Respectful Violence

The peace lasted for an hour. Then, the heavy iron door of the bunker reverberated with a massive impact.

"Open up, freak!" Lord Garris’s voice muffled through the steel. "We tracked the magical residue! I have the City Guard!"

Elara shrank back into the chair. "He found us."

Vane didn't look worried. He looked delighted.

"Excellent," Vane grinned. He pulled a massive lever on the wall. "I've been waiting to field-test the Kinetic Redistributor."

"Vane," Elara said, standing up. "He has guards. Don't get arrested for me."

Vane turned to her. He adjusted his gloves.

"She is not for touching," Vane said to the room, though Garris couldn't hear him yet. "She is for admiring from a respectful distance. Like a star. Or a high-yield explosive."

He walked to the door. He threw it open.

Garris stood there with four armored guards. "There she is! Seize the witch! And arrest this lunatic!"

Vane didn't use a weapon. He simply stepped aside.

"Welcome to the fun zone," Vane giggled.

As the guards stepped onto the metal grate of the entryway, Vane snapped his fingers.

The floor tiles flipped.

Spring-loaded boxing gloves—massive, cartoonish, and leather-bound—shot out of the walls at waist height.

* THWACK. THWACK. THWACK.*

The guards were knocked backward like bowling pins, winded but alive.

Garris, standing in the back, drew a sword. "I will have her!"

Vane moved. He closed the distance in a blur of motion. He didn't hit Garris. He simply grabbed the noble’s expensive sword by the blade (his glove sparking) and snapped it in half.

Then, Vane grabbed Garris by the lapels and lifted him off the ground.

"Listen closely," Vane whispered, his mechanical eye spinning red. "Elara is a masterpiece of biological engineering. If you smudge her symmetry again, I will surgically replace your hands with feet. Do you understand the geometry of my threat?"

Garris turned pale. "I... yes. Yes!"

"Good. Run away."

Vane dropped him. Garris scrambled over his groaning guards and fled up the chute, screaming.

Vane slammed the door and spun the wheel lock. He turned back to Elara, dusting off his hands.

"Pests," Vane scoffed. "Completely disrupted my calibration session."

Elara stood by the fire. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by a warm, heavy feeling in her chest. She looked at the bunker. It was messy. It was loud. It was perfect.

"Vane?"

"Yes? Do you require more tea? Or perhaps a blanket? I have a weighted blanket made of chainmail, it's very comforting."

"Do you have a roommate?"

Vane froze. He blinked. "A... roommate?"

"I don't want to go back to the Dreamatorium," Elara said. She walked over to him. She reached out and touched the brass side of his mask. He flinched, but he didn't pull away. "I think I like it here. The geometry is... pleasing."

Vane’s face went crimson. He looked around his chaotic workshop.

"I would have to rearrange the explosives," he mumbled fast. "And the poison gas canisters are currently in the guest room. I'd need at least... three hours to make it habitable."

"I can wait," Elara smiled.

"Okay," Vane breathed. "Okay. Yes. Affirmative."

He rushed over to a pile of dynamite, moving it gingerly to clear space on the sofa.

Elara sat down, pulling her cloak around her. She watched Vane frantically cleaning, humming a chaotic little tune while he sharpened a massive meat cleaver just in case the guards came back.

She closed her eyes, listening to the ticking of the clocks and the manic humming of her protector. For the first time, she didn't have to dream of a better place. She was already there.