Losing Everything
Bang…bang…bang.
The murderous banging upon the doors grew in strength; unseen fists punching louder, harder. Razoff, calm, returned his beloved hat back to where it belonged on his head, barely able to hear his hefty sigh among the slams. There he stood, on the Ground Floor of his foyer, the only light that of a lone candle on the table to his right, its golden glow casting solemn shadows across his face. The long, red coat—which had become just as big a part of his character as Morgroff's gift— once more adorned his frame. His gun, one he acknowledged would be heart wrenchingly useless against his foe, resided in one hand. Its barrel end remained planted against the ground: unthreatening, submissive, only present to unconsciously support Razoff.
Sanity began to unravel from the invisible hands that pulled at it. Unresponsive, the Hunter stood there like a stone statue, merely awaiting the destined time. Hidden eyes became glassy beneath the hat's rim. Time no longer took his side of the field…and in his mind he watched it turn its harsh back on him. In secret, he begged for it to return, but all he received was ignorance. For his time, and that of another soul, had briskly ran out. There was no turning back the clock.
Deep, deep down, self-loathing knotted at his stomach until sickness arose. He knew nothing could be done, not anymore.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The abuse sent wood shards flying with silent cries. They clinked after colliding with red and yellow tiles, their horrid evidence scattering the floor as if broken bones. Steel once buried inside the front doors suddenly dented inward…before being punched straight through. With the ease of mere, weak paper, those fists pierced its shell. Robotic knuckles became visible. Razoff swallowed around his nerves and loosened his shirt collar at the sight.
The back of his neck all of a sudden prickled, alert. Above him, an approaching presence of another male could be sensed, but he kept his eyes locked on the front doors. Elegant eyebrows furrowed. He must not, at any cost, highlight Rayman's presence to his foe. Such a danger was too great to fathom.
XXXX
Feeling uncertain, Rayman slowly crept down the corridor of the top floor. Carpet softened the nervous falls of his feet and kept them silent as he approached the foyer, staying hunched and low. He saw the banister in front of him with its many small, thin, wonky pillars, and knew it was the only option. It was the perfect location to remain hidden, yet simultaneously peer down on the scene below.
Careful, he knelt down when he got close enough. Quiet, heart in his mouth, he eased himself onto his stomach. Soft carpet connected with his chest and he almost growled when his hoody tassels got caught beneath his body. Quickly grabbing them and pulling them free, they trailed on the floor in the corner of his eye as he crawled along on his belly—remaining inconspicuous. The closer and closer those banisters got, the louder and louder the banging became…and the faster and faster his heart raced.
He grunted as he finally managed to heave himself forward enough to be able to see. Peering through a gap in the banister pillars, he found he had to duck his head more to see passed a slanted one. The view that met him was Razoff standing in front of the staircase, just standing there on the Ground Floor…waiting. However, from this angle, Rayman felt his heart sink. The man's hat completely obscured his onyx irises, covering their truth from prying eyes. Or, more specifically, from Rayman's eyes. Had the Hunter done so deliberately…or could it simply be a coincidence?
So many questions flew unhindered through his mind as he stared at the Hunter. What exactly was going on? Why had Rosyetta been taken, why her specifically? Although he knew without a doubt that the robots were involved, he could not comprehend why they had taken the Countess and not the Count himself. Surely, the Count was the main target? And why was this event happening now? Deep down, somewhere within the crevices of his conscience, a hunch niggled at him. The story Morgroff had told him hours prior ran little, maddening circles around his head as if on a relay track, each time highlighting one specific detail. Over and over, an angering image of Razorbeard—lord of the Hunters Guild—resurfaced and taunted him.
These thoughts naturally evoked him to consider the feline. Yet, even though he spared a daring moment to glance around, not even a ginger tail appeared for his effort. Blonde hair bounced over sapphire eyes as their curious gaze returned to his peeping gap. The suspicious frown on his face revealed his decision to ignore Morgroff's disappearance…for now. For something was brewing in his heart; he could feel it rising within. The sensation that something far more important than Morgroff, something far direr, stalked in future shadows.
