Warning: mentions of violence, albeit nothing explicit. But that's really what you should expect from a Dark Brotherhood story.
Erizoel: I have indeed seen that comic. In fact, I dare say it inspired my cookie-loving portrayal of Ungolim.
Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter twelve
"Sergius Tiberius," Banus reads aloud from the slip of paper, the contract that – according to Uvani – has come from the Listener himself. Which even a fledgling murderer knows is a rarity, so he can't help but speculate just who this Sergius person is, and why he warrants such urgency, "Is he – um-"
"-Important?" Uvani finishes with a raised eyebrow, "It may interest you to know, his real surname is Phillida."
Alor's eyes widen as he begins to understand. Adamus Phillida, the Legion officer dedicated to wiping out the Brotherhood. The whispers of him and his ceaseless campaign against the Black Hand reach even the Leyawiin sanctuary, far from the Imperial City though it is.
"As the Listener tells it, Sergius had a little too much to drink one night and ended up bragging to the tavern that his father was the legendary Adamus Phillida. Of course, his claims were dismissed as the alcohol talking, but he was also overheard by a Brotherhood associate," Uvani explains as Banus listens, nodding – the Black Hand's network of contacts, couriers and spies is well-known among assassins, though few can comprehend just how vast the web truly is. "After a bit of digging, the information was found to be correct – he was born Sergius Phillida, changed his name as soon as he joined the Imperial Legion. At his father's insistence, I expect."
Admittedly, it doesn't seem fair that a relatively innocent young man should be killed on account of his father's actions. Banus knows that is the way of the Brotherhood, the way of life, as family feuds and the quarrels of long-dead men take lives even today. And yet, he can't help but ask: "So why not just go after Phillida himself?"
"Because the past three attempts have failed. Phillida is a seasoned fighter, too cautious to be caught off-guard – his son isn't," Alval tells him, "Besides, if we killed Phillida and left his son alive, he would almost certainly launch his own vendetta against the Black Hand. He could even turn out to be more of a nuisance than Adamus."
Of course, cold logic outweighs compassion, if such a thing even exists in the Brotherhood. Banus himself ended up here through callous killing, so he can hardly claim a sudden crisis of conscience. Closing his eyes briefly, he nods once in acceptance; "What must I do?"
"Travel to Fanacasecul – it's a small Ayleid ruin by Lake Rumare, west of the Imperial City. There are two other assassins hunting down Sergius as we speak, but they should have him captured by the time you arrive."
Confusion crosses Banus' face, "Captured? I thought the Listener wanted him dead. What does he need me for, then?"
At this Uvani looks serious. Of course, Uvani always look serious, but Banus is one of the few people – maybe even the only person – who can tell when there's something greater lurking beneath the surface. For such a vivid shade of scarlet, his eyes are grim and steely, like an officer ordering his soldiers to war. His voice is much the same, solemn but authoritative, "A message must be sent, Banus. That means killing him in a specific way – so that Phillida knows it was the Brotherhood and not just mindless bandits," with every word he speaks, Banus likes this less and less. He has an idea as to what he is being told to do, and sure enough: "The Listener doesn't just want him dead, he wants him to suffer."
Alor lowers his gaze to the ground. His voice is hushed, "...Torture, then."
It is not so bad. He lost his morality with the first person he murdered, his ticket into the Brotherhood, so the idea of torturing someone isn't that unsettling. The only thing that bothers him is blood, but there are plenty of ways to hurt someone beyond mutilation. If he had enough time he could even use mental tactics and avoid physical infliction altogether, but he knows that will not be the case. Adamus Phillida is a high-ranking Legion officer; he will surely send all of his men to search once he learns of his son's disappearance.
Whatever half-formed plans he has, however, are shattered like glass with Uvani's next words: "Specific torture. The Listener has ordered that Sergius first has his hair torn out – not cut – followed by fingernails and back teeth only. Leave his tongue alone as well," so he can still form words. So he can beg for mercy, Banus comprehends at once, with widening eyes and a cold, dizzying nausea slowly spreading through his every vein, "Then dismemberment while conscious, the Listener was very particular about that. If he passes out, you're to revive him or, failing that, wait for him to wake up before you continue," and he finishes with, "The Listener said once every wall in the room has been painted with Sergius' blood, then you can kill him."
"But..." a whisper is all he can manage, the faintest protest he knows won't excuse him from his task, but he has to try: "Uvani, I'm not...I don't..."
"Like to leave marks. I know," but Uvani's voice is sharp rather than reassuring, "But if you refuse..."
