Valanthius Brothers

The Pureblood stared at his busted bike. Traces of sugar and salt were around the ceruleum tank, the wheels were jacked and torqued out of spec, the custom paint and metalwork had been beaten and damaged with blunt force, and the masterwork leather had been shredded and charred. A subtle click of the tongue signaled his realization that hours and hours of hard work, dedication, and passion were now in ruins.

What wasn't known was that those very hours, dedication, and passion were some of the sole reasons he could keep his violent tendencies in check. Revarik gave a single glance around before locking onto the responsible party and noticing a basic compass attached to their hip, "alright. Before I leave can you tell me what direction is north?" 

Again, laughter echoed outside of the building. The Mhigan reached to the side, "they don't teach you directions in the military? Rhalgr be damned, how could we lose to a bunch of incompetent pearlbrains?! Now you've hit so low to ask your conscripted for help. Sweet irony." As he unhooked the compass from his belt and offered it to Revarik the Garlean made his strike.

The augmented hand clamped down on the median nerve of the other's hand and pulled him against Revarik. The other hand of the Garlean captured the Mhigan's other and gave it a forceful snap to dislocate it at the elbow joint. The addition of slamming the end of his knee into the side of the Mhigan's own brought the man down to the ground with surprise and anger smoldering in response.

Revarik held him there and maintained his grip. "That pain you're feeling in your hand is at a one out of ten. At a four you will empty your bowels everywhere. Imagine what will happen if I take it further. You've nine seconds to decide what happens here. You owe me a bike, mate."  There was no response for two seconds prior to Revarik ramping up the pain to a level three on that scale. Instantly, the unbearable pain in that grip sent shivers and shakes into the Mhigan with others watching on. 

"Tell them to stand down or I take this to a seven." No hesitation came in shouting at his comrades and others to stay away. "What do you want? I don't have the gil to pay that back?!" The Mhigan frantically called as his face became red and tears presented themselves within his dark whiskey-colored eyes. "You can begin with an apology," Revarik stated plainly. A slew of sorry followed and just as it felt like the Garlean was about to release his grip on the simple terms the intensity hit another level.

Shame now coupled the Mhigan's expression as he felt his insides empty into his trousers and down around his knees. Wetness had accumulated at the front of them. "I couldn't hear you, mate. Louder," Revarik instructed. In the pained cries of the Mhigan the shouts of his apology continued and prayers to Rhalgr echoed in the desert evening. The misery inflicted had reached stage five while the calm countenance of the Garlean observed.

"You won't be a problem for anyone else, mate. You will remember this moment and should you feel the need to cause grief then know I will come for you again." Revarik's metal grip tightened to a seven before ripping the index and middle finger free of their limb entirely. The messy appendages were put into his jacket pocket while the poor man let out his screech of suffering. He was practically rolling in his own fluids and screaming bloody anguish. The Garlean seized the compass and put it in a separate pocket before looking to the others. "Any of you could have prevented this from happening and this is the reward of your complacency. Clean him up." He disengaged from the ordeal and returned inside. He needed a drink for the walk he was about to undertake.