For the first two weeks, Ezra did not question his captivity, only waited patiently for Marco's arrival.
He assumed his friend was still unhappy with him for messing up the mission and getting hurt, so he understood why he was late.
Yet, when he started to pass out daily from blood loss, and his fingertips began to lose their color and feeling, he grew concerned.
So, eventually, when one of the kidnappers, whom he had learned was named Bradley, entered the room to feed him, he spoke quietly.
"M-m-mister…?"
The man with the silver beard looked down at him with a smile, his hand reaching out to pat him on the head.
"What's up, Ez?"
Throughout the weeks, he and his kidnappers had bonded to a certain extent, and Ezra noticed that Bradley was far more sociable than the other man with the brown hair, whose name was Otto.
"H-h-how long do I have to keep doing these tests…?"
The red puncture marks streaked up and down every piece of exposed skin on his body, the pain now feeling almost natural to the boy.
His skin was as pale as a ghost's, and his eyes were bloodshot and dull, devoid of emotion or feeling beyond heavy exhaustion.
Bradley paused for a moment, thinking carefully before responding.
"How about we go talk to Otto about it? I'm sure he thinks we've done enough."
Picking up the boy onto his shoulders, he strolled through their run-down lab inside the broken-down hospital in Firioidis Lookout—a perfect location for their headquarters.
Making their way through the building, they finally arrived in the room where the two kidnappers were living, a messy place filled with coolers, each carefully storing the boy's blood.
"Why's the kid out? Shouldn't he be eating so his blood can replenish?"
Otto's tone betrayed his confusion, a stern look coming over his face as his partner placed the boy onto the bed.
"Listen, Otto… I agreed to keep going with these experiments because the research was already done by that Marco guy, but I think it's time to call it quits… We aren't going to hit a breakthrough if that guy spent years trying day after day and couldn't do it…"
That 'research' that he was referring to was the last will and testament of Marco Kroan, something he wrote about in his diary that they had retrieved from his father's butchery, allowing them to continue where he left off.
Unknown to Ezra, ever since that man had taken him into the butchery, he had been harvesting his blood.
Day after day, he had tested and sequenced it over and over again to figure out what made him special, to see what made the Flock family immune to mana.
He never came to a conclusion, as he was abruptly murdered after a certain sword-wielding Marshal figured out his intentions with the boy.
The two kidnappers had inherited that very same research and had been continuing it in secret in the hope of finishing what Marco started.
"Don't tell me you actually care about this kid, Bradley? You used to be called the Terror of the West, who could kill a mid-level terror with ease! Now look what you've become! An old softie who thinks this research isn't important!
Faced with his partner's ridicule, Bradley's cheek twitched, and he heaved a sigh before throwing his hands in the air, frustrated.
"Otto. I didn't sign up to be a parent when I accepted your offer to become a criminal. We might have taken over after that Marco guy, but I sure as hell don't want to find out what can slice a person in half so cleanly!"
He raised his tone, obvious anger surging beneath his gray beard, the man across from him echoing that same rage.
"And I don't give a damn whether you're scared of some random serial killer or not! Don't you see it, Bradley? We could become the richest men alive if we just figured out how to use this kid's blood to resist mana! I've heard rumors in the underworld of a war brewing in Svall, and if we provided one side with a way to attain an immunity to mana, we'd make millions of Draughts!"
His raw enthusiasm was so great that even Ezra felt excited, despite not knowing what they were talking about.
Bradley, on the other hand, looked furious, his hands balling up in fists as he stepped in front of the black-haired boy, blocking the child's view of Otto.
"Dammit, Otto! Can't you see? This ain't some small-level crime here! We became kidnappers, for crying out loud! I've had enough of this weird obsession of yours! If we just turn ourselves in, then we can use the kid as a bargaining chip and get reduced sentences. Not only that, but we'd be protected against whoever killed the previous guy! It's a win-win!"
