An Oath

Surgeon hissed, writhing his foul body as it bathed in the blood he had spilled.
“Brave flesh, eh? Brave for the mines, the metals, the wastes? Should have cut the brave from you.” Surgeon giggled. “The mines will do that for me. Run along, brave flesh. Run to your service.”

The order tolled in his mind like a great, solemn bell. He didn't resist, couldn't, and so didn't try. Better to save resistance for when he might need it most.

“One day, I will come for you, Surgeon,” he rasped. “This I swear.”

He left Surgeon to his mad delights.