It invokes the Wrath of Sithis. And that's just orders from any superior. To disobey the Listener himself would surely mean his death. It would also, he realises with a clenched throat, affect Uvani. To what extent, he does not know, but the thought does not sit at all well with him.
"I...understand," he concedes at last. Though the statement is false – he doesn't understand why the Listener has selected him, of all people, to do this, but he will not let him down. He will not let Uvani down, no matter what.
It is night when he arrives, the sky above him not black but a deep midnight purple, strewn with wind-whipped lilac clouds. There Fanacasecul stands, half-submerged in Lake Rumare – but even water-stained the white stone almost glows in contrast to the shadows. Twisted up from the dark, still water is a winged statue overlooking the ruin, magnificent and foreboding. Banus shivers, knowing what it has already witnessed tonight: a young Imperial man being dragged in by sinister hooded figures, never to be seen again.
He has no problem with killing. He's in the Brotherhood because of just that – he is a murderer, a taker of life without reason nor excuse. But his first kill and almost all the others after were suffocation, quiet and painless, leaving corpses like dreamers that will never wake.
But this...this is loud, and brutal, and barbaric. So utterly the opposite of everything he is and does that it seems deliberate, like he's being tested again, even when his loyalty has not so much as flickered. But if the finest tacticians of the Imperial Legion can't figure out how the Black Hand works, Banus doubts he will ever be able to.
He tries not to think of it too much as he approaches. He thinks himself alone at first, but as he draws near the doors someone materialises from the shadows – literally, what with the Chameleon spell so favoured among assassins. The figure is male, perhaps Imperial, though Banus cannot see a face beyond the cover of his hood, and his voice is low and raspy:
"Alor?"
Something about the way he says it makes Banus' skin prickle. But it is a fellow Brother, no cause for alarm or distrust; he inclines his head, and when the man makes the wordless gesture, he follows him inside.
At first the ruin is silent, the same cold, blue-tinged interior that Banus remembers from his contract against the mage. This building is much smaller, however, and it is not long before they near the centre, and Banus starts to hear the shouting. The voice is angry, but still has a certain softness that marks it as youthful. Its owner cannot seem to decide between being defiant or terrified, the stream of words being a mix of threats, insults, pleading, and a fruitless attempt at reasoning. The face – when Banus and the other finally reach the captive's room – is much the same: furious, proud, scared, and desperate.
"You have your instructions, don't you?" the hooded assassin beside him says, and Banus nods numbly, still staring at the man – boy, really – on the floor before him, "Good. Here's some equipment for you to use..." he moves over to a table draped in cloth, and unveils it like a work of art, or a luxuriant dinner – but instead there is a collection of knives, needles and scalpels, callipers and tongs and at least one bone-saw, all meticulously sharpened and glistening in the harsh light. Sergius sees it as well as Banus, and emits a strangled, horrified noise; when Alor looks at the other assassin he catches a glimpse of his jaw, his mouth, the cruel smile playing across his lips.
But it only lasts for a second as he turns away from the scene, his face hidden by darkness once again. "Have fun," he tells Banus with a nonchalance born of brutality, dissolving into Chameleon as he departs. His footfalls are so light that they are almost soundless, and he may very well have disappeared into thin air.
He will not, he cannot take any pleasure in this. The boy before him is stripped naked, bound in thick ropes, and cowering – pathetic, he tries to tell himself, in an inner voice that sounds suspiciously like his Speaker. And this is the flesh and blood of Adamus Phillida, sworn enemy of the Brotherhood. But these declarations do nothing to ease the weight of the task before him. He does not want to do this, his every fibre screams against it, but he will do it, because the order came from Alval Uvani.
Paint the walls with his blood. There is no paintbrush or likewise on his table of equipment. He realises he will have to do it with his hands.
Start with his hair, then fingernails, then teeth.
"Please..." for the tide of yelling coming from his mouth earlier, Sergius' voice is small and helpless, barely a whimper, "Please don't...I'm not – I'm nobody important." But he knows as well as Banus that this is not the case, even if he does not act like his father – Adamus would never flinch or beg for his life, not from the Brotherhood. He has only enough Phillida in him to scrape together the last of his broken pride and declare: "Kill me if you must, but don't...just make it quick. Please."
If only Banus had the power to grant him that. Instead he slowly shakes his head, trying not to notice Sergius' desperate, hopeless struggle to crawl away, and whispers, "I'm sorry."
He can feel the coldness of the tongs even through the material of his gloves. They make a metallic sound as he picks them up, echoing around the acoustics of the room and drowning out the sound of his footsteps as he approaches Sergius, and begins his task.