Babels of Bedlam - Part 2

This old piece of metal was more deceiving than he. Its bloody history wasn’t etched with nicks into its steel skin. Its worth wasn’t displayed with encrusted rubies and emeralds. Its danger wasn’t sharpened with any protruding blade.

There was an absolute power embedded into its very existence known to only the handful that were cognizant of its past, its origin. An absolute power that could aid or fell even gods. A terrifying power.

Hilt in hand, Stig flipped the latch of the large window before him, pushing it open and glancing down to the snow blanketed ground. It wasn’t that far of a drop, not to him. He supposed…

“Stop.”

Mid-thought, Stig obliged, the voice vaulting him back into the moment. One foot from escape and not a single hitch; he knew it had been far too easy.

Stig heard a click before, “And where, exactly, do you think you’re going with that?”

Raising his hands innocently, one loosely clutching his treasure, Stig turned.

“Oh, nowhere in particular, I assure you.” Stig's words were velvet and low, eyes on the rather young man standing in the threshold of the room and the gun gripped tightly between two shaky hands. It had been a while since the thief had been threatened by one of those. He didn’t particularly like them: they were loud and they lacked the elegance that blades possessed, but what was he to expect from a mann? Elegance had to be sacrificed to make room for efficiency. It’s how they’ve been able to survive for so long. “I was just curious, see. I heard that a dragon lived here.”

“A dragon?” The man growled, his voice delivering a very different performance than that of his violently convulsing hands. There was no telling where the bullet would land should it be shot. The thought sent another volt of excitement through the thief.

“A dragon,” Stig repeated, lacing his tone with the calmness he exuded. “And bravo, doctor; quite the pile of treasure you’ve gathered. This piece, however,”

Stig waved the hilt for visual effect. “Does not belong here.”

The man in the threshold kept silent, too stunned by the thief’s composure to let demands flow.

“So,” Stig shrugged. “I’ll just be taking it with me.”

The thief took a step back, closer to the window, before the trembling gun grew just a bit more threatening.

“I said stop! I don’t have to hurt you.” The doctor's warning was as shaky as his hands. “But I will if you make me.”

Stig only chuckled. “Truly you jest.”

“Do I look like I’m-”

“You look,” Stig cut in. “Like a puppy who’s trying to bare his teeth at a wolf. Your aggression is noted, doctor, but you have nothing to back it up with.”

“I-”

“Hush, you, before you try my patience.” It was an unnecessary warning. It wasn't as if the doctor ever could. Stig was a very patient man. Still, he had already been there too long; he had to wrap this little charade up.

Gently inhaling, Stig locked his gaze with the doctor’s.

“Your dig in Orkney Island came up bare, doctor,” Stig purred. “Not even you could uncover an artifact worth robbing.”

“What…” The man at the threshold furrowed his brow, his arms – his gun – slowly lowering. “Wait, what is this? What are you…”

“You came home empty handed,” Stig continued, taking leisurely steps towards Malipiero. “You had no trophy to archive.”

“But…” The fight in the man’s voice dwindled.

“I am nothing but a figment of your imagination that will be gone from your memory the moment I leave your sight.” Stig lifted his free hand, extending his thumb before pressing it onto the man’s forehead. “And it’s just about time, dear doctor, to put you to sleep.”

Without a passed second, the man’s knees gave and he crumbled to the floor, unconscious, the gun tumbling from his grip.

Looking down to admire his work, Stig grinned.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, doctor.”