their local library.
The pure iron bands that pinned Lilia to the wall, by the wrists and ankles, burned his skin in such a way to suggest that they had been brought to its freezing point after their forging—which was a step many forgot. They also drew a circle around him on the wall with his own blood mixed with ink, restricting his magic in an archaic way. Lilia would be impressed were it not so inconvenient. And painful.
“The dark fae must be punished, to cleanse our land of its filth and repay the blood of our ancestors,” the cult leader said yet again. “Do not give into his attempt to rile you, my brothers and sisters.”
The little gathering renewed their vigor. Their idea of punishment was to overwhelm him with sleep magic out in the street and then whisk him away to their LARPer basement, to suspend him on the wall and then throw things at him. Stones and rotten fruit, mainly. It was straight out of the kind of crimes their ancestors would commit against his countrymen, except perhaps with less tar and feathers and less killing intent, for all that this could still be a brutal activity. He wondered if they meant to keep him alive, or they just had not considered throwing knives yet. (Although that would hasten Lilia’s plan…)
Pinned like a poor, beautiful butterfly as he was, Lilia could do little to dodge, except perhaps for attempting to save his face from anything too damaging or blinding. The so-called ‘corporeal punishment’, as if they were an authority and their target were guilty, was meant to brutalize and humiliate. Perhaps they knew it was harder to break a night fae’s ribs with stones; perhaps they didn’t. Either way, Lilia could admit that the blossoms of localized pain from all the impacts began to bleed together in a rather overwhelming way. It angered Lilia, to a degree he’d rather not feel anger, that they would have done this to any fae, including true civilians. Based on their lack of specified taunting, they had no idea who he was, so they likely thought they were tormenting a civilian now.
However, General Vanrouge, retired though he was, could handle pain. He just needed to weather a little more. (In this, his thick skin nearly came at a disadvantage; he did not bleed as easily.)
Hm. If they wanted theatrics, then… Yes, Lilia could provoke them better.
“You weak humans,” he snarled meanly. Taunt though it was, the phrasing was still bitter on his tongue, never mind how he despised these dozen or so individuals at the moment. That was the part of General Vanrouge that no longer existed. “You even lack the strength to throw pebbles. You cannot harm me in any way that matters.”
Predictably, this renewed their efforts and their rage. The skinny twerp on the far right had missed every throw he had ever attempted, but he finally managed to hurl a sharp enough stone to graze and cut his calf. Nice. Well, it stung, but the little cuts and blossoms of blood on his chest and arms weren’t cutting it. Pun… not intended. Oh drat, that was such a good one, but he feared he would traumatize the children if he ever tried to use it in the inevitable re-telling of this story.
Lilia shook the leg as best he could to better position the cut to bleed against the wall. A little more… Oh, if only this were not a vertical surface! He would have bit his cheek and spit, like any self-respecting soldier. Lilia wondered if they arranged it like this on purpose… or if these small-minded fools only cared about inflicting damage and humiliation.
Most of the rocks were no bigger than a fist—to make them easier to throw, perhaps. If a human or a weaker fae was in this position, it would be a more tragic tale. Still… the injuries compounded and Lilia was starting to feel light-headed beyond the growing matrix of pain and ache. Ah, perhaps he taunted them too hard. He wished they would bring back the fermented peaches and tomatoes, but alas, they were harder to reuse than rocks.
Something shifted inside Lilia. Not literally—he believed all of his bones were in the same place (although perhaps a few ribs had finally broken)—but rather he could feel the awakened tug of magic. Oh thank goodness: his blood broke the circle. He had not wanted to admit it, but the damage was starting to test his tolerance.
Lilia may be an old man, and his magic still wasn’t what it used to be, but getting out of this should be easier enough. Hopefully. With a short burst of explosive magic, he shattered the four shackles at once, sending him careening to the floor amidst the startled screams of the cult. The hasty move did his abused wrists no favors, but they were already in a constant state of burning and throbbing. Lilia did not have to look at them to know what the combination of cut-off circulation and cold-iron blistering would look like; it had been many years, but he had seen too much of his fair share.
If only the days of humans using the biological quirks of fae to torment them simply for the sake of it were truly over and buried, never to be seen again. Every time Lilia had begun to rest in his assurance that things were far, far better, there would come a reminder.
“Get him!” someone shrieked.
Lilia grit his teeth. Everything spun and burned in a way that did not bode well, but Lilia had enough experience to let the adrenaline carry him out, and then the experience to compensate whenever the adrenaline failed. All he truly had to do was make it back to a public area, at the bare minimum; he could likely make it back to the light fae’s forge at best. If they were sequestered in the woods, then Lilia had the confidence he could maneuver the terrain better than them and use it to lay low somewhere. He just needed to get out of their stronghold.
