Exit: Writher

                                    

                                          
Fillard's grip was strong, yet his hand trembled as if about to let go. He wobbled his hand up and down in an awkward shake. 
"This is the man I was talking about." Poe smiled, waiting for Fillard to respond. 
Jack retracted his hand and Fillard grimaced. "Yes, if you had brought him earlier surely he would have been of use." 
Poe shrugged. "Well he just had to see the fight." He gave Jack a pat on his shoulder. 
Fillard, without a warning, approached Jack until their faces were only inches apart.
His breath smelled nasty of dead fish and feces.
"So it was you... You were the one who killed Curt?" Fillard mumbled, "I thank you-"
"The bounty. There was a bounty right?" Poe asked.
Fillard shrugged. "What bounty?" He asked, smiling. 
Poe left the room without a word.
A few moments after Poe left, Fillard gave him a smile.  "As I was saying, Curt was simply a nightmare for us to deal with, and sent some of our best fighters to kill him. Unfortunately, our best fighters were not good enough. We simply couldn't hire the best fighters in the land. Curt cut us down before we could earn enough to afford it."
"Why didn't you send those fighters downstairs?" Jack replied, "They look like they could go toe to toe with one." 
"Ah, nonono, it is too high of a risk."
"What about Writher? He killed that other guy with just one punch." Jack retorted.
"No, Writher... He is something else. I don't know what exactly he is, but he holds a grudge. We have a spell to keep him here, in fact." Fillard responded.
Jack didn't know what to say to that.
Fillard lifted his head, "But yes, as Poe said, this is your opportunity to join."
Jack waved his hand, "I decline." 
Fillard tilted his head to the side, his expression darkened at the rejection.
 "Then we have to kill you."
He motioned for his men to deal with Jack. Panic surged through Jack as the gang members closed in around him, their weapons glinting in the dim light.
Jack weaved past them as they attacked. But just as he reached the hallway leading to the exit, a sharp twang echoed through the room, followed by a pained cry.
Poe fell to the ground, an arrow protruding from his chest. Without a moment's hesitation, he bolted down the hallway, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he raced toward freedom.
But his path was abruptly blocked by Writher, his imposing figure filling the narrow corridor. With a swift and effortless motion, Writher flipped Jack to the ground, pinning him down.
Jack mind shot from one thing to another. Writher could kill him instantly. He could do it with minimum effort too. Jack didn't stand a chance. He had to reason with him.
Jack's mind raced as he struggled beneath Writher's grip, desperation lending strength to his limbs. "I can help you," he gasped, his voice strained with effort. "Break the spell... if you help me take down Fillard."
Writher's gaze bore into Jack's with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity, but before he could respond, the gang members closed in once more, their weapons poised to strike.
"You don't even know me." Writher said.
"I know that a slave wants to be free." He replied.
In a blur of motion, Writher sprang into action, dispatching his fellow gang members with swift and brutal efficiency. With the immediate threat eliminated, he turned his attention back to Jack, his expression unreadable.