He had known Jax for years. Had sparred with him. Had drunk with him around countless campfires. The Butcher had a presence, a weight of menace that this pretender could never replicate even if he wore Jax’s skin instead of merely his armor.
The capture had been easy.
The Dross had tried to fight, of course. They always tried to fight. But Flesh Awakening Warriors against a Bone Tempering Warrior was no contest at all. Lukaku had shattered their weapons with casual blows, broken bones with negligent strikes, killed most of them before they even understood what was happening.
He had kept a few alive.
For questioning.
Lukaku looked over to where these prisoners were right now.
Only three of them remained.
They sat against another Ancestor Pillar at the opposite edge of the camp from the women, their hands bound behind them with sinew cord, their ankles tied to prevent any attempt at escape. Not that they could escape in their current condition.
The Chieftain of whatever pathetic Dross tribe they came from was the worst off. He had been wearing Jax’s armor when Lukaku caught them, which meant he had received the worst of Lukaku’s initial fury. His face was swollen beyond recognition, one eye completely sealed shut, the other barely open. His nose was clearly broken, bent at an angle that would never heal properly. Blood had dried in crusted streams from his mouth and ears.
He breathed in shallow, pained gasps.
Beside him sat two Warriors, presumably his subordinates. They were in similar states of ruin. Beaten and bruised all over, their bodies bearing the marks of Lukaku’s interrogation. One had fingers that bent in directions fingers should not bend. The other had burns across his chest where Lukaku had pressed heated stones against his flesh.
Their eyes showed broken, despairing gazes.
The look of men who knew they were going to die and had accepted it.
The look of men who had nothing left to lose.
Lukaku shook his head with distaste as he looked at the Dross.
He had been questioning them for hours now, and they had told him nothing useful. Where had they gotten Jax’s armor? They would not say. What had happened to the Butcher? They would not say. Where was their tribe located? They would not say.
Stubborn creatures!
He had to give them that much credit.
Most Dross broke within the first few minutes of interrogation. A few broken fingers, a few applications of heated stone, and they would tell you whatever you wanted to know. They would betray their mothers, their children, their entire tribes for the mere possibility of a quick death instead of a slow one.
But these three had held out.
It was almost admirable.
Almost!
Hah.
He hoped Lady Morgana would finish her mission in these backwater tribes of lesser things as soon as possible so they could return to civilization. He was tired of sleeping on bare stone. Tired of eating garbage. Tired of dealing with Dross who did not know their place in the Great Hierarchy.
But while he was here, he might as well enjoy what pleasures were available.
"Hmm..."
He smiled toward the distant Dross women.
He would enjoy them later tonight.
But first, he had to continue torturing these other Dross for information. They had been tight-lipped so far, but that was only ever initial resistance.
He knew Dross.
He had broken many of them over the years, learned exactly where to apply pressure, exactly how much pain they could endure before their minds shattered and their tongues loosened. They would betray each other for the littlest resources. Eventually, they all broke!
It was only a question of how much blood had to be spilled on the dark stones tonight before they squealed like the pigs they were.
Lukaku rose from his seat near the fire and walked toward the prisoners with measured steps.
His bones crackled faintly with stored Mana, a reminder of the power that separated him from these lesser creatures. He was Sworn. He was a Bone Tempering Warrior. He served Lady Morgana herself.
And they were Dross.
Waste material.
Impurities to be used and discarded.
"Now then."
He crouched before the Chieftain, grabbing the man’s broken jaw and forcing his head up.
"Shall we continue our conversation?"
The Chieftain’s one functional eye met his gaze.
And despite everything, despite the pain and the hopelessness and the knowledge of what was coming, there was still defiance in that look.
Still resistance.
Lukaku smiled.
He did enjoy a challenge!
"Good."
His grip tightened.
"Let us see how long that spirit lasts."
The screaming began shortly after.
It echoed through the night, carrying across the dark stones of the Lands of Stone, heard by no one who cared.
Just another night, and just another Dross learning their place.
Just another reminder that the Great Hierarchy existed for a reason!
The strong ruled and the weak suffered.
And the Dross endured whatever their betters chose to inflict upon them.
This was the way of the Lands of Stone.
This was the truth that never changed!
As they crossed through the radiant yet dark forest, Damian felt an instinctive sense of unease that wasn’t even about his safety as much as...guilt.
He knew that he knew a lot regarding the Lands of Stone, but he didn’t know everything.
Based on his words, The Chieftain and others had set off as barring any unknowns, there really shouldn’t have been any problems.
But the Lands of Stone held too many mysteries as anything could have happened. If his words had sent them and put them in danger, or worse...
He found himself conflicted as in front of him, Grandmother Essun seemed to sense his state of mind.
"Tokoloshe, The Lands of Stone are vast, and everyone makes their own choices. Choices shape everything as The Chieftain was not commanded by you to make any choices. He moved to save his tribe. Guilt is a monster that will eat you alive and spit you out. Do not let it. Oh, and also..."
Damian’s body pulsed as he sensed something far ahead.
"We are here, Tokoloshe."
...!