I wake in the dark to the sound of screaming and suddenly I feel like I am sixteen again, trapped in the ducts and listening to the screams of those they have already captured. But I am not sixteen again and this time my situation is so much worse.
My shoulders burn, they have me hooked onto the wall with sharp spikes, there’s no way to wriggle free and nowhere to go anyway. I know that I am not stealthy and sneaking out of wherever they have taken me is not going to be an option, certainly not for me.
There is a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and a wave of terror crashes over me. I can’t go through this again! Not this, anything but this! They were supposed to kill me, to spare me having to face my worst fear. And now I am here and I am stuck. And he will torture me and he will break me and in the end I will likely tell him everything before the end. And when the end comes I will be lost forever, no soul left for anything to claim.
I begin to struggle, despite the pain. I rip a bigger hole in one of my shoulders, I feel the pop as it dislodges from the socket and I can feel the drip of my blood running down my arms, dripping onto the floor. I scream in frustration and desperation, the hook is going through my bone and short of ripping both of my arms off, I cannot get free and doing that is beyond my physical strength.
The door opens and a figure steps through, one I recognise only too well. My blood runs cold in fear for a moment until it is replaced by anger. He carries my satchel in one hand and my sword in the other.
When he speaks he speaks in my own tongue, though I answer in his, “So what do we have here. A human with an Eldar blade? How did you come by this?”
“If you looked at the blade you would know. It was a gift, given in gratitude by your cousins for services I rendered them.”
He stares harder at me then, “You speak our tongue, badly, but still.”
I smile coldly, “I know a lot about your kind. Your kin are my allies. Or have you not noticed that your Exodite brethren have been waging a war against you recently?” I am not sure where I found the bravado for that, I am hoping to provoke him. Perhaps if I make him angry enough he will kill me and at least then I will be free.
There is pure rage on his face for a moment. Those spine fingers of his dig deep into my shoulder and it takes all my reserves of will not to scream. The pain is horrific, perhaps even worse than anything else they have ever done to me. He keeps going for a while, trying to make me scream, to cry out, to do something.
His face leans in close to me so I spit in his eye. That gains me another strike, more pain flares up and my hands are shaking now. I am faint, dizzy and holding myself together by only a thread.
“Is that the best you can do? Am I supposed to be impressed?” I taunt him again, praying that it will be enough.
But he steps back and he laughs, “You amuse me, I think I shall enjoy breaking you.”
My blood turns to ice and I struggle to keep the fear from being displayed nakedly on my face. My gambit has failed and I know all I have bought myself is more pain than would perhaps have been my lot anyway.
A part of me wants to break down and cry, to give in to the despair. I had thought I might die on Varyaga, but I had prayed for this to never be the ending. I am back where I started all those years ago and this time the Inquisition will not be coming to save me. This time I will die here and everything I am will die with me. My soul is lost.
“They will kill you, you know. The ones I am here with. It doesn’t matter if I fall, they will tear you down and all of your works.”
One finger scrapes down my cheek, “You think so? Do you think they will rescue you? If you have any hope there, lose it. You will never leave this place and I will make your suffering last such a very, very long time before it ends.”
I do not see the figure at first. I could not say how he entered the room, but the voice catches my attention immediately.
“I am here for her.”
I look up, the figure of the Death Jester stands in the room and a wild burst of hope fills my chest. Then I realise that there is something strange about his appearance. The figure does not have the build of an Eldar and the clothes, and the guns… I recognise those all too well. I do not know what Hark had to do in order to get this chance, but my heart almost bursts with gratitude.
My eyes meet his and I smile, genuinely touched to see him. I cannot stop the tears from falling down my cheeks as he approaches me. The Archon growls but he cannot gainsay the Death Jester no matter who it is who wears that mask.
“Thank you.” I whisper to him, “The Emperor Protects.”
Hark raises up his pistol and grants me the mercy I once gave to Alluvian.
- Sorcha of the Clan Ships
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- Joined: Thu Apr 05, 2012 6:01 pm
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