6. Kian
6
KIAN
A s Kian stepped out of the plush interior of the elevator behind Toven, he was greeted by the slightly moist tang of the stone blocks that composed the walls of the keep underground, the sharp bite of cleaning solution that had been used on the floor, and a lingering, almost palpable scent of despair.
The concrete floor under his boots might have been polished to a shine, but he could almost see the footprints of the evildoers who had been brought here.
Was it his imagination conjuring the foreboding ambiance, or was there something more to it? A warning, perhaps?
He'd walked down this same wide corridor many times before, and it had usually smelled faintly of air freshener and echoed with the hum of fluorescent lights, but even when it had housed Igor, it hadn't felt so grim. This time, though, the air entering his nostrils contained a residue of darkness from the many vile and twisted individuals the dungeon currently held, humans and immortals alike.
He should be glad that they had captured so many, or at least happy for the young victims they had freed from torture and eventual death, but he felt no satisfaction. It was just a drop in a vast, roiling figurative bucket of depravity, one he wished he could fling into the empty void of outer space so it would never touch Earth again.
A world without predators. Wouldn't that be something?
He chuckled softly at the thought, a faint sound echoing in the wide corridor. One could dream.
It reminded him of what Syssi had confided—her own fantasies about banishing all monsters to where they could never harm another innocent soul.
"What's amusing you?" Toven asked, glancing back to look for what Kian could have possibly found humorous in the keep's dungeon.
"My own imagination," Kian said with a half-smile. "I was fantasizing about ejecting all the monsters off into space. I will never understand how anyone can hurt children for their own sick, twisted pleasure."
Toven's gaze flickered across Kian's face before he nodded in agreement. "I don't care what anyone does in private as long as it is between consenting adults with no one getting seriously injured." He snorted, shaking his head. "Although, to be frank, is a seventeen or an eighteen-year-old really an adult? Their bodies might be sexually mature, but their brains are not. I think the age of consent should be at least twenty-one."
Kian cast him an amused sidelong look. "I agree, but people who are that age will not. I was nineteen when I married my first wife, and I was convinced that I was mature enough to be a husband and a father." The memory still stung nearly two millennia after the fact.
He'd made a mistake, and even though things had worked out in the end, his daughter, his own flesh and blood, had grown up with a stepfather caring for her, and so had his grandchildren and their children and so on. Eventually, the last one of his descendants had died childless, and that was the end of that line.
Toven arched a brow. "I didn't know you were married before. I assume she was a human?"
Kian nodded. "My mother tried to convince me not to do it, but you know how the young are. We think we know everything. Needless to say, it didn't end well."
"I bet." Toven offered him a small, sad smile. "Perhaps you can tell me about it some other time."
They continued down a hallway lined with thick metal doors until they reached the Guardians' station, which was situated in one of the more spacious converted cells. Plush-looking chairs had replaced the standard-issue cots, and a large console of monitors glowed with the silent feed from security cameras mounted in the occupied cells.
Max, who had been perched on a chair near the monitors, rose to greet them. The Guardian lacked his usual easy smile. "The prisoners are ready for you," he said. "Lightly sedated, as you requested."
"Thank you." Kian settled in one of the chairs, motioning for Toven to join him. "While we are waiting for Anandur and Brundar to arrive with the coffees, I would like to get a look at the Doomers." He tilted his head toward the array of monitors. "Can you tell me who is who?"
"Of course." Max motioned for the Guardian to monitor the screens and move them aside. "We relocated them to the interrogation cell." He tapped the top-left screen, the image flickering with a live feed of a cell, part of which was sectioned by bars. "I debated whether to bring them out one at a time or together but ultimately decided on bringing them both. They're behind bars and sedated. They don’t burn as quickly through the new sedative Bridget developed." He turned to Toven. "Do you prefer to separate them for questioning?"
"I don't mind them being together," Toven said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I just need to know their names so I can address them individually. Otherwise, my commands will affect anyone within hearing distance." He turned to Kian. "Do you have your compulsion filtering earpieces with you?"
