Fractured God

Tibaut slammed his fist on the old man's desk.

“Are you fucking kidding me? The only reason those bastards were killing so many people and the reason we just now were going after them was because you protected them!?” Tibaut shouted at Mr. Bentley.

Initially, Tibaut was listening to the old man since he seemed near scared to death. He looked like he'd have a heart attack at any moment and given that he talked about Ezekiel and himself, he assumed it was an old man recounting his life with Tibaut as the audience. But the more he spoke, the more Tibaut had to sit in disbelief of what he did. Tibaut began praying to himself, hoping the old man would have a heart attack at some point in the recounting. Why? Because if he didn't he was sure he'd kill the old piece of shit himself.

He got up from his chair and reached for Mr. Bentley's collar. The old man was now drenched in sweat and shivered as he had just been subjected to subzero temperatures. His teeth clattered as Tibaut lifted him up and he could only weakly look into his eyes.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Kill me already.” He said, unrepentant.

“IS THAT ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF!?” Tibaut shouted with a guttural roar that sounded rough on the throat.

“What? E-expecting more? Well, I'm sorry to say but it was a smart decision. Would you watch as five people die and fight their killer or watch two people and get compensated?”

“Don't give me that bullshit!” Tibaut said before throwing his fist towards him.

The old man closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable. But nothing happened. He felt a breeze blow against his face and opened his eyes a few moments later to see Tibaut’s face taking up most of his vision.

“You ruined countless lives for your own self-gain. You can tell yourself this was the better option but what the fuck is the point of people like us if not getting rid of bastards like those? To pick daisies while people die? Huh!? Answer me, you bastard!” Tibaut said before throwing Mr. Bentley back into his chair.

Mr. Bentley was nearly toppled over in his chair and quickly leaned back forward, stopping himself from falling over.

“I have no words for you. I did what I believed was right for a group of people as worthless as the adventurers in this parish. Now kill me already, I want to get this over with.”

“You old stubborn bastard, are you just going ignore what I say!?”

The old man didn't respond and simply opened up a drawer.

Tibaut quickly fired a fire lance at his arm, sending the old man to the floor, writhing in pain.

“Argh! It seems you've finally made up your mind, you brat!” The old man whimpered as he held onto his shattered wrist.

(“Tch, I thought that a bastard as evil as you would be able to take a hit better.”)

Tibaut thought as he walked towards the old man. It was obvious, he was afraid of the consequences if it was found out he worked with the cultists, but frankly Tibaut didn't care. If what happened to Albus was anything to go by, the moment people hear about his affiliation with the cultists or the Marrow of Lucifer, as he called them, some people who hadn't been seen or heard of until now will come for him and do all sorts of unspeakable things. Things Tibaut probably couldn't even begin to process or imagine doing himself. And what fate was better for such a man than that?

(“The people he allowed to die aren't ever going to come back and nothing going to change that… but it wouldn't hurt for him to experience the same terror, dread and misery as the people he let get murdered and their family. I hope whatever prison or torture chamber you get thrown in doesn't disappoint when it comes to pain, you bastard.”)

Tibaut looked down at the old man coldly and saw something in his hand, with the old man's head turned to the side. He quickly grabbed his head and pulled him up to see a bottle in his mouth. In the brief moments he took to walk towards him, Mr. Bentley had managed to finish it.

Tibaut slapped the bottle out of his mouth and threw him onto the table.

The old man had a smirk on his face with uneasy eyes. The terror of being found out had been washed away with the relief from finishing the bottle without being noticed. He looked like a man basking in the afterglow of an immaculate lover.

Tibaut grabbed his leg and a green glow emitted from it.

The old man looked down and struggled to free himself.

“Young man, it's over, with this poison there's no chance of saving me. You may as well get your licks in now.” The old man confidently stated as he kicked at Tibaut’s arm.

“Really, how long does it take to kick in?” Tibaut asked before he pulled the old man off the desk and into the floor.

“Gah,” Mr. Bentley groaned as he tried to pick himself up. Then a thought soon crept into his head. He had seen this poison in action and how quickly it worked… so why was he still alive?

“You…” Mr. Bentley's face was paler than a ghost as he looked upwards at Tibaut. And it wasn't from the poison.

“I can cure most poisons. Now what was that about getting my licks in?” Tibaut asked if he cracked his knuckles.