Cut

The Past

"Enemies are customers who are in debt. Balance their debt and they will no longer be your enemy." -from First Principles by Ven Praxus

Wick heard a sound like small rain, and it took him a moment to realize that Pebbles had peed her pants. To her credit, the green-haired girl pushed herself up, stamping her heels into the ground defiantly. She was silent and probably didn't know what to say.

He made himself to be feared. It was what he wanted. They were probably asking a thousand questions, like how he was still alive, not broken, or why the demon bat saved him. Fear was only the beginning.

Revenge came next. But the revenge he had planned for Pebbles was only for the beating she gave him. It didn't matter if she was manipulated into it; she and her gang had carried it out.

The revenge Wick had for Lanton was different. The plan wasn't quite formed yet in Wick's head, but he knew it was a cold, slow thing. Hurting the mayor's son wasn't enough. Wick wanted to break him. To do that, he needed information first. But it wasn't like the orphans were going to sing like a plumin on Marketday. No. It had to be pulled out of them.

Surprisingly, it was the small younger brother in her gang next to the sewer drain who spoke up first. "I-I wasn't there with them."

Pebbles shot the boy a snarl. "Mooch, you coward."

Wick observed the little spat and adjusted his judgement of their relationship. Up until now, he thought they were siblings, the older taking care of the younger. But Wick had seen siblings talk to each other, and these two had no love between them. Mooch had even winced like a whipped puppy.

There was already a divide between them. It was here that Wick saw where he'd make his first move to widen the gap, and with it, a plan formed. He smiled, leaning against his spade. "You always treat your gang like broken dogs?"

Pebbles’ hard stare swiveled back to Wick, but her jaw hung open, a little too loose for words. Mooch looked away, trying to hide what looked like shame.

"It's not like that," Mooch defended weakly.

Wick pressed, putting much more sadness in his voice than he felt. The younger boy was already on the fence about what Pebbles had done, and now Wick was there to give him the push to Wick's side. "They beat me to the end of my life, Mooch. I coughed up blood. The forest took my memories, but somehow I was healed."

"Shut. Up," Pebbles raged quietly. She took a hesitant step forward.

Good, Wick mused. Get your confidence up. It's more satisfying putting out a flame with a quick, single blow.

He focused on the small greenhair, straining his voice with fear, horror, and a lot of judgement. "Did you know, Mooch? Did you know that she and her friends, your friends, threw me in Grey Forest?" It didn't take much acting to remember the weakness he felt when thrown into Grey Forest. At least that hopelessness could be used to help him now.

Mooch's mouth hung up, his lips trembling. "I did. But it was Lanton."

Pebbles took another step forward. "Shut your mouth, Mooch. What about loyalty, huh? Who are you loyal to?"

Before Mooch could answer, Wick interjected. He couldn't help it. The timing was too easy, and he was beginning to enjoy himself. "That's not really the question, is it, Mooch? What you should be questioning isn't your loyalty, but Pebbles'."

The girl ignored Wick at that, but her fist clenched just the same. Mooch's eyes widened in horror, then shifted to doubt. At the sight of that, Wick leaned off his spade and took a slow step forward toward Mooch, just one step, but it was enough. Haggling was a fight over inches.

This was the beginning of his revenge. Other kids his age would want to return the pain Wick endured during the storm of fists and kicks. They would come back swinging fists or with daggers in the dark. Wick was tempted to give into the simple, primal hate.

Cuts would turn into scars and bruises would be forgotten in a few weeks. Even bones could heal properly if tended to by the right sorcerer. Time would heal the body. Pain wasn't enough.

Wick wanted Pebbles and the mayor's son to suffocate in humiliation, to drown in the same emptiness Wick had blindly reached for only to find more of nothing. He had been stripped of all power, even the ability to stand on his own two legs. Worse, he had been tossed away to be forgotten.

The plan wasn't quite there, but Wick's desire began to crystallize as Mooch took a single step away from Pebbles. Whatever Lanton and Pebbles had, it would be taken by the same person they meant to bury in the fog of Grey Forest. What was theirs would belong to him, adding to his hoard.

Wick couldn't stop the dragon's grin from stretching across his face. Mooch seemed to hesitate at that, but Wick saw fascination hold the halfbreed boy. The young greenhair boy moved.

"Mooch, what are you doing?" Pebbles asked, her voice like a cup with a hole in the bottom. Her anger leaked, and Wick loved the sound of it.

She reached out for him, her hand landing on his thin shoulder, only for the boy to brush it off. Wick didn't see a boy broken by his own weakness. He saw only the fire in Mooch's sharp eyes. It was a small anger at being left behind for someone else. Mooch walked slowly but surely toward Wick.