Shadows too dark to predict…too dark to see the future beyond.
It was then Rayman suddenly realized that he could feel the ferocious banging. Tremors shook the mansion walls, warring through the floorboards, through his chest laid against them. Each bang fell in sync with his heartbeat—rapid and loud in his ears. Throbbing, his heart was throbbing against his ribs. His brain felt dazed, rattled. Breathing grew difficult, shallow.
Without warning, the world froze upon his skin and Rayman shuddered. All became numb, cold, frightening. Bangs thrummed through his core. Nerves icy cold overtook his soul as he watched a nightmare unfurl, despite not realising it yet. BOOM. The double doors crashed down with a final smash, falling to reveal the bog…
And beyond its ruin, Rayman choked at what he found.
XXXX
Air once filled with banging danger subsided, but silence can be even more dangerous. This particular silence felt far worse than any gunshot. When a beast prowls out of sight, preparing for the kill, for the murderous bite, eyeing you, waiting for your guard to slip, you feel terror of the unknown. Silence consumes the life around you…and you understand its warning. Your life flame is about to be blown out. Terrifying chills slither up your spine. You envision red—your own splattering blood. Your predator is ready, but you are frozen. Such cruel, hopeless silence engulfed the foyer in that moment, and Razoff barely contained a shiver.
Callous, monotone drones suddenly broke the silence. Their echoes surrounded its prey: above, behind, front, left, right, within his very skull. Cornered, Razoff felt cornered, sweat developing on his brow.
The predator at the front took a step forward into the room, golden eyes glinting.
"Well, well, what have we here? Rather than cowering in hiding, waiting for me to flush you out like the vermin you are, I find you standing before me. So…we meet again, Mortal."
Razoff remained impassive, seeming unfazed…but nothing could be further from the truth. Inside him, distain, despair and fear writhed without cease. To his horror, it only intensified when, from the dark Bog of Murk, eight more robots stalked into his home. They surrounded their lord with faith unmatched—four on each side.
A single drop of sweat, unseen, trickled down the Hunter's neck.
"Indeed, we meet again, Razorbeard," said Razoff with a nonchalant tone, as elegant and calm as always. Above, Rayman marvelled at how perfectly he fit the dignified Count he was born to be. The false, confident mask was perfection. "Pray tell, was bashing down my doors truly necessary? You've left a perfectly good hole in my top floor to enter through."
Rayman scoffed behind the banister. Even when in danger, he has a sarcastic flair.
Then everything started to fall apart.
Pure shock filled Rayman and his eyes widened, for Razorbeard abruptly lifted a canon-like gun and fired without warning. Razoff's own dark orbs widened, followed by a grunt of agony. An energy bullet had scorched the Hunter's arm that held his gun, forcing him to drop it with a clang. His jaw was clenched tightly in an attempt to ignore the pain and the Robot Lord seemed to smirk. Unnerved, he forced himself to look down. Upon his forearm, he saw how his red coat, his white dress-shirt underneath, had been burned straight through to his skin—had been burnt black and stained crimson.
Razorbeard gave a low chuckle, "You do not have the right to call me by my coded name, Slave. And your sarcasm is unappreciated." The gun lifted once more, aiming at his prey's opposite arm. "Care to try again?"
A feisty glare as black as searing coal fixed on the robot. He expected nothing less from the monster who enjoyed how disaster left hollow creatures in its wake.
The Hunter only gave a quiet, blunt reply, "Why have you come…Master?"
Rayman mentally gasped. No…this is…I can't describe what this feels like.
