Punishment Halls

All the mental preparation Koral had mustered until that point felt somewhat unnecessary, as Kyros led her into an unassuming yet ornate office rather than some sort of underground dungeon like she had briefly imagined.

Having thought otherwise made Koral feel a bit silly. Of course Valerica’s blood empire would be adorned by roses —with the crude instruments of torture hidden discreetly behind silk curtains and mahogany panels.

The large room itself was yet another exercise in opulence that escaped from Koral’s sensitivities. She had no appreciation for the high-quality furniture, neither was she particularly impressed by the pretentious paintings hanging on the walls.

Another suited-up man remained stationed by the door as she and Kyros passed through, with Koral doing little more than glancing in his direction, the guy being one amongst the many watchdogs guarding every corner of the Medardo Estate.

A glass-fronted, gold-trimmed shelves dominated an entire side, crammed with dozens upon dozens of chess boards and their differing amount of pieces, each holding their own miniature flower behind translucid tempered glass. While some of them were vibrant, and others tragically withered, there could be easily hundreds of them inside that room, making the teenager wonder if each actually signaled one of Valerica's pawns —or if they served as one more decoration amidst so many other pretenses.

Not like she had much time to inspect every little detail, as both she and Kyros were immediately drawn to the figure silhouetted against a floor-to-ceiling window at the end of the office, framed by the sunset lighting of the exterior garden sprawling beneath them.

With a grace befitting of her, Valerica turned in their direction, leaving Koral struck anew by the woman’s stunning beauty. Her olive skin seemed to glow in the dying sunlight, red and brown hair catching fire under the fading day. She hadn’t aged a day since their first meeting, a fact that sent an unconscious uneasiness down Koral’s spine.

Today, the Cartel Ringleader’s lips were painted a soft plum, her pristine white blouse tucked into high-waist black trousers loosely clinging to her figure —professional, yet undeniably feminine. Every tiny detail seemed calculated to accentuate the piercing emerald of her eyes, which fixed on Koral with an intensity that made her skin prickle.

Unlike the budding sicaria’s loud ensemble, Valerica’s outfit was an understated one… Yet her prettiness shone through effortlessly, as if it were a force that no amount of modesty could ever dim.

“Welcome, my blossoms.” Valerica’s voice broke the surface tension, smooth and sweet like honey. “Today is indeed a very important day.”

>> “Please, take a seat, my dear Koral.” She added while gesturing to a cushioned leather chair across her desk, wearing an easy smile that did nothing to ease the growing know in the teenager’s stomach.

In any other circumstance, with any other authority figure, Koral would have bristled at the command just for the sake of rebelliousness… But here, facing Valerica, the very idea created an unfamiliar constriction inside her chest —and so she obeyed without a word of protest, her body moving almost on its own.

Valerica’s manicured fingers danced over several chess pieces scattered across the robust wood, eventually plucking up a pawn. Within its pale, half-translucent glass frame, Koral recognized the aquamarine moonflower —the marker extracted from her blood long ago.

“Can’t believe it’s been almost half a decade.” The Ringleader mused, her voice tinged with a saccharine nostalgia as she perched on the edge of the desk, twirling the pawn between her fingers. “Time sure does fly, don’t you think?”

>> “It feels like just yesterday that you were before me, a lost little lamb.”

Or so she said… But the irony wasn’t entirely lost on Koral. Valerica herself seemed practically untouched by the passage of time, her beauty unchanging like a photograph. To remain this immutable in a world where a single misstep led everything to crumble in a matter of moments, was perhaps the most terrifying thing about her.

Briefly, as she thought her response, Koral’s eyes flicked to the other stray chess pieces —a gray knight, a white rook, and a yellow queen; each of them holding its own miniature floral prisoner. She couldn’t identify them quickly enough, their presence turning into another silent reminder of the game she was yet unable to fully grasp.

“Yeah, I guess…” Koral mumbled, just to say anything, and hating how small her voice sounded. Suddenly, she became painfully aware of her own presence —her dyed hair, her edgy outfit… And how it all seemed to crumble in front of this woman. She felt like that broken-hearted and dirt-smeared child all over again, a sensation that clawed at her insides, like a living ache in her chest driving her mad. “Only old farts speak like that, though.”