Pebbles shouted, voice shrill, confused, and hurt. "He's got a damn demon on his side, Mooch! You saw that thing!"

Wick tried to hide the mirth in his voice when he said, "Just because she calls something a monster, doesn't mean it is."

He let the clue hang in the air, trusting the boy's mind was sharp as his eyes. Mooch's steps widened in stride, though it looked like his breath strained at the effort. Something gnawed at Wick and he asked Mooch, "How old are you?"

Mooch stood next to Wick. It was a short distance between them, but the hurried walk seemed to drain the boy. Once he caught his breath, he stared at Wick, studying him.

Wick knew he was being appraised, and he chose not to hide his greedy dragon's grin. Better let him see the wares for what they were. The haggling was done. Mooch said, "No one's ever asked me that. I'm ten."

"What?" Pebbles asked, a note of betrayal in her voice. The boy had just shared something personal to Wick, a complete stranger, in a city where getting personal could cost someone their life. He trusted Wick more than her. She sounded more like a young girl than a roughneck street rat.

Wick nodded. "Thought so. You've got a condition that makes you weak. Most halfbreeds tend to gain the benefit from both parents, coming out stronger than others. That's why Pebbles here is so big and tall for her age. But you, Mooch, you got the bad parts from both sides, didn't you? She never stopped the others from reminding you of that, did she?"

Mooch nodded. Wick saw the insults the boy had taken in his eyes, how he had been cast aside. He understood the boy and knew he was now his, no longer Pebbles'. Mooch spoke evenly, "You're not like Lanton. You're a greedy jerk. But you're honest about it. You don't prance around pretending to be a hero."

"Lanton doesn't prance," Pebbles said defensively, the anger coming back to her.

Wick saw another crack in Pebbles and decided to dig. "Mooch, how old is Lanton?"

"Twelve."

Wick's grip loosened on his spade, dumbstruck at the answer. Twelve? He was dealing with another kid? All this time, he had imagined the mayor's son to be some kind of treacherous spoiled brat who hated the poor because he was born in the right family.

He mistook Lanton to be at least sixteen. Who plans and orders a beating at twelve years old?

But that didn't line up. Lanton apparently had been giving food to Pebbles’ crew. That meant he cared about them.

That's not right, Wick thought. He studied Pebbles’ reaction. He understood then that she relied on her rage. It was what kept her forward, kept her strong, until it was the only emotion she felt.

But what would happen if an older boy of means showed her kindness? It would catch her off guard, confuse her. And in any good haggle, confusion was where either the trade was lost or won. Lanton didn't care about Pebbles; he cared about what she thought of him. There was a small but powerful difference between the two.

Now that Mooch saw Wick for what he was, Wick bared his teeth in a wide smile. "You love him, don't you, little Pebbles?"

She took an involuntary step back as if smacked in the face. She shook her head, but no words came out.

Mooch tugged at Wick's jacket. "You saw all that just now?" Then he muttered under his breath. "Sharp eyes, too. I knew it."

Wick nodded. Mooch's comment made Wick wonder why it was so easy to see that now. Before entering the bottom of Grey Mountain, love had always been a confusing if slightly foreign thing to him. Now, when he reached for any odd feelings he might have had for a pretty girl, nothing was there.

But that emptiness made things clearer to him, he realized. Relationships were no longer a mystery when his own feelings weren't muddling his thoughts. "It's just simple observation."

"I don't know that word," said Mooch, a little shame in his voice.

"You should since you're very good at observing. It means to watch. My father was good at watching," Wick replied.

Pebbles apparently didn't like to be ignored because her temper flared again, hands flexing into fists. Wick was disappointed by her reaction. She was a one-note instrument, no nuance. He could see how easy it must have been for Lanton to win her heart.

She took a deep breath as if to collect herself. It put Wick on edge. She said, "Your demon is gone. You think you can come back here and not get another beating? And you, Mooch. I'll deal with you after."

Pebbles whistled three sharp notes, low and hard.

Wick heard Mooch sigh as if expecting what was about to happen. He looked to Wick and nodded in four different corners around them. Orphans from different gangs came out. Wick noticed one of the boys had a leaky bandage on his arm.

Thymesia told Wick the boy's name was Trip, the one he gashed with his spade. Wick twisted the bone-end of his spade at the boy and enjoyed watching Trip stumble forward.

Now we know how he got his nickname, Wick thought. He spoke to Mooch without turning to him, his eyes taking in the approaching enemies. "Scout, you need to do what I say and when I say it."

"Scout?" Mooch asked.

Wick nodded slowly, cracking his neck. "That's your name now. Scouts keep an eye out. You're the back of my eyes now."

