“Now tell me Rodrik, why does the Police Director, referring to myself, if I must remind your nut-brain, must waste his precious time documenting random rabble,” he said, his head tilted behind him.

The guard stood flustered, lost at what his response should be. “I-I’m not sure, sir.”

“Hypothesize.”

“W-wh-”

“Synthesize a contemplation via the extrapolation of present conceivable prospects,” he said, sneering.

“Uh-”

“Guess.”

“W-”

“Idiot--we're looking for someone, obviously. They'll be using a high tier Disguise skill, and you need me to break through it. Next meat-bag!”

Nilbog remembered little of what happened before he evolved into a Shapeshifter, but he remembered him. He was too detestable not to. Two months did not take the wickedness out of him.

He needed to get closer. To hell with a weapon—he had fists. He can do that. Anything to see that wretched face surprised, or even better, humiliated to be struck by a worthless Cub.

“Move up, one by one,” the guard at the side said. The scribe next to Wynjo sunk the tip of his feather into the ink, searching the documents upon the table from under heavy glasses.

Wynjo, for the first time, glanced at them. He stood up, and with his hands still behind his back, he walked by them one by one. “First is a Cub Warrior. Looks plain as flour. Second is a Cub Rogue. Irony couldn’t hit you harder than when your potbelly will hit the ground. Third is fine. A Cub Warrior nearing Wolf. Fourth... is this? Oh, I see how it is. How unfortunate—your Life Source isn’t linked with the rest of your body. I’ll gamble two silver that you’ll die in a couple days.”

Not even a flinch. He was safe. One punch--that's probably all Nilbog could throw before he would be crushed. Wynjo stood a few feet from him, his chin in clear view. He was still hideous as a goblin and smelled like one too, but he was as powerful as ever.

It was the perfect opportunity. All Nilbog had to do was reach for his face, and everything would be over in the right way.

It was all he had to do to guarantee the tinniest bit of redemption.

"Finally, for the fifth. Nope, she’s not here, bring the next batch. That dastardly woman is going to be hard to find.”

They were nudged forward. The scribe had been writing non-stop.

Alongside the two guards, they moved in a tight line to the next building.

Nilbog couldn't do it. It wasn’t fear nor doubt that stopped him—it was just not enough. Nilbog needed to get in more than just punch before his life ended. Numbly, Nilbog followed along when they were pushed forward. He glanced back a few times, feeling the rage and loath that tingled within. I will be back. I swear it, Wynjo, I swear it for the hundredth time.

He turned forward, letting the anger move his body for him. He had to get through this before he got to that. Nilbog wanted to move quickly, but the rest of his cellmates trundled as slowly as they could until the soldier’s barking made them pick up the pace. He understood their concerns, but he didn’t quite care. They could hear the cries of the prisoners echoing through the halls. The smell of cooked flesh extended to outside its entrance.

Five other prisoners were attached to slabs with leather straps as a woman in white robes held a poker to the prisoner's faces. The device had a bronze handle with a glowing red rectangle on the end.

One by one, each with their own sizzle and unique scream, a number in a glowing red was embedded into their cheeks. The torturer called them out as she pressed the poker against their faces. The men were then hauled to their feet and dragged off by their guards. Hunched, skinny, and with pitch dark bags under her half-opened eyes, the torturer seemed in a more terrible condition than them. "Pick a seat," she said, her voice hoarse. "Pick any seat, my dears. Get saddled and comfy, for class is in session."

It wasn’t the best thing she could have started with.

Once everyone got onto the tables, the torturer dipped the device in one of the cauldrons lined up alongside the long wall. More fumes filled the room as the remains of the crystal fell from it. She then fetched one of the crystals from a bin next to it.

They fit into the palms of her hands. She turned around, show-casing it. “Other than being used for healing, Blood Crystals have a couple of useful uses. Each one has a core. But for these ones," she said, tossing it up and down, "The core is gone. As you should have learned in the last class, a crystal releases the Life Force or mana inside it once its core shatters, causing various effects depending on its type. Now, imagine this: what would happen if we found a way to remove the core without activating the crystal?” She tossed the crystal into a different cauldron. In the boiling, blackish liquid, the crystal melted.