"I do." Kian patted his pocket. "And the Guardians never leave home without them."
"Good." Toven seemed to relax. "That will make my job easier." He turned to Max. "Please, continue."
Max nodded and pointed at the monitor. "The one with the long beard calls himself Don, and the other one calls himself Nox. Those are the names on their fake documents, too. I didn't press them to reveal their real names. You can probably compel them to give them up."
"That's good." Toven's arms remained folded, and his posture made him look even more imposing than usual. "I find it's best to work with a fresh mind. It might sound counterintuitive, but people are easier to compel when they're not exhausted or flooded with adrenaline from fear or pain, so I'm glad you didn't try to get it out of them by force."
Toven's approach was humanitarian in its own way, but Kian also wished he'd never asked for the god's help and instead got the information out of the vermin the old-fashioned way. Regrettably, Toven's method was more effective than torture.
"Did they give you any trouble?" Kian asked.
Max's lip curled in disgust. "I wish they had so I could have wiped the smirks off their ugly faces. The bastards think they're safe because the clan believes itself too civilized to torture prisoners." He tapped a restless finger against the console. "It was really difficult not to correct their misconception."
"I appreciate your restraint," Toven said.
Kian's stomach tightened. These predators likely believed themselves above whatever moral standards existed in the world, and they had outdated information about the clan.
In the past, captured Doomers had been placed in stasis and spared execution only because of his mother's ban on ending the lives of immortals. But she had changed her stance when it came to those who committed particularly heinous crimes. These monsters wouldn't get another chance, like their slightly less monstrous brethren might have.
"I hear the elevator," Toven said, tilting his head toward the corridor, where the soft ping signaled the arrival of Anandur and Brundar.
"Good." Kian glanced briefly at the monitor feed before rising to his feet. "Let's meet them next to the interrogation cell."
When they intercepted the brothers, Anandur lifted a large bag. "I got us some pastries. I was a little peckish."
"Thank you," Kian said. "We can have them later in the car."
The Guardian's face fell. "Do I have to wait?"
Kian chuckled. "We are going in now, so if you can manage to munch on a croissant and look menacing at the same time, go ahead."
As Max produced his phone and tapped the screen, a mechanical whirr preceded the outward swing of the heavy door, and once it completed, Kian caught a first real look at the Doomers. The two males were sprawled on twin cots behind a barred partition, their postures artificially casual. It was obvious that they were feigning sleep even though they tried to keep their breathing deep and slow.
Did they honestly believe they were fooling anyone?
He could hear their heartbeats galloping like a pair of frightened horses.
Neither of the prisoners spoke as Kian, Toven, Anandur, Brundar, and Max entered the cell. The space was sparse, with several metal chairs facing the bars at a safe distance from them, and on the other side were two low cots. A utilitarian bathroom was located behind a glass block, which offered a modicum of privacy.
Kian settled himself in one of the chairs, a paper cup of coffee cradled between his palms. He took a slow sip, the steam fogging briefly in front of his eyes, and watched the prisoners, waiting to see who would break the silence first. For a long moment, all that could be heard was the soft slurp of coffee and the distant hum of the ventilation system.
Finally, one of them stirred. He sat up with a sneer, curling his lips, trying to look unafraid and to project arrogance. "Hey, Nox, wake up," he drawled. "The big guns are here. They're going to ask us really hard questions, and we'll need to work real hard on not answering them."
The lazy scorn in his tone set Kian's teeth on edge, but he schooled his expression into cool detachment. He noticed Toven shift in his seat, eyes narrowing as he observed the prisoner. On Kian's other side, the three Guardians remained silent.
Kian studied the Doomer with dispassion. The man's bravado was a thin veneer, a poor attempt to mask the fear below the surface. "You seem to be operating under the misconception that no harm will come to you," Kian said, his voice calm, each syllable measured. "It is true that we are not barbarian savages like you, but I believe that those who abuse children deserve a special place in hell, and I'm very capable of delivering it."
Toven might not be happy with him for scaring the prisoners, but Kian was sure the god was powerful enough to compel the two scumbags even though they were terrified.