"Right," the boy replied. Wick could hear the confidence bolster in his voice. Mooch, who was now Scout, walked behind Wick and placed his back to him.

Fifteen orphans slowly closed in on them. Two older men stood in the distance under the shadow of a canopy. When Wick had landed in the square with Zata, the men's arms glowed red with very few sparks. That meant they were experienced enough in their skills that their manna leak was low. That alone was worrying, but the fact that they had not wavered at seeing Zata the bat creature was more than troubling.

Luckily, their arms were crossed. They were there simply to observe.

Wick muttered to Scout, "Those two men."

"Graves' people."

"Thought so," Wick said as the orphans formed a circle around them. "Any chance they'll join the fight?"

A small pause filled Wick with worry until Scout replied, "Don't think so. They're more like peacekeepers. A couple orphans lying dead won't trouble them."

Deepest Hells, Wick cursed inwardly. Scout thought Wick was going to kill the orphans. His voice was low enough just for Scout to hear. "Any regrets choosing my side now?"

A chuckle came over Wick's shoulder. "I'm not stupid. You wouldn't tell that bat monster to go if you couldn't handle us."

Wick wanted to agree with that logic, except for the fact that Zata hadn't left because Wick told him to. They had simply reached the end of their arrangement. Zata took Wick first to his underground bunker to drop off a few things and pick up some others. Zata was somehow able to see perfectly in the dark and find the only two green-haired little orphans in Outlast. Wick now owed the old bat a favor in return.

Point was, Wick and Scout were on their own. Fifteen orphans besides Pebbles made a tight circle around Wick, Scout, and the wooden chest. Even with his newfound confidence, Wick was sure he couldn't beat the children with just his spade. There were no words spoken because to any observer, he was completely outmatched. From the looks of it, Pebbles was going to pounce first, her eyes hungry for his blood.

Perfect. The flame was high. It was time to snuff it out in a single blow.

Pebbles leaped at Wick, the others following only a half-second after.

Wick flexed his fingers wide open, his palm faced toward Pebbles. He whispered, "Cut."

A perfect blue arc of magic cascaded from his hand in a horizontal slant. The girl's eyes were still wide with malice when the skill collided at her ankles, gashing them open. Wick savored how her face twisted from terrifying to just plain terrified before her forehead smacked onto the cobblestone, her legs pulled back by the momentum of Cut.

The wet, sudden sound of Pebbles’ head halted the other orphans. She tried pushing herself up on her legs, only to fall to her side. Only a little blood crossed her forehead. She looked too dazed to comprehend what had just happened, but when she saw the blood from her ankles, the little girl wailed.

It was a sick sound, and the orphans backed away. A few ran, but none ran to her.

Pebbles searched her gaze for anyone to help, her hands reaching out blindly as she wailed thick sobs. Wick felt Scout shift uncomfortably behind him. The boy didn't turn around to see. It was probably better that way.

Wick growled a reminder, "She tried to kill me."

He thought he was saying it for Scout, to remind him of what was happening. But he felt like he was trying to convince himself. The physical pain he gave the girl wasn't that terrible. The cuts on her ankles looked worse than they were.

She would heal and even run within a few weeks. But the humiliation Pebbles was drowning in was different. The girl tossed and turned for the only family she had ever known to help, and they didn't.

Wick realized then that his trait would never let him forget this moment, and the knowledge was bitter. He had snuffed the girl's fire in a single blow, but he couldn't help but feel as if he had snuffed his own out too.

He didn't have pity for the girl, but a fundamental part of his soul knew this was wrong. His father would look on him with shame, and the thought twisted Wick's smile into a frown.

Suddenly, Wick felt the exhaustion of the past two days seep into his bones. Deepest Hells, the girl was a child. He was a child. Children weren't supposed to do this to each other.

Wick saw a few braver orphans walk toward them. Maybe they were trying to attack him while his attention was elsewhere. Or maybe they were trying to help the weeping, helpless little girl he just maimed.

Still, he flashed his palms in their direction and said, "Cut," three more times. The magic blades splashed harmlessly against the cobblestone just before reaching the children's dirty feet. They stopped.

Wick walked slowly to the girl and offered his hand to help her up. Despite her weeping, she snarled at him, slapping away his hand. "I hate you! I hate you!"

He kept his hand out for a few more seconds before realizing she would never take it, not in this lifetime or any other. He walked around to her feet and knelt, pulling out some bandages from one of his many leather pouches. He wrapped Pebbles’ feet silently in the dark. It was difficult at first because the girl tried kicking him, but her attempts were feeble. Her strength had left her.