The Guardian simply could not comprehend what he was witnessing. Feeling confused, it was as if he stared into a mirror of fate…and it was showing him a twisted, reversed reflection of the past. Roles linking slave and master intertwined: the master, Razoff, no longer possessed power, for instead he held the submission of the slave. The Hunter became the one being hurt, humiliated, hunted. Blue eyes softened; he found it difficult to digest such a realisation.
Hearing about it and seeing it are completely different things, He thought. Seeing it in person…has really made the point hit home.
Razoff was, truly, a slave, just as much as he himself was.
And Rayman felt unable to shake the feeling that the tables had been turned once more.
He bit the inside of his cheek to remain quiet. Until, of course, a distinct nudge against his shoe made his eyes widen. A restrained gasp escaped him as he whipped his head back, instantly coming face to face with bright, amber eyes. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Where, in Jano's name, have ya been?" Came his harsh whisper.
The feline, Morgroff, causally trotted up to Rayman's side and laid down beside him. Nothing, not a single word gave away an answer. The cat simply snuggled up next to him and watched the scene through the banisters as well, sadness upon his furry face. Unexpectedly, Rayman blinked at discovering something akin to parchment gripped in the animal's fangs. That would explain the lack of response.
Cautious, his gloved hand moved to dislodge the object and lift it to his face. Closer inspection revealed it to be an envelope, or a letter to be precise. An eyebrow raised in curiosity when he flipped it over, finding a peculiar seal with the letters 'HG' stamped into its red wax. The loose flap indicated that the letter had already been opened.
"…I am sorry, Old Chap…" Morgroff trailed off, hushed voice sounding like a shaky breath. Amber eyes finally met Rayman's own, and Rayman felt terror build at the wetness of unshed tears shining back at him. "I really am sorry."
Rayman gave him a wary look. "I don't understand. What are ya sorry for?"
"I know what you are thinking. You are thinking where have I been? Why did I not help Rosyetta, my own cousin? Indeed, I understand that it may have looked bad…but it would have been impossible for me to have helped her even if I wanted to. And oh, how I had wanted to. But I am what I am…and I am just a cat. That is one reason why I am sorry, whereas the other reason…resides in your hand."
"I can understand the first part, and I feel for you…but are you telling me that you vanished off just to bring me this letter? Why?" The Guardian, who had stayed quiet for a while, emerged once again from within, eyes turning serious. Rayman laid there no more, for instead the Guardian had taken the reins.
The only response he received was the small head tilting in the direction of the letter, a signal to take a leap of faith.
Before attempting to open the letter, however, Rayman suspiciously tuned back in to the scene below. Heavier and heavier his heart grew, sinking into his stomach. Everything seemed to be building up to something drastic…something devastating.
"I have come to collect my prize, as you should already know," Razorbeard explained, sounding unamused. In fact, it seemed the lord was agitated. A steel finger rose to tap against his chin—intimidating. "The letter I sent weeks ago received no reply. I suspected treason, and I do not tolerate treason."
The Hunter suddenly lowered his hand into his coat pocket, signs of pain clear on his face as he forced his injured arm to move. When it re-emerged, a once empty hand grasped a letter and brought it out into the open. Gracefully, the parchment was held between his thumb and forefinger, his expression a glare. Voice stern, tone smooth, he stated, "I never go against my word, Master. This was my reply."
"Give it to me now."
Razoff refused to say a word whilst he approached the intruders who had sabotaged his mansion, his arm outstretched to offer the letter. A steady stride was taken, then another, and another, until the Hunter finally came to tower over the smaller, yet much more dangerous predator. No gentleness or apology was given as Razorbeard swiped the letter out of his hand, Razoff flinching as metallic claws scratched his flesh. High above, the Guardian snarled in fury. He glowered at such a heartless display, glared at the beads of blood blossoming on Razoff's palm. It was taking every slither of restraint he possessed not to reveal himself and he despised it. The only thing holding him back, the only thing trapping him there, was the past voice of a Count resounding throughout his mind:
"And please, no matter what you hear, no matter what you see…do not come out. No matter what happens, don't reveal yourself…and don't blame yourself…for what you might witness."