The resentful comment, delivered through gritted teeth, elicited a soft, melodious laugh from the older woman. It echoed through the room like the tinkling of delicate crystal —delicate yet spine-tinglingly sharp.

“I’ve heard much of your reputation.” Valerica chided with amusement, Koral’s feeble attempt at confrontation nothing more than a mildly entertaining parlor trick. “I must confess it’s rather endearing, that touch of spirit, that flicker of defiance.” Her emerald gaze sparkled with an unspoken hunger, though Koral couldn’t hold eye contact for long. “You’re no longer an innocent lamb, are you?”

>> “No, from today onwards you’re a bonafide member of La Medula, just like your close friend Kyros here.”

Her attention was briefly diverted towards the statue-like figure standing behind Koral’s chair —impassive, without a flicker of emotion betraying his thoughts.

“Kyros ain’t no friend of mine.” Koral swiftly spat out defensively. She’d be damned to hell before playing nice in this rotten game. “Just a pathetic dick rider. It’d make no difference to me if my first gig was to dump him in a river.”

A muffled groan from behind her betrayed a crack under pressure from the wanna-be soldier’s perfect facade. Valerica, however, only smiled wider, as if her attitude was a delightful performance she’d been eagerly anticipating —and not something worth of even a minor reprimand.

“My adorable, fierce little blossom, with such a commendable enthusiasm…” The woman purred, tilting her head before reaching behind her desk. The motion carried across an overpowering cloud of perfume, its cloying sweetness overpowering Koral’s nose. “Why would we want to target such a well-behaved and obedient knight like our dear Kyros? No, the task I have in mind is far more enticing than that.” She paused, savoring the moment like a cat playing with prey. “But first…”

In a fluid motion, Valerica’s hand retreated from its search, producing a sleek manila envelope and sliding it across the polished surface towards Koral.

“A full identity.” She explained, rich satisfaction coloring her voice. “My Cartel does not operate solely within these boarders. You’ll need these sooner or later.”

Unable to contain her intrigue, the teenager opened the envelope hastily, finding inside it a passport and a driver’s license —both of them foreign. Her gaze fixed on the letters emblazoned across the items, ‘Koral Aysel Andreas’. This was to be her new full persona, a means of bureaucracy that held little consequence to her beyond its practical use.

“Try not to lose them.” Kyros chimed in, his voice carrying an irritating edge as he leaned over her shoulder with curiosity. “I know following instructions’ hard for you, but—“

“Shut up, mind your own damn business.” Koral snapped back, clutching the documents to her chest to prevent any further peeking, perhaps a bit childishly. “I’m not gonna lose them, and I never asked you for advice.”

Did she have any real reason to act this petty towards Kyros? Not really, but she bristled at the idea of letting him claim any sort of superiority. They were equals, and neither age nor experience could ever change that —if anything, she was the better of the two, since she wasn’t as blindly loyal like some well-trained dog.

As the teenagers’ quarrel carried on indistinctively, the gleam in Valerica’s eyes dimmed subtly, with the older woman raising her attention to the man standing silently at the other end of the room.

“Nadaletti, come.” She commanded with a snap of her fingers, the edge of authority in her voice silencing Koral and Kyros mid-argument. “Let’s get to business already.”

Koral’s attention shifted towards the man immediately, the same guard she had dismissed earlier as just another faceless grunt. Her eyes narrowed while she struggled to put off a strange unease from building in her gut —now detailing every trait to excruciating detail.

The guy moved with evident confidence, each step loose and careless at first glance. Dark skin gleamed under the office’s gradually intensifying artificial lights, his shaven scalp reflecting a dull sheen. A neatly trimmed anchor beard framed his sharp jaw, lending him an air of deceptive nonchalance.

His attire, while professional enough, diverged from the picture-perfect suits of the Cartel’s typical muscle. A white shirt with rolled-up sleeves hinted at a readiness for action, revealing a lean musculature that paled in comparison to Kyros’. Koral estimated he was in his mid-twenties, older than them but not by all that much. A loosened black tie and three earrings in his right ear also suggesting a distaste for excessive formality.

