Rise Of The Mage King

Chapter 2

"There," Vargus said suddenly.

The heavy, burning pressure on Drogo's chest stopped. Vargus stepped back, taking a deep breath. The dark, oily magic was gone from the noble. Vargus looked refreshed, his skin glowing with healthy color.

Drogo hung from the chains, his body completely limp. He was gasping for air, choking on his own spit. The black veins all over his body pulsed slowly, beating like sick hearts under his skin. He felt so heavy. He felt completely full of poison. He knew this would kill him one day. Nulls never lived past twenty years old. The slag destroyed them eventually. But he only needed a few more years. Just until Tiana was old enough to run away.

Vargus took a white silk cloth from his pocket and wiped his hands. He looked at Drogo with a wrinkled nose, as if Drogo were a pile of trash in the middle of a clean street.

"You look terrible," Vargus laughed. He reached into a small leather bag on his belt.

Drogo opened his tired eyes. He watched the bag. His heart beat faster despite the pain. The payment. Give me the payment.

Vargus pulled out a small handful of dull copper coins. He did not hand them to Drogo. Instead, he smiled a cruel smile and opened his hand.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

The coins fell to the marble floor. They rolled away, stopping near Vargus's expensive leather boots.

"Pick them up, rat," Vargus said.

Felix, the guard, walked over and unhooked the iron chains from the wall. The chains dropped.

Drogo crashed to the hard marble floor. He landed on his hands and knees. His arms were numb. His chest felt like it was full of hot lead. Every time he breathed, he tasted ash. But he did not cry. He did not beg. He slowly crawled forward. His shaking, black-veined fingers reached out toward the copper coins.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Seven coins. Enough for the medicine, and one loaf of hard bread. Drogo held the coins tightly in his dirty fist. He pressed his hand to his chest, guarding them like they were diamonds.

"Thank you, my Lord," Drogo whispered. His voice sounded like dry leaves scraping together.

"You are welcome," Vargus said, looking down at him. Vargus kicked one of Drogo's hands lightly with his boot. "You know, Payne, you take the slag better than the last Null I bought. Most of them start crying or their hearts explode after ten minutes. You have a very high capacity for garbage."

Drogo kept his head down. "I try to serve, my Lord. May I go now?"

"In a moment," Vargus said. He crossed his arms and looked at the ceiling, thinking. "I sent my men to the slums yesterday to see if there were any more of your kind. We need more Nulls for the winter season. They saw something interesting near your little shack."

Drogo froze. The blood in his veins ran cold.

"My men told me about a little girl," Vargus continued, his voice soft and smooth. "Silver hair. Big eyes. They said she did not look like the rest of the dirty pigs in the slums. They said she had a spark in her."

Drogo forced his head up. He looked at Vargus. "She is nothing, my Lord. Just a dirty street child. Please."

Vargus smiled. It was a terrible, greedy smile. "I do not think she is nothing. A girl with a spark like that... she should not be rolling in the mud. She could be useful. The Academy takes the strong ones, yes, but a noble lord has the right to claim a servant before the Academy does."

"No," Drogo said quickly. His voice cracked. "No, please. She is clumsy. She is stupid. She would be a terrible servant."

Vargus laughed loudly. "Who said anything about a servant? She is quite pretty. Give her a few more years, a nice bath, a pretty dress... she would make a fine pet. I have always wanted a little songbird in a cage."

The room went completely silent. Even Felix, the guard, shifted his feet, looking a little uncomfortable.

Something broke inside Drogo.

It was not a loud break. It was a quiet, deep snap. The careful, planned world he had built in his mind—the rules of the rich and the poor, the need to survive, the fear of the nobles—it all turned to dust.

Vargus had just threatened the only thing of light in Drogo's dark world. Vargus wanted to take Tiana, break her mind, use her body, and throw her away just like he threw away his magic waste.

Drogo did not think about the consequences. He did not think about the guards outside, or the powerful fire magic burning inside Vargus.

Drogo moved.

For a boy who was dying of magic poison, he moved with terrifying speed. He pushed off the marble floor with both legs like a wild animal. He launched himself up from the ground.

Vargus's eyes widened in shock. "What—"

Drogo did not punch him. He did not have a weapon. He only had his teeth. Drogo grabbed Vargus's arm to pull himself close, opened his mouth, and bit down hard on the side of Vargus’s hand, right where the thumb connected.

He bit with all his strength. His teeth tore through the soft skin. He tasted the hot, salty burst of noble blood. He bit deeper, aiming for the bone. He wanted to rip it out. He wanted to swallow it.

Vargus let out a high, sharp scream. It was not the scream of a proud noble; it was the scream of a frightened child.

"Get him off! Get him off me!" Vargus yelled, shaking his arm wildly.