Razorbeard tore open the envelope with little care, before scanning the handwritten letter. Left to right, left to right, whizzing eyes analysed the script at an unnatural speed. It only took a few seconds to finish reading and for him to come to a conclusion.
"Ah, so you did not remain quiet in a state of defiance. You mortals truly are pathetic when it comes to being organised…I do not know why I bother with you. Your reply was made too late, I should robotize you right here in your own mansion. Can you imagine how painful that would be without the proper tools? Tearing out your organs with my own, bare hands?"
Engrossed in the situation transpiring before his eyes, Rayman nearly growled aloud as the cat snatched a tassel in his mouth and yanked. 'Read the letter!' the cat seemed to scream. 'Read it! NOW!'
Words latched into Razoff's throat, yet swallowing did not remove them. Stern eyes narrowed, the skilful hunter within him observing the boundaries left unsaid. No, no the Robot Lord was simply lying to scare him. An intimidation tactic to rouse discomfort…correct? Surely the robot did not currently have the equipment here to perform such horrors, despite his claim? At least…he desperately hoped not. The last thing he wished Rayman to witness was him being butchered alive, until nothing but a mangled corpse splattered the floor. He gulped at the image.
Unable to portray his fear, he bottled it up, instead clearing his throat as he hastily changed the subject, "How did you find my home?"
The Count knew his question held no humour, so when the eight other robots began to release beeping chuckles, instant wariness swept over him. Taking a step back, he gave them all an anxious frown.
Unfortunately, Razorbeard sniggered alongside them, "Be careful of the company you keep, Mortal. Even the most angelic flower can be tainted."
Razoff darted his gaze back to his master so fast he grimaced from whiplash. Black met yellow—shattering realisation clashing against malicious glee.
There was only one 'flower' that sprang to mind.
"No…" A whisper broke passed the Hunter's lips. Another step was taken back, bewildered, lost. "No…Rose…she betrayed me."
"Her life was mine either way," Razorbeard corrected. Malice resonated from his voice when he continued, "If she had not led my robots here, I would have robotized her. If she did help us, she would have still become an android. Her fate was the same no matter what option she chose in the beginning. She just did not understand this simple equation since she is as imbecilic as all mortals."
Hot, furious desire to tear the robot apart, screw by metal screw, coursed through Razoff's veins. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as tension stiffened his stance. However, with the grace bestowed to him via his bloodline, composure forcibly replaced it.
"In a way, I already knew this…I just kept wishing that I was wrong. I'm guessing you came here for Him since you've already taken away everyone else I have, correct?" The Hunter inquired.
The blatant distaste in those words did not go unnoticed. Razorbeard eyed the mortal before him with contempt, yet also with a hint of admiration. Mortal or not, this male held a stubborn strength that appealed to him. He had never seen such resilience before…except once a long time ago. Once, when his army had been strong enough to take over this world, a certain brat had stopped it. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps his interest in Razoff stemmed from his similarities to a certain Rayman. A smirk upturned metal lips, much to Razoff's unease. After all, that was the key reason behind allowing him to live. Better to keep him alive and unpredictable—an entertainment factor—than to steal it away, and be less advantaged than beforehand.
However, that meant nothing in accordance to Razoff's sanity. Tearing it away, brick by merciless brick, taking away all he held dear, greatly intrigued the Robot Lord. All mortals required such emotional ties to stay whole. Thus, without such building blocks to support him, he knew Razoff's foundation would crumble eventually. Demonic eyes peered into onyx ones, clawing through the other's soul. He already sensed a great disturbance there: an emotional imbalance due to Rosyetta's recent, violent kidnap. Now all he needed to do was rip away another part of that versatile spirit…
"You are correct, Slave. Bring him here to me, he goes tonight."
