Wysteria

Chapter 9

(When do I ever edit these?)

Deep below ground, across the country
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'Fools!'

Not knowing why this particular meeting had made his veins pulse with anger, Fargon pushed the servant boy out of his way. He was deep in thought, traveling through the barely functioning tunnels. A growl ripped from his throat at the thought.

'We live like roaches, and for what?!'

They had the numbers, the strength, the power to attack. Why wait?

Not to mention the blatant disrespect the other officials gave him during the meeting. Fargon was just as smart as the others, even if he wasn't as high ranked.

In anger, he stomped on the head of a scrambling rat. It released a loud, frail squeak that he didn't so much as flinch at. He had killed far bigger, tougher things. He had made blood spill across lands, nations, and they dare make him a low ranked official?!

'Never mind,' Fargon thought as he turned the corner in the dank, smelly tunnel. 'I'll have my day.'

He came upon a room in the shape of a circle, with seven different tunnels leading to various parts of the Rogue Underworld.
The dirt packed ceiling above him became lower as he turned towards a tunnel on his left hand side. It led to his private chambers- more like a cave, he grumbled. He rolled his green eye. The false eye in his right socket, made of glass, remained still.

As he came upon the metal door to his chambers, the one good thing that became of his status, Fargon felt his skin grow hot as his wolf urged to be let out.

Out.

Fargon smirked. His wolf was angry.

Kill.

Soon, Argus. Soon.

He pushed the door open, to the surprise of his mistresses. Two fair-haired beauties, also granted to him. They were twins, just barely 16.

"Welcome home, master." The girls trembled in unison, bowing their heads deeply.

"Where is my food, girl?" He asked neither in particular.

"On the table, master." The girl closest to him whispers. "May I take your coat?"

"Yes," he grumbles, reigning in his anger. Some warm food should satiate his wolf's thirst for blood.

The girl approached him and gently slips off his coat. She hangs it in the 'closet' made out of hard packed dirt as the second girl pulls his chair out. He takes a seat and gestures for her to take the lid off of the plate. She does so, revealing a hunk of steaming meat, vegetables and a loaf of bread with a tub of butter on the side.
On his one plate, there was enough food for a small family, but neither girl would be getting food tonight. They chose to eat on Monday, two days ago. They wouldn't get to chose until Monday passed again.

Fargon took a large bite out of the bread. In disgust, he spit the bread out at the girls feet. The first mistress, nearest to the closet allows a small gasp of horror to fall from her lips.

"What is this?! The bread is stale!" Fargon leaps from his seat and clasps his large hand around the frail girls pale, dirty neck.

She begins to gasp for air as his fingers leave bruises on her already beaten body.

"W-we have no more money for fresh bread! Please! Master please let her g-"

"No more money?! Where has it all gone?" Fargon ignored her cries for mercy and flung the girl across the room. A scream ripped from her throat as she landed on the glass table, shattering it to a million pieces.