Ito
The ninja smiled and nodded back to back with his companion before turning as rigid as stone, bursting into motion and letting his blade do the work. Left and right they fell, but all of a sudden he noticed a glowing flash of metal. As soon as the gunpowder boomed, his other arm burst into motion, finally revealed from under the cape and caught the bullet right before it smashed the girl's skull. "Careful!"
Before he could fire another one, he split and dashed with impossible speed. He told her, he got her back, and he'd keep that word no matter what.
"Looks like that's it." He sighed before cleaning his blade. Indeed, they just about got the last one, though there weren't more than twenty to begin with. Despite that, he felt sad, unsure what happened to these corpses. He didn't know any of these men, nor could he avenge their names. The least he could do was keep their faces in his heart.
"Let's give them a proper burial." He said, finally resolved. This hadn't been part of his job, but there was no way he could leave these bodies to rot here, surrounded by filth.
"I wonder what happened to cause these dead bodies to move like this..."
Costin
The monster just grinned smugly to himself, bowing to his audience. Despite the girl's genuine request, all she received was laughter and ridicule. While it was only a vocal minority, all things considered, it shut down any and all who could have joined in her communion. Even those who looked in disapproval and pity did not speak up. It was an understandable reaction from both sides. Life was hard, cruel, and unforgiving around these parts.
This sort of practice, to turn even the most earnest of requests, even the purest of feelings into a joke was not uncommon. You could call it a defense mechanism, the sort of hiding that the weak willed, downtrodden and the miserable use when there is no way out of the pit.
There is no such thing as beauty of purity, therefore they laugh at everything in order not to cry. She should know. And yet, the ebony hound could only look down at the pitiful masses, the silent, the sorrowful, the laughing and the sneering alike, with glowing crimson eyes that chilled the tavern with a mixture of blood-lust and disgust.
A voice that couldn't belong to anything short of a demonic hound called all jests, all laughter and all derision in the room to a deadly silence. But nothing, not even the most wrathful of voices, could match up with the contempt and disgust the dog carried in her glare.
"Unsightly."
That girl's hopeful wish was true, and as brilliant as a sun that she could never touch. They made a mockery of it, laughed at it. Dared ridicule it. But that wasn't their sin. No, had it been anyone else, she would have joined in with glee.
But their crime was far greater, and utterly unforgivable. She was the one who presented her, who allowed her this chance to speak. By laughing at it, their laughter was in turn directed at her. She had no reason to feel emphatic or sorry, she brought it upon herself. But she too shared part of the blame, and that was unforgivable. Insects like the one who dared sully her servant were worth less than the worms in the dirt.
A talking maggot would have a more elaborate thought process, a more fulfilling purpose. Compared to the worst of vermin, that man was nothing. She spoke to him only once, locking stares into his eyes like she stared into her worthless familiar rats.
"Never speak again, worm."
And in that moment, what little whines and chuckles he could produce turned to nothing. He'd claw and scream all he'd want, but he had nothing worthwhile to make heard. Such a lowly voice would never be heard again.
