"Hah... hah..."
Van's chest rose and fell violently as he forced the stale air into his lungs. His arms, already pushed past their limit, could no longer support the weight of the massive axe. He slowly pulled it back and let it drop to the floor with a heavy crash.
The little boy in front of him had clearly gone numb with shock. There were still tears at the corners of his eyes, his face was white, and he barely dared breathe.
After a long while, when Van still made no move, the boy finally rushed past him, threw himself onto Renni's already cold body, and burst into loud, broken sobs.
"Mom!"
Van watched in silence and let out a long, heavy breath. He wiped at the blood caked around his eye socket, and only then could he barely make out the scene around him.
The enormous tavern held no living presence besides the two of them.
The gramophone was still stubbornly playing its song. Other than that, all that remained was the crackle of fire and Van's own ragged breathing.
Bodies were strewn across the floor. Some were missing limbs. Some had been hacked into mangled heaps. More than a few had probably fled the moment they realized the fight had turned against them.
Van let out a deep sigh. He glanced back at the boy who had just lost his mother, and his grip on the axe tightened.
After a long pause, he slowly loosened his hand and let it drift to the bluebird pendant at his chest.
"Janna will watch over you, kid."
With that, Van lowered the axe behind him and made his way downstairs.
The gramophone was still blaring its bright, driving music, but Van found the sound unbearable now.
With one swing, he smashed the machine to pieces. Then, dragging both the axe and his wounded, exhausted body behind him, he walked out of the burning tavern.
...
...
When a person is under extreme strain, the mind narrows and fixes on a single thing. But once that tension loosens, the senses start to spread again.
It was only on the way back that Van noticed someone had slashed his left leg at some point. The wound was not deep, but it had already started to affect the way he walked.
Dragging that heavy axe along with him, he was forced into a limp. The road back was not especially far, but right now it felt endless.
"Fuck... I really should've made this thing lighter..."
Resisting the urge to just drop the axe and leave it there, Van gritted his teeth and kept going.
It was already deep into the night. Van had moved fast. He had started after dark, and in just two or three hours, it had all been settled.
Zaun's nights were never quiet. The moon was a rare thing here. More often, the darkness came with smoke and poison fog. Peace had nothing to do with it. What belonged to the night was the endless thunder of factories that never stopped.
Normally, when passing through one narrow, filthy alley after another, he should have heard a scream or two somewhere along the way. But lately, with all the gangs making their moves, even the sewer rats had started keeping their heads down.
Blood dripped steadily from Van's jaw and pattered onto the dusty road, leaving a vivid trail behind him.
His steps grew heavier and heavier, but he still did not turn toward home, even though it was closer to where he was now.
Instead, he followed the familiar path in his memory, pushing on until, after who knew how long, he finally saw the sign in the distance.
The Last Drop.
It was dark now, the doors shut tight. It had obviously been closed for days.
That made sense. Vander was dead. Benzo was dead. And there was no point even mentioning that traitor Sevika... There was no one left who could keep the Last Drop running.
Bang!
Van kicked the door open, stepped inside like he had a hundred times before, and flipped on the main power switch. The room lit up at once. The dim, yellow glow looked strangely warm to him now, and strangely cold.
He switched on the gramophone, then staggered over to the bar and propped the axe against it.
Now he had to pour his own drink.
After turning a while, the old gramophone finally let out a slow, familiar melody—some old song about a town girl and a heart already promised elsewhere.
Van leaned over the bar, stretched forward, pulled a bottle of hard liquor from the cabinet, and poured himself a glass.
The sharp fumes rushed up at him. After only one sip, the strength of the alcohol made him frown hard, which tugged at the wound over his brow and drew a hiss from him.
After taking a moment to steady himself, he did not drink the rest.
Instead, he slowly lifted the glass and poured the liquor directly over the mangled wound on his brow ridge.
"Ngh... ah..."
The pain was so fierce he could not help letting out a low cry. He slammed a fist into the bar, doubled over, and breathed through it.
"Good taste."
The low, magnetic voice came from the doorway. Van did not even need to look up to know who it was.
"Word gets around fast..."
"The entire Undercity is under my watch."
Silco walked over slowly and sat down beside him, as familiar with this place as if it belonged to him. He took out a glass, poured himself half a drink, and raised it.
"There was a time I liked being here too. Good liquor. Good music. Friends I could speak honestly with."
He took a slow sip, calm and measured.
"I miss who I was back then. But I don't regret becoming who I am now."
Van stayed bent over the bar and said nothing. But one of his hands had already slid quietly to the axe haft.
"Vander was my enemy, but I respected him. He thought highly of you. And you proved him right."
Silco swirled the murky liquor in his glass and watched it turn against the clear sides.
"I've already cleaned the scum out of the area around here. This bar is yours now."
Van still did not speak. He only turned his head slightly and looked at Silco in silence, while blood still seeped from the ugly wound over his brow.
"I'm not giving it to you," Silco said. "You've earned it, Torvan. I won't touch anything involving the Last Drop again, but that's all. If you want more, come to me."
Then he pulled a green syringe from inside his coat and held it up lightly between two fingers. Inside, a trace of purple shimmered.
"There's only a little Shimmer in it. The side effects are minor. It just hurts a bit. I doubt that'll trouble you."
Van looked at Silco for a long moment, then at the injection in his hand.
At last, he quietly released the axe haft, straightened up, and took the syringe.
"Rest up and heal, young man," Silco said. "You've still got a long road ahead of you."
[End of chapter]