“Protection is one of the things being offered, Liane. But if you think you’ll live long in jail, as a cop, continue on your path.” Cyrus chuckled. “Oh, sorry, former cop. Not that it matters to those on the inside. But it’s up to you. Stay quiet, meanwhile, these Cryptids you are covering for, will continue living their lives as they wish. Even the ones who get thrown in jail, they, unlike you, will get free eventually. One of the benefits of living forever.
“Just think, Liane, for a bit of cash, you foolishly get to spend the rest of your life in jail. While they will spend a small forgettable percentage of their life inside, and then go on their merry way. Seems a fair trade.”
The human gnashed his teeth at him. “Acting like you are so much better than me! So, I took a little money! Why shouldn’t I?! I should walk away from bettering myself, for what?! To protect some whore who regretted her own damn choices?!”
Cyrus stared down at the human in disgust. “You should have done your fucking job. That's what you should have done, and not help frame a victim.”
“VICTIM! HAH,” Liane mocked. “The little fuck has you fooled. Just some slut who was fine with the money until she got bored.”
He shook his head. There was no point talking anymore. The bastard had made up his mind. He stared at the threads weaving and winding around the human. There was one that came directly from his heart…while the part that extended out was green, the strand directly connected to the body was starting to turn black. Rot…pure rot.
The man had just made a decision that would irreversibly lead to his own death. Cursing others for choices not of their own making while damning himself. Foolishness to the max. “Well, I guess you’ll be the slut now. Have fun in prison.”
Preston glareddown at the kneeling Don, debating if he should kill him or not. “Who have they taken now?’
“Grately Liane.” He rose his brow in question. Don quickly added, “That human detective who worked for Sheriff Tormd.”
“Ah,” he sighed, rubbing at his temple. “Have him taken care of. More importantly, Don…how long have you worked for me?”
The man cleared his throat. “Fifteen years.”
“In those fifteen years, haven’t I always kept my promises?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“Then tell me, Don…” he trailed off.
“Y-yes?”
“WHY HAVEN’T YOU FOUND HER YET?!” Preston roared. Reaching out with his own shadow, he lifted the man up into the air by his neck.
Don struggled, clawing at his throat. His nails cut into his own skin, doing nothing to the shadowy hand holding him up.
Running his hand down the front of his jacket, Preston stood and came around to stand in front of the man. “To be honest, I’m feeling quite impatient. The progress so far is underwhelming, after three and a half months. I think I've been quite lenient, considering we have no clue who has my woman and child. No clue where this Dweller came from, or how he has avoided us so far. Along with having no idea whether they are on Earth, or in space, or hell, in the fucking ocean. In three and a half months, you’ve given me less than nothing. Yet, on the other hand, the CEB is crawling up my ass, arresting people left and right.” He lowered the man to the ground so they were face to face. “My associates are worried, Don. They're yammering away in my ear, as if I care what happens to them.”
Preston released him. Don fell to the floor wheezing, taking large gulps of air.
“Look at me,” he ordered. The man looked up, eyes watering and red. Preston smiled. “This will be the last thing you and those annoying fuckers will see if you don’t fix this.”
Severo sat there holdingon to Skya as she played with one of his hands like it was the best toy in the world. “So, that’s it?” he asked, eyeing the cylinder on the table.
It was about five inches long. The thing was overall silver, but the large slanted glass strip in the middle let him see the glowing light blue substance inside.
“It’s…well, it’s the first attempt.” The Nymph stared down at it looking slightly pale. “I think I should do more testing.”
“I mean, the best testing you could do is to shoot me up with it, right?”
“Severo…it will be like injecting you with dysea, but the response will be worse than any reaction you could have from that.”
“But you worked out how to remove some of those already, didn’t you?”
The man had taken tissue samples and more over the last two months. The goal being to create something that would incapacitate instead of kill.
“I broke it down a few times, yes. And I believe I’ve solved the reason why your skin reddens and flares up into a nasty rash with the normal concoction.
“It turns out, it’s not the dyrite that's causing it—well, not completely. You see, sea salt is used to stabilize the dyrite, which combines and becomes dysea. The whole reason sea salt is used is because dyrite, in its natural form, is a powder that is constantly shifting from solid to gas. The sea salt stabilizes the dyrite, but at the same time, there is a secondary chemical reaction that happens within the salt molecules.
“That secondary reaction is actually what is causing the skin irritation. The dyrite, however, is still what makes you feel weak and sick. I found a way to stabilize the dyrite without salt, while at the same time turn it into a liquid form. Which is better suited for our purposes.”