“In the right, trained hands, the breaking of the core could signal a frequency that could travel hundreds of leagues away. Now, what would happen if the out-layer of the crystal,” she said, as she put the poker into the reddish, molten-like liquid, “Was in a person’s veins? What will happen if someone breaks the core?” She asked, the wrinkles on her face raised in a smile. When her question was met with solemn silence, the torturer frowned. “That’s not good, class. You need to speak up to earn participation credit,” she said, bringing the device out. Under her gaze, the molten liquid moved and stuck to the rectangular metal end, forming into the outline of 663. “Think of this as a more direct way of drinking a health potion, my dears. It might hurt a bit, though you know what they say: It’s not medicine if it’s not bitter."

The guards locked their limbs and heads in with the strap. One by one, as the next batch arrived, the doctor pressed the device to the prisoner's cheeks, calling out the numbers over their screams.

Nilbog fidgeted. The stench was making his stomach curl, and worse yet, he couldn’t tell whether it was out of disgust or hunger for human Souls. His cheeks itched, conscious of what is going to happen. Pain wasn’t anything new to Nilbog, nor was being set on fire, but being branded would be a first. Each time she pressed the poker against someone’s cheeks Nilbog’s apprehension grew. It made him wish she started with him.

“Now, for 667. O’ Guards, can you come over here? This one's arms are too skinny.”

His arms shook as the guard's hands wrapped around his, pushing it against the stone plates. As the doctor neared, he could smell the warm breeze coming out of the poker. "Happy thoughts," she said as she pressed the metal against his cheeks.

You have gained a buff!

Blood Crystal

Type: Crystal

Increase your base health regeneration by 400% for 3 minutes.

He screamed. It was only his cheeks being burnt but his entire body convulsed as the pain clouded his mind. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe. He wasn't even sure if he was screaming, or if it was a silent cry.

He might have fainted. The next time he could hear anything but his own squealing, it was the torturer’s voice.

"Pick any seat, my dears. Get saddled and comfy, class is in session" she said, laughing in the same horrifying rhythm.

Definitely not right in the head, Nilbog thought, struggling to his feet as they were hulled off immediately after. The wound quickly healed but the pain and scar remained. It made him feel faint in the head.

As Nilbog and the rest of his newly created party walked towards their next destination, the front soldier spoke up. “Doctor Mashi forgot to mention, but all of you are documented together by the same crystal. Its dust flows within your veins now. If we have reason to think any of you have rebelled, all of you will die. Do you understand?” he said. When he only received mumbles and nods, the soldier stopped. He turned around looking into each one of their eyes. “When your commanding officer asks you a question, you answer it. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Nilbog quietly said, the only one out of them. His trained instincts to avoid pain made him think it was the right choice.

The soldier sighed. He shook his head and then proceeded to pummel all of them. Nilbog flew across the floor, taking 5 damage. The others had it worse.

“Do you understand now?”

“Yes," everyone haphazardly said through their moaning. The soldier that escorted them was Wolf—there was no fighting back. Besides, with the Blood Crystal in their veins, there was no point.

For them, at least. Nilbog could replace his blood with two or three Souls. He added it to the growing list of why he should. That list was getting fairly long, while all the con list had was that it’s wrong.

“Good. As long as you follow orders, rarely will you be punished unfairly. Do you understand?”

“Yes” they said again, this time in slightly more sync.

Out of the corner of Nilbog’s eyes, as they began to march through the hall at a quicker pace, he noticed the obvious signs. A fresh bruise on the ground, dried blood and even a tooth stuffed under some rubble. It was a ritual. They wanted to pummel them.

He gently touched his sore cheeks, hissing.

Maybe that was part of the ritual too. The Game didn’t give him any information on Blood Crystals beyond their healing effects. It seems a bit excessive, but Nilbog doubted any of them would be curious enough to test the limits.