The Executioner’s Bloody Vow: The Third Bed

Chapter 3: Meeting with The Velvet Syndicate

The crystal chandelier in the underground meeting room vibrated softly, casting unstable reflections of amber light across the long mahogany table in the centre of the room. The air here felt incredibly heavy, not only because of its location deep beneath the cobblestone streets of Prague, but due to the presence of the high-ranking members of The Velvet Syndicate, who sat with a lethal elegance. Gillian sat at the end of the table, trying to hide his hands, which were still trembling slightly, beneath the mahogany surface. The remnants of the pain from the previous night still throbbed at the back of his head, as if a hammer were relentlessly striking his nerves.

Opposite him, an old man with burn scars trailing down his neck stared at Gillian with sharp, cold eyes. This man was the chairman of the syndicate board, a figure known only as Mr. Vane. He was never one for many words, but every syllable that left his mouth was a law that could not be contested. The aroma of expensive cigars and the faint metallic tang of blood filled the room, creating a suffocating atmosphere for anyone unaccustomed to the darkness.

"The report from the Estates Theatre reached my desk this morning, Gillian," Mr. Vane said in a low, growling voice. "The target was executed with precision. However, the report also mentioned that our star executioner appeared as unsteady as a drunkard when leaving the scene."

Gillian straightened his back, suppressing a wince as the muscles along his spine felt as though they were being forcibly pulled. "The target is dead. That is what matters most to the syndicate, isn't it? The end result remains unchanged."

"Do not try to play word games with me, boy," countered a woman with platinum blonde hair sitting beside Vane. She was Madame Lora, the syndicate's head of finance and logistics. "You are the most valuable asset belonging to The Velvet. If our asset begins to show signs of damage, it becomes a problem for all of our businesses."

Gillian met Madame Lora's gaze with his hollow, pale grey eyes. "I am not damaged. I simply need time to adjust to the energy I absorbed last night."

Mr. Vane leaned forward, placing his withered hands on the table. "You cannot lie to me, Gillian. I can smell the stench of death emanating from your pores even from this distance. The Eye of Death curse is consuming you from within because your vessel can no longer contain it, can it?"

Gillian remained silent for a moment, feeling the air pressure in the room further constricting his lungs. "The energy at the theatre last night was immense. There were giant threads coiling around the entire building. I had to absorb a significant portion to ensure the target did not escape his fate."

"Time is a luxury you do not currently possess," Mr. Vane interrupted, tapping his fingers, adorned with a large jade ring, against the table. "The board has been observing the development of your power for the past month. You have exceeded the capacity of the two pillars you have at home. Klara and Elena are no longer enough."

"They can still bear it if I can manage the flow of energy a little better," Gillian tried to defend himself, though he knew his words were merely a lie to cover his own fragility.

"Do not play us for fools, Gillian," Madame Lora laughed cynically while lighting a slim cigarette. "We have received reports from spies at your residence that your cleansing ritual last night nearly destroyed your ritual room. Glass shattered and the room temperature dropped to freezing. If you explode in the middle of a vital mission, you will not only die, but you will expose our entire secret network because that blast of dark energy will attract the attention of the authorities and other parties."

"Then what is it you want from me?" Gillian asked, his tone now sounding defiant amidst the sharpening pain behind his eyes.

Mr. Vane signaled to a guard standing in the corner of the room to bring over a small wooden box carved with intricate ancient symbols. The box was placed in front of Gillian with extreme care, as if its contents might explode if touched roughly.

"You must stabilise your power immediately. Without further delay," Mr. Vane asserted. "We are giving you a final warning. Find a third pillar to perfect your ritual. Enter a new covenant in the near future, or we will be forced to take decisive action for the safety of the organisation."

Gillian stared at the wooden box, then moved his gaze to Mr. Vane’s expressionless face. "Decisive action? After all the lives I have taken for the sake of this syndicate?"

"Do not speak of service at this table, Gillian," Madame Lora replied, exhaling smoke into the air. "In the underworld, your power is your only bargaining chip. Without full control over that curse, you are nothing but a useless time bomb to us."