"What is going on?" Muttered Rayman, blue eyes hidden in the shadows of the banister. Only to feel yet another sudden jerk on his tassel.
Briskly, his head turned to Morgroff, who gave him the most undiluted, venomous glare in return. Those pupils were thinned to slits. They hissed at him, unheard to all except his mind. 'Read that letter now or I am going to kill you myself!'
Thus the Guardian carefully unwrapped the envelope, catching a glimpse of Razoff disappearing passed his banister pillars in the corner of his eye. Quickly sparing a glance to Razorbeard to make sure he had not noticed him there, he unfolded the letter. Scarcely able to breathe, heart thundering in his ears…he began to read with worry swirling in his chest.
Rayman acknowledged that 'HG' stood for the 'Hunters Guild,' but why would Morgroff want him to read this letter specifically?
A few minutes passed in lethal silence. With every line he read, a new lump of growing horror formed in his stomach. Heavy, it felt so heavy…and yet he found himself feeling icy cold. His face paled as he finished the letter…and understanding struck true. This letter was for the Hunter from the Guild, highlighting a clear threat to the man and Rosyetta, and also something else…
Over the past year, you have drawn our attention to your latest capture of the limbless creature.
Blood flowed lifeless through his veins. A black hole seemed to form in his gut, sucking away all joy, pulling him inward—the world spiralling out of control. Breath was stolen. Pupils shrank. His hand clutched his chest in fear. Dark, everything looked dark—hopeless.
No! No, this has to be a mistake! This just can't be real!
Black disbelief shrouded his eyes. Everything: the foyer, the feline at his side, the dastardly Razorbeard and his robots, became black nothingness. He gasped as an inner abyss consumed him whole. He was falling, falling, falling. His little star of hope getting further, further, further out of reach.
If you do not reply and update us, we shall take matters into our own hands.
A croak escaped him, "No…this can't be what I think it is. They wouldn't, Razoff couldn't…"
It was then, in that moment, that the nightmare he dreaded to witness suddenly became reality.
Razoff reappeared in plain view once more, but no longer remained alone. In the silence, the distinct sound of quiet, nervous footsteps emerged: the distinct sound of shoes tapping against stone, cellar steps. Tap…tap…tap. Each tap became a heartbeat. Each second stretched before Rayman's eyes as time seemed to freeze.
His breath got caught in his throat. There, there standing before the cellar door, someone quiet and shy, timid and terrified, stepped into this vile existence—into this death trap. Vincent immediately covered his mouth with trembling hands, frozen in fear, realising what he was about to be thrown into.
"Vincent..." Razoff sighed, his voice calm, too calm. A deadly pause ensued, and Vincent visibly trembled in terror. That onyx gaze was calmly burning holes into an innocent mind. As Razoff continued in a stern voice, poor Vincent looked petrified, weak tears of fright forming in the corners of his eyes. "...Come here."
Vincent seemed frozen. But before he acknowledged his own actions, he unintentionally took a step back...looking ready to flee. Razoff's eyes narrowed. Instinct. Primal instinct. That was all that was present in emerald eyes, like a vulnerable animal facing the barrel of a fatal gun...and unfortunately Razoff could read it all too clearly. Except, this time, the gun was Razoff himself.
Razoff was not the only one who could distinguish it as clear as day. The Guardian silently hissed in pain as he slowly forced himself to sit up, eyes never once leaving Vincent. Polokus knows what was flying wildly through Vincent's mind, Polokus knows how horrible the scene he had just arrived in was. Uncertainty, shock, and small whimpers, all from a victim, yet throughout it all...the collected gaze of a Hunter that merely watched, unfazed. Rayman felt like his heart was going to shatter.
A sorrowful lump lodged into his throat. Vin...no, don't go to him. Don't go.