All the while, she whimpered the same phrase over and over. "I hate you. I hate you."

By the time he finished and stopped the bleeding, she was out cold. His bandages were from the Guild, not the thin stuff they sold out here. It would hold well until she got real help.

The other orphans had watched the entire thing in silence. He told himself it was necessary for them to see that he was in the right and could still treat his enemies well. It was just that, nothing more.

Wick turned to Scout, the joy in his voice snuffed out. "Scout, run to Hemlock alley. The second door to the left is Farnese. She's both physicker and alchemist. Tell her to come and patch Pebbles up."

He pulled out something from his jacket and tossed it to Scout. A heavy iron coin flipped through the air and landed in a stupefied Scout's hand. Wick could see the hesitation in his eyes, calculating if he could and should run away with the penny for himself.

But Wick was good at haggling because he was good at reading people. After whatever Lympha had done to him, they were even clearer to read. Scout gave a pained look to Pebbles, and he nodded.

Wick added, "That penny should be enough to keep Pebbles in Farnese's bed for three weeks. The woman will complain six days to Marketday, but she'll come."

Scout walked hurriedly away, a group of orphans parting a path for him. They were too stunned at what had just happened to do anything. A few had wet their pants.

Wick picked up his spade and leaned on it, exhausted. He opened his palm, swiping it slowly across the group of orphans, but he didn't speak a command. They all flinched and whimpered.

He thought he would enjoy this moment more. Remorse was too foreign to Wick now, like it was just a page in a book. And yet, he knew his dad would not smile on this. His dad would have turned away from him.

Wick spoke evenly and loud enough for all the orphans in the square to hear. "I could kill all of you right now."

He let that sink in. No one moved.

"But I won't," he supplied. "Pebbles ordered you to attack me. This wasn't your fault. She beat me until I was on the edge of my life and threw me in Grey Forest. After that, I don't know what happened. The forest took away my memory. But I came back with power."

A lie strengthened by truth. Wick watched them soak in the story. They were confused at everything that had happened, and confusion in a haggle was where he took the win. He knew the story would spin out of his control, growing into gossip, then finally into myth. His reputation would grow.

They all knew what Pebbles had done and how Wick came back. They saw Zata and Wick's 'miraculous' sorcery. It was a simple skill and they were simple children.

He turned to Trip, the boy Wick had gashed with his spade the day before, the same one who had helped beat him. "Even then, I still don't blame you or Pebbles. She was lied to. You were lied to. By who? Lanton, the mayor's son. He told you all I was an outsider, but he's never been an orphan. He doesn't know what it's like to be us."

A few nodded, but more murmured disagreement. One of them said, "But he feeds us."

Wick walked toward the chest and kicked the latch with his heel. He replied, "He didn't feed me. Does he feed all of you or does he give his scraps to Pebbles for her to hand out?"

A few more murmurs, but ones of doubt. More confusion. Wick didn't smile.

He bent down and opened his wooden chest. Before meeting Zata, it had been filled with rare herbs and flowers he found with Forage. When they had made a detour to his bunker, he replaced the contents of the chest with all of the food he could. It was heavy, and it pained Wick to lessen his hoard, but money well-spent could be money well-earned.

As if gods really did exist, the moonlight fell perfectly on the opened chest, a heap of food plain to see for the children. The orphans' eyes shifted from Wick to the chest. Wick knew he had won them over, but he didn't feel all the better for it. He had stooped to the same level as Lanton. When he spoke, he spoke to both the orphans and to himself. "I am not Lanton. I am Wick. I will feed you. Come and eat."

The children rushed to him. Wick ordered them to stand in line, the smallest in the front and the largest in the back. He wanted to make sure that the weakest would take priority. He was there to protect them because they were now his. His father would have done so out of kindness. It had been his weakness and strength. Wick would find a way to use them.

A few blocks away still stood Graves' men. They had watched the whole thing. Good. Let them bring the story back to the underworld-king of Outlast. The two men turned around silently and walked away into the dark. Wick had spent six months hiding his presence and keeping his head low, but now he saw how stupid that was. It wasn't bold.

The men hadn't intervened, meaning they didn't see Wick as trouble. But he knew they would be keeping an eye on him.

Wick watched the orphans wolf away the food in large bites as if it would disappear if they didn't eat it fast enough. They were eating his hoard. It hurt him to watch what he had built dwindle so quickly.

It was worth it. With each bite filling their mouths, Wick knew they were his. Soon, all the orphans in Outlast would be his too. This was just the beginning of Wick's revenge. Wick did not want Lanton to fall or break. He wanted him emptied of all he loved, to have nothing and know all he once had was now Wick's.