Sigvid cropped up throughout her life in several fateful incidents. At best, he is a walking coincidence. Besides, she had taken her fair share of swipes at him during the war, not to mention her final move to entrap him.
He may have been one of the few people in her life who made her feel seen as a strong woman, but he is still nothing more than a beast.
And with that final thought, the rest of the night becomes a blur of wine.
12
SIGVID
September 19th, Year 100, 9th Era
Treland Arena
Punishing Face in the ring earlier in the day has not satiated his thirst for blood.
Sigvid’s friendship with Champion means he does not need to express his frustration verbally. Between Sigvid’s frantic pacing and breaking anything sitting still long enough in his cell, Champion finally relinquishes.
Using his strange power of persuasion, he convinces the guards to send the combatants out for evening training since the rare sunlight often makes them all more peaceful.
Usually.
Sigvid cracks his knuckles as the duo step into the dusky glow of the training ground. His eyes scan the various sparring rings, targets, and training courses until they land on his target.
“You want to be chained up again?” Champ quips, following Sigvid’s narrowing gaze.
“I will send any of these pricks to the Abyss every chance I get.” Sigvid slaps Champ on the shoulder with a loud thud.
He strides up to the man he learned is Pretty Boy and punches him between his eyes. The force of his strike makes a cracking sound and bloodies the younger man.
“My name is Sigvid Thordsson, and I am going to kill you.”
He uppercuts Pretty Boy, sending him colliding into the training dummy he has been vainly using.
Through his choking, Pretty Boy struggles to stand but ends up collapsing back onto his ass. “What the shit is this? What did I do to you?”
Sigvid stands on his ankle with all his weight, wringing out a scream that brings a smile to his lips. “Did you serve King Rendel Manchineel?”
“Yes, what does that matter?” Pretty Boy whines like a child bereft of his toy.
“Did you ever lay hands on Queen Avina?”
Pretty Boy swallows and glances around the training field, searching for salvation.
Unfortunately for him, he will not find that here.
“I will take that as a yes.” Sigvid lifts him by the neck. Pretty Boy’s feet dangle above the ground, and then Sigvid clocks him again between the eyes.
“You and Face deserve everything I have delivered.” He hurls Pretty Boy’s body into the sentry wall with a sickening crack.
At Sigvid’s back, he can hear the heavy footfalls of guards charging across the field.
Frankly, it’s shocking they allow me off-leash to shit, considering the damage I deal.
Sigvid lifts a screaming Pretty Boy. “I can’t feel my legs!”
“Good. Now, you will not be able to feel anything.” He clutches the sides of Pretty Boy’s head and snaps his neck. His body crumbles to the ground.
“Ah, fuck.” Champ mutters.