The Hunter suddenly started towards his slave, showing no signs of his intentions. Run, run, Was all Vincent's mind could process. Vincent was not breathing enough. Frozen to the spot he stood, watching as Razoff strode powerfully towards him. Out of the blue he whimpered and took another sudden step back. All that was present was a building hysteria in Vincent's soul, and no Vincent.
Rayman hastily forced himself to his feet, forcing the cat to leap away, the chords of his heart frosting over like frozen dew on the webs that were his heartstrings. The icy threads tangled around his heart, trapping it—squeezing it. All he could hear as he stared in pure worry for Vincent was that reminiscent low and silky voice from such a short time ago...
"How do you do it? I mean for heavens sake look at you. How do you stand up to him and throw anything he gives you right back?"
That was just it, wasn't it? A stone of realisation hit him so hard in the stomach he thought he was going to be sick.
Vincent didn't know how.
Razoff demanded in a tone ever so slightly harsher than previously, "I ordered you to come here, Vincent."
The black and blue one hastily took another step back.
Rayman desperately called, "No! Leave him alone, I'm the one ya want!" Only to realize that he had never shouted anything at all, only to realize it was merely a thought screaming in his head. Desperate, he switched his focus to the Count, silently pleading for him not to do this.
However, he was completely ignored by the Hunter who did not even spare him a glance.
Don't run, Vin. Stand your ground, don't be scared of him. He did this to you, he turned you into this frightened shell of yourself. Fight back, Vin, fight back. Don't run, please! Please don't flee; you're stronger than you think. Rayman could only uncharacteristically beg to Vincent in his mind, could only pray that Vincent obeyed encouragement that he could not physically hear.
Before he even realised it, the Guardian smiled to himself, You have a good heart, Vincent. It will always be in the right place.
Then it happened. But never, never had Rayman expected it to crush his heart so fully, to set his heart ablaze in such powerful fury. Perhaps it was his hero complex, perhaps it was that he had grown fond of Vincent, or perhaps it was ultimately both. Vincent had remained firm, but Razoff had struck him. The mere sight made the entire universe seem to slow to a stop for a moment in the hero's eyes, the cry of pain and fear in Vincent's voice echoing through his ears. Shame. That was all Rayman felt. Shame. Pure shame that he had let this befall the other. Vincent was so innocent; he did not deserve to be hit, he never had and he never would. How could he? How could the Hunter do this, that monster!
"N-No," Vincent stuttered, tenderly holding his bruised cheek. He had fled a couple of metres away from the Hunter who seemed frozen to the spot, listening. "Please, do not let them take me."
Rayman's eyes flared. A kindred flame of the purest hatred shone in those depths. The power inside him overflowed—the power of the Guardian. He moved to put his foot up on the banister, ready to jump, but Morgroff hastily sprang and knocked him over to the ground by force. Unseen, the commotion stayed between Rayman and the feline hidden on the top floor.
"What are you doing you fool?!" Morgroff's whisper was one of disbelief, pupils slits of fury. Claws were extracted to point at Rayman's face. "If you show yourself now, you allow my brother to lose everything!"
"But I'm losing everything! Vincent is all I have here!"
Morgroff pleaded for him to listen, "Trust me and stay hidden. My brother will need you now!"
"I don't care!"
Rayman's attempts to throw the cat off were futile—he was firmly pinned. Instead, he was forced to continue to watch the heart breaking scene below through the banisters, as if stuck behind a glass cage. Only able to see, but never to interfere. Only able to lose, but never to gain. The one thing, the one thing in life that had become attached to his very essence, even more so than Ly herself, was about to be ripped from him. Unimaginable pain brought tears to his eyes.
That distant, small star of hope that lay dormant behind emerald skies, that spark that only Rayman had been able to awaken, to see, to reach for…was about to be torn away. He could not breathe. All this time, hope had been what he believed Vincent saw in him, but now he understood the truth.