Nadaletti wore his sleaziness on the sleeves, eagerly proclaiming to the world how much he enjoyed shirking work wherever possible. Though it wasn’t like she needed to study his outfit for that —all Koral required to identify it was the shit-eating grin on his face.

Yet that easygoing facade was marred by an angry mark that stretched from his right brow up onto his forehead —an old burn scar that whispered a silent pain, endured and overcome.

“Not like I can lie.” Nadaletti’s voice was playful, at odds with the gravity of their careers. His dark and observant eyes swept over the two of them with undisguised curiosity, his posture radiating an annoying cockiness. “But these two seem hardly up to the task.”

>> “Personally, I’d let them finish school before—”

“That’s enough, Massimiliano.” Valerica cut him off, her voice crisp like a whiplash. “I know what I’m doing. I don’t need you to cast doubt on my judgment.”

“Heh, my bad, Jefa.” Something about the man’s face tugged at the edges of Koral’s memory. A nagging sense of familiarity that she couldn’t quite place. Whether it was his stance, his voice, or something else entirely… She was sure she had seen him before. “You know how it is with Don’t Go.”

>> “And hey, nothing against you kids. Let’s do our best not getting ourselves killed, that’d suck big time.”

Koral perceived no malice nor ill-intent in his words, just a frank assessment on the dangers lying ahead. He was an Accursed for sure, but beyond that… Were the three of them supposed to work together? Just who exactly was the gig, that required such a big group to confront them?

“Nice to meet you, Nadaletti.” Though wary and stiff, Kyros broke their collective silence to extend a hand towards Massimiliano, his forced 'manners' funnily out of place considering the baldy’s laissez-faire attitude.

“Yeah, sure. Just take it easy, no need for any formality.” He replied casually clapping Kyros’ hand with his own. “Call me Milo. Everyone else does that ‘round here anyway.”

The nickname hit Koral like a sledgehammer to the chest, threatening to shatter her already fickle composure. In one go, all of the pieces fell into place with sickening clarity. Yes, this guy… With his condescending smirk… He was there, etched into her memory from the worst day of her life.

He was the only one of their direct assailants that survived —something she felt bound to correct, for Kirana.

Koral’s blood turned to ice in her veins, fingers digging into the leather arms of her chair as she fought to keep her expression neutral. The urge to lunge at him was almost overwhelming —to claw at that smug face of him until it was scarred and broken like her own fractured soul… But she held back, survival instincts kicking in.

Not yet… It was a necessity to bide her time… For now.

So instead of lashing out, she met Milo’s gaze with a steel of her own, letting just a flicker of murderous intent pass between them. His eyebrow quirked slightly, silent acknowledgment of the unspoken tension.

“Don’t mind her. She’s a little… Intense, but I can vouch for her effectiveness.” Though unprompted, Kyros ended up being the one to cover for her, meddlesome as he usually was. “We’ll get any job over in the blink of an eye, no matter how challenging.”

Valerica observed the exchange with keen interest, her emerald eyes darting between the three. She had to know, it was impossible for her not to —yet she gave no sign. The Ringleader simply leaned back, a cat-like smile playing across her features. Whatever her game was, the Medula Boss apparently didn’t care at all about the simmering anger amongst her employees.

“Those are bold words, boy.” The older woman purred teasingly. “Would you tell me, you two…”

>> “Just how attached are you to that mentor of yours, anyway?”

The question hung in the air like a guillotine blade, poised to sever whatever tenuous bonds of loyalty might have taken root. For Koral, however, the world had narrowed to a pinpoint of seething hatred. Milo’s presence had dredged up a maelstrom of memories, overshadowing the sinister implications lurking beneath Valerica’s query.

“But that is…” Kyros’ voice cracked, the carefully constructed composure he had tried so hard to maintain crumbling like sand. “Can I ask… Why?”

The distress in the man who grew alongside her was palpable, resulting in a momentary disgust at his weakness. Hilarious that for all his pretenses he hesitated now, in front of his supposed handler. She, however… Was different.

