Page 139 of Unhinged Omega

The Knight pauses as if considering. Then he loosens his grip just enough for the merchant to gasp in a desperate breath.

"P-please," the merchant wheezes. "I'm sorry! I didn't know she was yours!"

The Knight's growl rises to a roar that shakes dust from the ceiling. I wince at the sound. And at the implication that I belong to anyone.

"Give me your money," I tell the merchant, keeping my hand on the Knight's arm. "All of it. Andmaybemy friend here won't redecorate these walls with your insides."

The merchant fumbles for his coin purse with trembling hands, nearly dropping it in his panic. I snatch it from him, weighing it in my palm. Heavy. Good.

"Now your rings," I add, noticing the gold bands glinting on his fingers. "And that fancy watch."

He strips off his jewelry without hesitation, practically throwing the items at me. Smart man. The Knight's growl hasn't lessened, and those metal claws are still hovering inches from the merchant's face.

"No killing," I remind him again in a singsong voice once I've pocketed everything valuable. "You can stuff him in that dumpster over there."

The Knight's growl deepens. Pretty sure he'd rather go for the bloodier solution. But when I shake my head firmly, he settles for slamming the man against the wall again. The merchant's head cracks against the concrete and his eyes roll back. His body goes limp in the Knight's grasp.

"The dumpster," I remind him, pointing to the rusted metal container.

The Knight trudges over and unceremoniously drops the merchant into the dumpster with the rest of the trash. The unconscious body disappears into the darkness with a satisfying thud.

I count our newly acquired funds, pleased with the weight of the coin purse. "Come on," I tell him. "Let's find somewhere to clean up."

The market's maze of tunnels eventually leads us to a clothing merchant's stall. The beta woman running it barely bats an eye at the Knight's towering presence, too focused on the coins I place on her counter. She helps me pick out sturdy traveling clothes that aren't stained with raider blood. And for the Knight, I find a massive hooded cloak that actually fits his frame.

But when we leave, it's the mask in a glass display box at the stall next door that really catches my eye. Even among what resembles a veritable dragon's hoard of trinkets and treasures, the mask stands out. The masculine features have a serene nobility to them, like the statues of ancient kings I used to study in my father's library.

It's perfect for the Knight's namesake.

The merchant, an elderly woman with a weathered face framed by a floral headscarf, hobbles up to me to take the mask out of the display case. "That's pre-war, from some noble's private collection," she says, thrusting the mask into my hands and tapping it with a brightly painted fingernail. The gold bangles on her wrist jingle with the motion. "A thousand years old. Belonged to a Surhiiran leper king."

For once, I believe the sales pitch. Whoever made this was an artist. As I turn the mask in my hands, the intricate filigreepatterns carved into the mask's silver surface catch and gleam in the neon light.

"I'm sure it's out of my price range if it's that old," I admit with a dry laugh. Not words I'm used to saying, but I doubt I have anywhere near enough. Maybe if I completely drained my pockets and risked not having enough for more vital supplies. I can guess from the way she's talking that she isn't going to let it go for a reasonable price.

The merchant's pale eyes drift past me to the Knight, her gaze sweeping over his towering frame and scarred face. What she can see of it despite the hood now shadowing his features and the thick scarf covering the rest, at least. He backs away with a soft warning growl, clearly uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

"Is it for him?" she asks, gesturing to the mask still in my hands.

"Yes," I murmur, running my fingers over the intricate details. "He needs a new one."

The merchant studies the Knight again, but this time, her gaze is gentler, almost maternal. The Knight shifts uneasily behind me, another low growl building in his chest. I reach back without thinking, my hand finding his arm. The growl subsides slightly at my touch, though his massive frame remains tense.

But the merchant doesn't seem afraid of him. If anything, she looks... sad. "Poor wretched beast needs it more than I do," she says decisively. "And it suits him. Take it. It's just using up space anyway."

I blink in surprise. "Are you sure? This is?—"

"Save your money for shit that'll keep you alive," she says, cutting me off. "Some things are worth more than money anyway. Like kindness." She gives me a stiff smile. "The world could use more of that these days, don't you think?"

"Thank you," I say sincerely, clutching the mask to my chest. "You have no idea what this means."

She waves me off, her bangles jingling again. "Don't get all sappy on me or I'll change my mind," she mutters, already disappearing into the piles of treasures in the back of her stall.

I hold the mask reverently in my hands, still stunned by the merchant's unexpected kindness. "We should find somewhere private," I murmur, glancing around at the crowded market.

The Knight rumbles in agreement, falling into step behind me as I weave through the throngs of people. Virtually everyone gives us a wide berth, their eyes widening at his towering presence before quickly looking away. Even with the hood and scarf concealing most of his face, he's an intimidating sight.

We eventually find a quiet alley tucked away from the main thoroughfare. I turn to face the Knight, who looms in the entrance like a sentinel.

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