"I understand the board's position," Gillian whispered, his hands clenching so tightly beneath the table that his knuckles turned white.

"Inside that box are instructions regarding your energy stability," Mr. Vane added in a slightly colder tone. "Our syndicate shaman has performed a reading. You are at a critical point. You need a new balancer, one stronger than before."

"Who is the woman? Where can I find her?" Gillian asked curtly, reaching for the wooden box with a stiff motion.

"Detailed information will be provided to you once you have shown that you can still maintain control over yourself," Mr. Vane answered, rising from his chair. "Go home to Mourning Manor. Look at the faces of your wives and realise that they will not be able to withstand another night if you force such a massive amount of negative energy upon them."

Gillian stood up, even though his head felt as if it were spinning violently and his stomach churned with nausea. "My well-being and that of my family is my own business."

"Everything concerning the executioner of The Velvet is our business, Gillian," Mr. Vane walked toward the exit, but he paused for a moment right beside Gillian. "Remember, stability is the key. If you fail to stabilise your power, another executioner will be the one knocking on your door to collect your life."

Gillian could only stand frozen as the syndicate leaders left the room one by one. He was now alone in the vast, damp basement, accompanied by the ticking of the wall clock that sounded like a countdown to his demise. He opened the wooden box with increasingly trembling hands. Inside lay an old silver amulet and a piece of parchment containing a warning about the time limit of his powers.

"Stability," Gillian muttered, staring at the amulet with a sense of loathing.

He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The image of the giant death threads coiling around the theatre last night reappeared in his mind, reminding him that his curse was no longer just a killing tool, but an entity beginning to possess its own will. He could feel something inside his chest starting to crack, a pressure demanding to be released before it destroyed the mortal frame wrapping his soul.

"Is this the end of my usefulness to them?" he asked the haunting silence of the room.

Naturally, there was no answer from the shadows in the corner. Gillian took a deep breath, trying to gather the remnants of his torn pride. He had to return to the manor immediately and discuss this with the pillars he already had, even though he knew Klara would surely look at him with utter disappointment. However, he had no other choice if he wanted to keep breathing in this cruel city.

Gillian stepped out of the meeting room, passing through narrow corridors guarded by men dressed in black with firearms tucked into their waistbands. They all bowed their heads as the executioner passed, but Gillian could feel the aura of fear radiating from them. They were not afraid of Gillian as a man; they were afraid of the monster hiding behind his eyes.

"Prepare the vehicle right now," Gillian commanded the guard standing at the lift door leading to the surface.

"It is ready in the front lobby, Mr. Vanevsky," the guard replied with a slightly trembling voice.

As he got into the waiting black car, Gillian looked back at the old building that served as a front for the syndicate headquarters. A Gothic-style structure that appeared calm from the outside, yet harboured thousands of assassination plots within. He realised that he was merely a pawn who could be replaced at any time if he was no longer able to provide the results the board desired.

"What is our destination, sir?" his driver asked in an extremely cautious tone, as if afraid to offend his master.

"Mourning Manor. Drive fast. I don't have much time to waste energy on the streets," Gillian answered, closing his eyes tightly.

Throughout the journey to the quiet outskirts, Gillian thought about Mr. Vane's warning. He imagined what it would be like to have a third pillar, someone he would have to drag into the darkness of his life just so he could survive one more day. He felt pity for whoever that woman might be, yet his primal instinct to continue living was far stronger than what remained of his humanity.

"I will do whatever it takes to keep these pillars standing," Gillian thought with a dark and cold resolve.

The car sped through the thickening Prague fog under the dim glow of the streetlights. Gillian tightly held the wooden box given by the board in his lap, feeling the pulse of energy from the amulet inside that seemed to interact with his curse. The syndicate's warning was crystal clear, and he knew that the hunt for a third wife candidate had to begin immediately before the next giant death thread coiled around his own neck. Tonight would mark the beginning of a desperate search, for the executioner was now racing against time and his own curse.