“I couldn’t care less.”

Koral’s voice sliced through like a blade of ice. Her face was a visage of utter indifference, devoid of even the faintest sign of warmth or trepidation. The words fell from her lips with a finality that could lower the temperature in the room by itself.

“Just say the word and he’ll be dead.”

A statement delivered with the casual air of someone discussing the weather, as if the potential execution of the man who had mentored them for years was utterly inconsequential. Not even the slightest tremor betrayed her lips, but was this the result of her conditioning, or simply the manifestation of a darkness that had long since nestled inside her heart?

The answer to that question seemed irrelevant to Valerica, whose smile subtly widened as if the teenager’s ruthlessness only served to please her further. With an impatient gesture towards Milo, the woman tilted her head to a side, silently questioning his tardiness.

“Oh shit, right!” Milo exclaimed, visibly startled. He had flinched at Koral’s chilling declaration, much like Kyros who remained frozen in his feet. The baldy now forced himself to regain focus, raising a hand over his left shoulder as if preparing to embrace an invisible partner.

Koral narrowed her eyes keenly, taking in every minutia of the compact, child-sized figure that gradually faded into existence. Sure, she was no longer intimidated by the sight of Punishers, but this particular one managed to make her feel uncomfortable.

The thing’s form was mostly an amalgamation of rusted, corroded chains over a constricting layer of black latex —stretching under a lanky and vaguely humanoid shape. It squeaked and rattled with every tiny motion, creating a disgusting background noise that grated the teenager’s nerves.

Where a head should have been, there was instead a hood-like structure made entirely of the dirty black fabric, stitched together with thin strands that looked like made from human skin. Two dim, blue-glowing lights peered from within, fixing upon Koral with an intensity that made her look somewhere else.

Its arms ended not in hands, but in five long chain tendrils that seemed to operate like fingers, immediately reaching out to cling fiercely to Nadaletti in a suffocating embrace. The Punisher latched onto the man desperately, as if he were its only lifeline in a vast, empty void —the stretched latex of his body hinting at rigid, steel-like flesh or bones beneath, making it repulsive to look at for too long.

The name Milo had uttered earlier, Don’t Go, seemed to fit the ugly thing perfectly. It exuded a pathetic and lonely presence that made Koral sick in her stomach —feeble and terrified of abandonment like some monstrous, forsaken child.

“Right, I’m ready.” Milo announced once his Punisher finished settling around his shoulders and neck like a grotesque parasite. Despite some mild unease in his voice, he seemed accustomed to this process, as if it were a familiar routine, if not a bit unpleasant one.

Koral deduced quickly enough that this display wasn’t meant to threaten them, but rather a test for her earlier declaration.

“Do I need to repeat myself?” The teenager asked as she met Valerica’s eyes unflinchingly, a smug smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “It doesn’t matter to me if it’s Apollo or anyone else.”

>> “Everyone is just a walking corpse waiting for their turn anyway. If his number’s up, I’d be happy to be the one to punch his ticket in.”

And validating Koral’s suspicions, the Cartel Ringleader proceeded to turn towards Milo, silently seeking confirmation while the man answered with a subtle nod. The fledgling sicaria’s words rang true, untainted by any attempt of deceit —she felt no remorse for her callousness, a part of her even relishing at the idea of being given the honor to end the old geezer’s life.

“How about you, boy?” Valerica’s attention shifted, her voice dropping dangerously low as she addressed Kyros, further revealing his cracks under such spotlight. “Choose your words carefully.”

The girl watched with growing frustration as the idiot closed his eyes, visibly conflicted by an internal struggle. The conflict etched across his features sharply, a harsh contrast to her own unwavering resolve.

“I’m…” He began, voice faltering briefly before steadying himself. “If the order is to be given, then I would undoubtedly carry it out.”

>> “But it won’t be easy. Mr. Solano is a very capable man.”

Such a half-hearted argument annoyed Koral. She recognized his decision was being heavily influenced by his loyalty towards her, adding another layer of rot to this already fraught situation… But it didn’t matter, she refused to even acknowledge it —much less reason it further; pushing aside any sentiment that might compromise her future choices.