All this time…Vincent had been his glimmer of hope, his star in the dark that brightened his way. The one thing that had kept him from letting go—the one thing he had subconsciously clung to! Even when all had seemed lost as a slave in a mansion's prison, Vincent had been there as a goal to run towards. The star of emotion rarely found in Vincent's eyes had become his North Star.
And he was forced to watch it be taken away.
"Hold still, Vincent," Razoff ordered, Vincent watching with stricken eyes as the man placed his hand in the opposite pocket the letter had been in…and extracting a syringe. Tears streamed down Vincent's face when the Hunter approached and carefully kneeled in front of him, his face emotionless, but his eyes filled with regret. "Don't move and do as you're told." Oddly gentle, he injected the needle into the other's side, as if the action caused him great suffering. Rayman realized with an aching heart that it probably did. When he continued, he sounded almost artificial, numb inside, "This will deactivate the chemical inside your bloodstream…my mansion guns will not aim for you when you leave."
Vincent's eyes widened considerably, for the Hunter had leaned closer to whisper something into his ear that no one else could hear. His back was turned to Razorbeard and the robots, so it would have been impossible for them to see his slip in role…to see the despair and empathy in black orbs. The hot tears Rayman had tried to hold back trailed down his cheeks at what those lips mouthed, each syllable ringing silently in his ears. He knew, he knew what Razoff was saying…
'I am so sorry,' those lips apologised, unheard. In unison, the syringe was removed with great care and replaced back into a coat pocket.
"I understand now why you were reluctant to send him," Razorbeard suddenly broke the ill peace. "He lacks the full submission of a test subject, he still has a flicker of resistance left in him."
Razoff turned his head slowly to glower at the monster, who would soon strip away Vincent's humanity until nothing but a metal carcass remained. Oh, how the thought tore him up inside.
His scowl held an edge of distain. "Apologies, Master. He had been doing well until recently. I assure you, he will not be a problem."
"He better not, or you will be the one who suffers, Slave," warned the Robot Lord.
The Hunter, once strong, weakly answered, "I've already suffered, thank you. You've made your point quite clear."
"Then we have come to an understanding."
All of a sudden, Razorbeard clicked his fingers. A robot to his right suddenly opened a compartment in his steel stomach, the sliding door sliding to reveal a peculiar cube-like object. Rayman felt like curling up into a ball, felt like screaming, crying out his agony, as he watched the cube be tossed to the floor and suddenly begin to transform into something more. Blue lights flickered on the cube's many sides while it grew double, then triple in size. Slowly developing gaps between cylinder bars, it beeped a few times, before finally falling motionless. One side slowly, ever so slowly, swung on its hinges to form an open door.
A cage now stood before the robots…awaiting its prey.
"I have to stop this," The Guardian begged, but Morgroff stayed put on his chest. "You have to get off me! I will hurt you if I have to!"
"No you would not, I sense that your character goes deeper than that. You do not hurt the innocent."
Rayman gave a volatile glare. "I do if I am given no other choice. I punched your brother through the kitchen wall, remember?"
"That was before you realised he was innocent. You saw him as the enemy then. Now, you think differently, I know you do," Morgroff pointed out, unrelenting, unmovable. "Stay hidden, be here to guide him!"
"For Polokus' sakeMorgroff get off me!"
"The only way I will get off is if you punch me off. Do you have that kind of resolve, Guardian?"
Rayman's mind screeched to a halt. Eyes wide, he looked up to meet Morgroff's own. Understanding and acknowledgement shone back at him.
"You…you knew…all along."
"Yes, Old Chap, I knew," Whispered the cat, sad smile upon his face. "One of the perks of being an animal is my heightened senses. Your aura is unmistakable."
"Then you realise that you must let me help Vincent."
"Then you realize that I cannot let you go."
