The Crystal Orb and The Seven Hosts

2 years ago. "WHAT THE HELL- IS WRONG- WITH THIS MAN!?" Barely sixteen years of age, a young girl stood in the dimly lit room as the man tied in front of her groaned with pain. He was bloodied, fresh trickles of crimson flowing from the newer cuts while the pungent smell of the dried-up blood lingered in the musty space. The girl massaged her forehead with efforts to keep calm, but before she knew it, her fist landed a jaw displacing punch on the man’s face, finally knocking him out if he had somehow yet managed to cling on to his consciousness. "LIKE SERIOUSLY!!" Before her rage could have escalated to dangerous levels, a sudden sound cooled her off in an instant. As she heard it- the sound of soft footsteps approaching the room- she almost jumped away from the chair, wiping off the sweat and blood off her brows. By then, the footsteps became clear. She knew very well who it was, and yet, her heart was skipping beats. They had known each other since their childhoods, or whatever it was that they had had. But yet, her cold demeanour had kept her at a distance. One would think that a friend of a similar age would be a breath of fresh air, considering how grim their work got from time to time, but this superior of hers had made her disinterest in the idea very clear. She had never been rude to her, but it was appropriate to say that the blood stains on her face were warmer than this co-worker. The door slid open to reveal a young girl. Her ink blue blazer suit over the orange high neck sweater brought out her muscularly lean physique along with her sharp shoulders. Her black Dr. Martens topped off her black pixie hair. Her short, prickly hair was brushed in a hurry as the zigzag strands evidently showed. But it was obvious that they were the least of her concerns. Her almond peel skin had countless scars- the girl had been too careless with the treatment of the wounds- something she shared with her colleague in the room. Her cruel sharp jaw complimented her nose, which in turn highlighted her bloody red lips. Even though her person was enough to turn heads, what stood out the most were her eyes. Her ruthless eyes, as she looked around in a quick scan, glinted in the shade of violet. And even though the coloured globes could have entangled anyone in view, they remained blank enough to break the hearts of all the poets who ever did exist. Her face bore no expression, slaughtering any last hope of humanity probable in this newcomer. She held a golden blowtorch in her right hand, and in the other, a black file. "Valerie," her voice calm, "you are just wasting time and blood." Valerie looked at her, her confusion brimming close to the surface, but her experience holding her back from interrupting her in the middle. As she moved ahead, the superior tossed the file to her as Valerie jogged and swiftly caught it before opening and skimming through its pages. As the young lady stepped ahead, her face became visible in the light of the only bulb in the room hanging just above the man's head. A single scar ran across her face- from the left of her left eyebrow to the chin of the same side. Her face was stiff- she seemed tired but ready. And even as her jaws visibly clenched, she remained calm. "Kira, 3 days. Not a word." Valerie concluded briefly, knowing any more than that would be unnecessary. Kira exhaled sharply in response, almost acknowledging the collective incompetency of her co-workers. She looked at the cylinder in her hand and then at the lifeless man's face. From the small table placed in the side of the chair, she picked up the pale glass of water and forcefully slapped a few drops on his face. The man stirred his head with little knowledge of how death would have been more merciful than the fate which awaited him. "Your tough guy," she told, "is pyrophobic." She turned to her partner to find her immersed in the report she had just been handed. "Are you just reading this? I highlighted it on the second page." Valerie looked up from the report, carefully forming the words before letting them go. "Kira, this was a priority confession. Even the seniors didn't bother about a report." She looked at her partner, noticing her as she rubbed her middle finger with her thumb. She said nothing. Instead, inhaling deeply, she switched her gaze from the blowtorch to the man, and ultimately, back at Valerie. "Okay," she then nodded. Pushing a small button, Kira let out a beautiful flame at the end of the machine. She held it high for her partner to see as she played with the small fire, tracing its non-existent outline. She tilted her head taking a shot at judgement if Valerie had yet caught on with the purpose of a fancy lighter in the room. Apparently, she hadn't. Kira slapped the bloodied man, this time jerking him into full consciousness. "Sir, you sold something that was ours," she started with a voice so calm, it was almost polite, "and your confession is crucial for the retrieval." This time, she emphasized every word to let him know that she wouldn't be repeating the words soon. Or ever. "I don't k-" Kira held his face with her free hand as she gazed into his eyes. Defiance. She had never liked it in the people she was working on. It just made the job tougher. She brought the lighter closer to his eyes, noticing as the defiance made way for the terror to settle in. The man was already sweating from the assault when the heat from the flame and the realization of his only phobia started to add in. However, courage had not left him yet. Or maybe it was the shadow of a greater fear. Kira's cold breaths fell on his face. She held the blowtorch horizontally, throwing the flame out as a straight line on the same axis, directing all the heat to his eyes. He started to squirm but held on to his silence. As Valerie was witnessing this, she knew that the man was on thin ice. Either his courage or his sanity would leave him in a couple more minutes. It always did. "Sign here." Kira had to ensure that the job was quick. She didn't need to drag this any longer than necessary. As she had always practised, pain wasn’t supposed to be anything more than means to an end. Quickly, she withdrew her hand back a couple inches. But as she did this, a hint of defiance came back in the bloody eyes. She might even have noticed a subtle smirk. The man knew that he could not be killed. He knew that he had help, and that he had to hold on for just a couple more days. He thought that his tolerance would win over anything less than death. Thought. Kira looked at Valerie. She had understood the command. She placed the printed confession on the table beside the glass and vacated the room. She knew the work would be over within a minute now. As she returned with two older men, she opened the door to a screaming, tied up man, and a 16-year-old who held a lighter and a printed document in her hands. She walked over to her seniors, and handing them the signed confession, bowed down. Giving a single short glance to Valerie, she left. For a split second, Valerie thought that she saw a plea in Kira’s eyes to not loathe her. To not take her for the heartless monster she very apparently was. But as she marched away, Valerie wondered if it had been her wishful thinking which had reflected in the violets. Coming back from her thoughts, she followed her seniors inside the room only to find the tied-up man screaming as molten skin and blood streamed from his eyes. It was not her first time learning the lesson in the job, but the incident gave her a quick, cold reminder: anyone can be broken.