He cast a few protective barriers in quick succession as he rolled away from someone swinging a staff like a baton. Another thrown rock struck, but this time, his shield negated it. Lilia used his small size (and currently close position to the ground) to spring forward and weave amongst their unbalanced feet. Any attempts at more sleep enchantments would be (hopefully) negated by his hasty protection. He also started a quick regen effect, knowing full well he did not have the time or the energy to do any better healing magic, but unless he stacked the odds in his favor, he lowered his chance of a clean escape. A little of mage-stoneless magic would not harm him more than the cultists. He would have to stay away from attacks though, lest the blot become its own obstacle.
The leader, and coincidentally the one best at magic, blocked the entrance to the stairway. “You shall not pass, demon!”
He cast a fairly strong vine spell that shot out from the ground and rushed for Lilia’s legs. At his best, Lilia would be able to vault above it easily, but he recognized his limitations; in that split second of deliberation, Lilia summoned one of his possessions to himself instead to split the vines and continue forward. The magearm shifted to a sword as soon as it settled in his palm. It sliced through it easily.
Ah, Lilia had not explicitly meant to summon that weapon, but he supposed it was the easiest to grab from his hoard, since it was made of magestone. But… he had sworn not to draw blood with it unless he had to. This, by all means, should count as the occasion, yet Lilia still faltered. Their savagery was one thing; his own was another. For as cruel as they were, none of these humans were all that adept at real combat, evidenced now by their shaking knees and screams.
Right as he determined to simply throw the cult leader to the side and make a run for it, the door flew open.
“Hands in the air! Police!” a deep voice cried. What was far more prevalent to Lilia, however, was the bolt of familiar light magic that crashed into the leader before Lilia ever had the chance to touch him.
He felt a flash of pride, but mostly, a resigned sort of melancholy. Lilia had not wanted him to see this.
“Father!” Silver cried.
The local law enforcement crowded into the space, wrangling the cult into submission. Based on the magic being cast behind him, some of them tried to resist, but it seemed that even the non-ARU officers could handle them at this scale.
Silver went straight to Lilia, supporting his weight before his knees even failed him. Unlike how Lilia had last seen him, Silver’s guardsman armor, bearing Malleus’ royal crest, was in full display. Ah, he must have leveraged his position as a Briar Valley knight to join the raid. “Father, are you alright?” Silver asked, the edge of panic hardly hidden in his voice.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Lilia insisted. “I just let these rapscallions catch me off guard, I fear.”
Judging by Silver’s frown, he did not believe Lilia’s assurances. Instead of arguing however, he cast a better healing spell and watched the dredges of combat over his shoulder.
“Let the local authorities handle them,” Lilia sighed, sensing Silver’s thoughts. “We may officially be allies, but this is not our domain.”
“...understood.”
Silver led him up the stairs. It was not the woods, but still on the fringe of town. Good to know. Now that Silver bore much of his weight, the pain and exhaustion started to get the better of him. Yet still, Lilia could not give in.
Silver was destined to see these horrors in his position. As much as Lilia wanted this chapter of history closed, there would always be resurgences of hate. Yet still, Lilia had hoped for a better world for the children to inherit.
“I can summon medical aid,” Silver said, rather pointedly. My, who taught him such sass. “You… you really need it, Father.”
“It looks worse than it is. Any cuts are rather shallow,” Lilia insisted.
“Father. You… you promised to let us help you.”
Lilia winced in a way that had nothing to do with the pain. He had not thought this would apply to that promise… but Silver’s moon-colored eyes were equally steely and wet, and Lilia knew that Silver was right. The fight continued to drain out of him.
“You are helping, Silver,” Lilia sighed. “Thank you.”
Silver lost a bit of his tension, but only a bit. Lilia was grateful still, however, that his shirt likely meant the majority of the damage was hidden from view. Small mercies, considering the clothing had also made bleeding past the circle more difficult at the time. Lilia preferred this mercy over the former.
“Sir Vanrouge,” someone said. Lilia looked up, but to his surprise, the Daybreak officer was looking directly at Silver. “Thank you for your cooperation in this matter. We are terribly sorry that this occurred on our streets. We will take any necessary measures to cooperate with Briar Valley as we solve this matter.”
Silver nodded austerely. “Thank you, sir.”
Lilia finally started to relax, realizing that the case was settled in a way that hardly needed his input. Silver had grown into his position well, and the current allyship of the human town’s authorities held strong.
Maybe the world was not some paradise, but the children still inherited a better world. May the evil that remained not be enough to taint that.