Chapter 7 - Suffering

Razura hurried towards the ill-fated ward 7. As he ran through the labyrinth of corridors, he could only focus his mind on one thought: five people have just died in a ward in his charge. His medical career would be over if that damned Morton had his way.

He was too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice Clarissa following behind him. She wasn't going until she had found out what was going on and why - obstinacy was a trait that came with the territory of being a defence attorney.

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Darke sat in his chair, the light from a small collection of orbs set on the table etching deep crevices in his face. He picked up a particular sphere from the centre of the collection. It radiated a soft, emerald-green aura - beautiful, yet vaguely unsettling.

A slamming door broke his zen-like state.

"Sir, White has taken up the case of Nicholas Black. Are you su-" Darke raised his hand, the back of the chair still facing the unfortunate employee. He paused, staring down at the green glass orb in his hand.

"...I see. Are you questioning my judgement on this?" he queried, coldly.

"N-N-No, of course I'm not... I... I just-"

"I am growing tired of your stuttering and stumbling, follower. I happen to have your sphere right here in my grasp. Unless you can dig yourself out of this rather deep grave you have excavated within the next 15 seconds, I may be tempted to break it."

The worker stood in the doorway, shaking. His vision was already fading.

"You... You're not serious?"

"I hold your very soul, your life essence in my hands. I assure you I am most serious. Four seconds left."

"I.. I can't take any more of your-"

"And I can't take any more of your pathetic efforts." Darke extended his arm to the edge of the desk at which he sat. Almost casually, he dropped the sphere on the floor. Shards glittered in the dim light of the room, unrecognisable as the object of beauty that it once was. The worker looked on in horror. He had just watched his ties to this world shatter. His breath was running short. Fire ravaged his chest as he felt it fill with liquid. He clutched his sides, screaming in agony, pleading his master to end this torture. The cries only stopped once the man lay on the floor, surrendered to the inevitable. Suffering was carved into his face, his rest far from peaceful.

Darke remained emotionless, watching a delicate white orb on the table in front of him.

End of chapter 7