Love and Bounty

Chapter Eighteen: The Cat-Eyed Man

When Deeja first saw him at the Winking Skeever, she never would have thought he was like this.

The cat-eyed man stood like a giant, even among the golden-skinned and blue-skinned women he summoned from only the Hist knew where, as he reveled in the midst of the mad mage's ruin. From where Deeja and Sharai hid, tucked away in the corridor that had just opened into the breadth of the laboratory chamber, the mad joy in the cat-eyed man's eyes was nigh palpable.

"...old friend?" the mage uttered, the words dripping from the slits in his helm's visor like noxious sludge. "You... filthy mongrel. We were never friends! You used me—you used my GENIUS!"

The cat-eyed man unleashed a cackle from his grinning maw, half-covered by a thick and grayed mustache. "To call yourself a genius is foolish, especially now."

He treaded nearer to the symmetrical blade behind the magical barrier, crushing the broken limbs of the dead underfoot as he went.

"You've let yourself go, Thoron, but it's delightful—your little mote of madness is so pungent that I can almost smell it over the sewage, sickly sweet." A bandit's spilled guts squelched under his boot. "You should have known that hiding from me is impossible... Thinking yourself clever, hiding right under my nose—failing to realize I stand surrounded by mouse traps always."

Thoron was taken by rage, surely frothing beneath his helmet, though he lacked the will to struggle against the scantily-armor-clad women flanking him. "You will NEVER have Mania!"

The cat-eyed man balked, his cloak swaying with his final step in front of the barrier. He pressed a hand to the flowing magic, his vile-green touch rippling across and wearing at its edges.

"Do you hear me!?" The women twisted his shattered arms, but amidst his cries of agony, he raved with gritted teeth: "The Isles WILL NOT open to you!"

The quiet cackles of the cat-eyed man sent a shiver down Deeja's spine. "Learn to keep your Saints and Seducers bound to your will alone before you try to define my capabilities," he said, placing his other hand on the barrier. "You don't know half of what I can do." The ripples spread faster, basking the pale, sleek sword within in the color of reeking bile. "Be content with your rightful place, Thoron. Your diligence only makes our Lord stronger."

With both hands, the cat-eyed man tore into the barrier with clawed fingers, prying the magic apart with his bare hands as foul green lights swirled around him and in the eyes of the golden and dark women—the Saints and Seducers. Thoron watched in horror as the tempestuous barrier began to give way, physically parting at the hands of the cat-eyed man. Sparks flickered and fell from Thoron's twisted fingers as the cat-eyed man tore the barrier apart. It vanished with not a sound to mark its death.

Thoron's hands twisted hard, both palms turning to the cat-eyed man and unleashing two furious arcs of lightning at him. In an instant, the cat-eyed man turned, a barrier of his own springing up to guard him from the twin arcs. They bounced hopelessly from the warding magic, and his smile widened with amusement and creeping malice.

"You are not as meek as when we first met," he uttered. "But you are still just as sloppy." With a resolute point of his finger, the cat-eyed man issued a command: "Dis-arm him, ladies!"

"N-no, wait—Vicaimo—!"

The Saint and Seducer raised their blades in sync, as if in a trance, and brought them down with force, cleaving off both of Thoron's arms at the elbows. All the while, the cat-eyed man—Vicaimo—burst into rapturous cackles and clapped his hands with sheer, crazed delight.

"It's a shame you only have two of those," he rasped. "I would have liked to see an encore!"

Understandably, Thoron couldn't find the words to respond. It must have been the shock. Blood poured from his clean-cut stumps by the pint, and he wavered in the hold of his daedric keepers. He was a nutcase—that Deeja understood—but... did he deserve this?