Down below, Rayman could only watch as Vincent hesitated to move towards the menacing cage, a green stare timidly glancing up to Razoff for guidance. All he received was a hefty sigh in return, those onyxes refusing to make contact. The space between them shrank as, much to the astonishment of the Hunter, Vincent instead shuffled closer to him…attempting to hide behind his long legs. Razoff felt the numb organ beating in his chest thaw a little, as well as feel crushed under the weight of duty. He knew it must be done—he knew he must send Vincent over there.
And yet his reluctance spoke a thousand words.
"What are you waiting for, Slave?" Razorbeard gave the Hunter a scathing look that caused him to shudder inside. The warning edge to his words was clear, "Are you disobeying me? Are you now deciding to rebel against me?"
Razoff shook his head in a sign of disagreement, of surrender. "No…no of course not."
The final bell of judgment rang true…and Razoff held its handle in despair. Softly, slowly, he forced his hand to manoeuvre behind him to nudge Vincent forward—out into the open. Even when gentle, the Hunter's touch caused the trained slave to instinctively flinch. Vincent stumbled forward a few paces with a nervous yelp, his fear palpable, flowing from him in anxious waves. The moment he desperately glanced around himself—as if looking for someone, someone close to him—utterly shattered Rayman's heart, because he realised the truth: his blue and black counterpart was looking for him.
Many eyes stayed locked on Vincent like waiting missiles; he faltered halfway.
"Enter the cage," Demanded Razorbeard.
Razoff frowned, sensing how the robot's patience was wearing thin. To anyone who would never know the truth, the Hunter appeared heartless as he pointed to the cage contraption…but deep down his spirit cracked. His final order echoed, a calm and dignified mask upon his face, "He is your new owner from now on Vincent, so listen to him. Enter the cage. That's an order."
An all too familiar, sickening numbness befell Vincent's eyes, akin to the many past occurrences when the tone of his master latched onto independence and pulled it out from under him. Emeralds became dull, a puppet inside, emotionless…as feet began to move forward against all better judgement. Vincent seemed unaware that he was obeying such a fatal order. That order would cost him his life, an order that Razoff had unwillingly thrown upon him—an order cruel beyond redemption. Step after awful step, the sounds of his black and indigo boots were quiet and unfeeling. Before even realising he had moved at all, he collapsed to his knees with wide, tearful eyes, crying without a sound…while the snap of a closing cage door followed in his wake.
The frightened creature simply curled up into a ball inside his cage. Not once did he resist, or shout, or ask the simple question of why. All he internally understood was an order of such magnitude should not be ignored. He had been trained by Razoff to follow such a tone without question. To follow the firm black stare, the uncaring voice, it was an instruction embedded into his soul until triggered. There it always remained.
A metallic clank resounded as the Robot Lord clapped his hands together, most pleased. Evilly, he sneered down at his latest victim, eyes flashing with the possibilities. "Ah, regardless of earlier, he has been thoroughly broken in. He is as obedient as you described, I suppose I owe you some credit."
With one final click of his fingers, Razorbeard signalled for his robots to respond. Loyal to their leader, those telepathic orders whizzed through their technology and were transformed into action. Four robots picked up the cage.
"It has been a—what is the mortal term? Pleasure, is it?—doing business with you, Razoff the Hunter."
The Count refused to reply, so merely sighed and averted his gaze with grace.
Rayman wished, prayed to Polokus, to Ly, to forgive him for his betrayal of the one he called his friend. Tears fell to dampen the red carpet beneath him. Vision hazy, the blurry sight of four robots picking up the cage and carrying it away into the bog choked him. Why? Why had he let this happen, why had he listened to Morgroff? The Guardian within him felt furious, disbelieving, more enraged than it ever had before. Nothing, nothing could counsel it. Disgust, all he felt was disgust. How could he have allowed himself to be so pathetically helpless? Why did his promises always end up in broken ruin? Deep down, he considered whether Razoff felt the exact same way about Morgroff and Rosyetta being torn from his life.
I am so sorry, Vin. I promised I would come back to you…but instead you were stolen away before I could do so.