“Neither the specifics nor your feelings have any importance to me.” Valerica declared, her rigid voice brooking no further comments. Koral perceived a hint of disdain in the words, likely born from contempt over Kyros’ lingering respect for their former mentor. “Your target is the Medula Hitmen Henchman, Apollo Solano.”

>> “Make sure to rough him up, but do not kill him. Let Milo take over once he’s unable to fight back, even if you have to take his remaining arm in the process.”

“Aight, then we’ve got ourselves a team!” Nadaletti’s voice rang out with a contradictory excitement, an enthusiasm jarring against the difficulty of their orders. So they passed his test? Had Kyros really chosen to support her over the man he idolized? Ridiculous. Laughable. She could’ve handled this alone, and she certainly had no need for his misplaced devotion. “I’ve been waiting for this moment since I joined the internal security branch.” The bald man continued, smiling predatorily as he traced the scar on his forehead. “A chance to repay the saint for this little souvenir.”

With their mission now crystal clear, Koral rose from her chair and strode purposefully from the office, her unwanted partners in crime trailing behind. As the trio filed out, she gave one final glimpse to the Cartel Ringleader’s satisfied smile, her pretty fingers back to toying with the stray chess pieces on her desk.

The teenager wondered if there would come a time when she could topple this woman from the games she so carelessly played…

Silently, they made their way back to the outer plaza, the dying lights of the sun painting long shadows across the immaculate grounds. Night approached rapidly, offering the perfect opportunity to confront Apollo.

“You took your time, I’m glad you’re back.” Mauro’s voice welcomed her after she slid into the front passenger seat, oblivious to the tension behind her deadpan expression. “I was thinking we could do something tonight, would a movie suit your—“

“Afraid to say we’ve got plans already, Casanova.” Milo interrupted, his mocking grin audible as he slipped into the back seat. Kyros silently followed suit on the opposite side, completing their grim quartet. “A party to attend, geezers to forcefully retire and all that jazz.”

Koral couldn’t quite contain a sardonic smirk, not because she thought Milo was particularly funny, but at the sight of Mauro’s expression souring as he realized things wouldn’t go exactly like he had envisioned. However, as soon as they began exchanging location details she allowed her mind to drift, words fading to white noise as she lowered the window, letting the night breeze caress her face.

A short-lived reprieve, since Milo’s incessant chatter found a way to worm back into her consciousness as they crossed the highways —his rambunctious yapping making each word more irritating than the last.

“I swear, never trust women, you know.” The guy rambled, cigarette smoke dancing unevenly in the car’s interior. His inability to hold his tongue seemed almost pathological, so much so that it was funny to think it might very well be his Punisher’s curse. “I mean, I sure as hell can’t tell a lie to save my life or anyone else’s.”

>> “But even I would feel something when talking about the potential death of a friend.”

So this was a viper who had slithered through the ranks of the Cartel not through brute force, but from sheer tattling. It truly was a wonder how he wasn’t dead yet… But well, it served Koral just right, considering that…

“I’m going to kill you someday, Nadaletti.” Koral stated with a nonchalant smile. It’d be especially satisfying if he could detect lies, since her declaration was utterly devoid of them. “Make no mistake about it. Even if it’s not tonight or tomorrow, this is a promise I intend to keep.”

The car fell silent for a moment, widening the teenager’s triumphant expression. Let him savor that moment, she thought, to stay wondering when death would come knocking at his door.

“It goes to you as well, Kyros.” She continued, mismatched eyes locking onto him through the rearview mirror, unflinching and merciless. Milo was disposable and worthless. This other idiot was much harder to make understand. “There might come a time when you’re instructed to off me too.”

>> “So if that happens… Don’t hesitate. Show no fear.”

Only the soft hum of the engine and the muffled sound of the wind broke the deafening silence. For a moment, it seemed as though Kyros might’ve let her words go unchallenged… But then his voice, barely above a whisper, came to fill the void.

“But, Koral...” He was still full of anguish, something he needed to correct as soon as possible. “Those are the same words he used to tell us.”