Whether it was the mention of the criminal enterprise they were running or the prospect of turning themselves in, something broke inside of the brown-bearded man's mind.
Yet, none the wiser, Bradley pressed on with his half-pleading persuasion.
"C'mon, Otto! See reason here! There isn't any need for us to—"
BANG!
A bullet collided with the man's skull, sending him to the floor in a loud thump that made Ezra flinch backwards.
The black-haired boy blinked, his face now covered in a strange red solution that he had only seen when he had been beaten or when he had to clean up his master's workplace.
Instantly panicking as he thought he had been hit, he curled into a ball, hiding away from the lone survivor in the room.
After a minute of absolute silence, he straightened himself a little, gazing over at the green-eyed man who looked down towards the ground with his jaw locked tightly.
"Dammit… I didn't want to have to do this, Bradley, but going to the police ain't an option anymore."
Ezra crept towards the edge of the bed, looking over the edge and towards the ground where the man who had been defending him lay sprawled in a pool of his own blood.
At that moment, something inside the black-haired boy broke, and his mind got upturned by an overwhelming storm of confusion he had never known before.
Memories resurfaced, ones he had forgotten long ago out of necessity, the reality tied to them too dangerous to reminisce over.
The day he had watched Marco kill a woman with his meat cleaver because she didn't come with him.
That time, he had asked too many questions and ended up with a broken nose.
When he had watched Marco beat his father to the verge of death over an undercooked slice of pork.
And finally, the image of his friend, the only person he could trust in this world, beating him cruelly in the alleyway.
There was an additional memory as well, the sight of a single sword slash obliterating Marco, his left and right halves falling with a wet, slimy plop onto the pavement.
Remember and fight.
An inhuman voice echoed through his mind, one that had entered his mind all those weeks ago at the touch of a swordmaster's blade.
Without hesitation, he leaped forward to tackle the man with the gun, his small body slamming into the kidnapper's waist.
Otto's eyes went wide with shock, and driven by instinct, he tried to shoot.
Bullets flew everywhere, blood gushing out from a source undeterminable to either of the two fighters as they clashed in a mess of kicking, biting, scratching, and punching.
The entire time, Ezra didn't snap out of the strange state he was in, an unknown power coursing through his veins, urging him to fight back.
Only as Otto drew his last breath, the mysterious force that filled the boy finally retreated, disappearing somewhere within his frail body.
"What happened…"
Hearing his own voice, his hand instantly shot over his mouth, a surprised grunt coming from deep within his throat.
For the first time since he could remember, he didn't stutter.
Removing his hand slowly, he ignored the bleeding corpses around him, focusing instead on the unfamiliar, wondrous sensation of his mouth, tongue, and voice working together in perfect rhythm.
"Hello, hello, hello…"
Listening to his voice, which was as crisp as the day, he smiled and let out a loud, delighted laugh.
"I can speak!"
Jumping up and down with joy, he suddenly felt a strange wave of emotion overcome him, wet, hot tears dripping down his face.
"Huh? Why… Why am I crying?"
The laughter died on his lips, and a muffled sob forced its way out of his chest, a guttural explosion of repressed grief, guilt, and other indescribable feelings that came to him together with all those nightmarish moments he had suffered through.
And for the remainder of that day, Ezra Flock simply cried, his tears like a never-ending river as he remembered everything clearly and strongly.
There was never a day when Marco Kroan was his friend, nor was there a day when he was his benefactor.
That man was his abuser, a villain who needed to die without any chance to repent or give an explanation.
It wasn't the butcher who had killed the animals or people with a meat cleaver; it was Marco—and he did it with a smile on his face.
It may have been the butcher's hands that closed around his throat that day, but in truth, it was Marco who truly robbed him of air.
In one bright moment of clarity, he finally tore down all the false images of his friend that he had created to cope with the pain and agony the reality brought him.
Never again would he trust someone like that.
As long as he still drew breath, he would never allow himself to be manipulated.