Chapter 22 - Part 2

Drip. Drip. Drip. A rusty knob from a slimy sink that was not properly turned off filled every nook and cranny with it's plinking. The dark bare brick room was damp and smelled of rotten flesh and mold. B'rs split the room into small cells, the width of which was just enough for someone to spread their arms, that is if they weren't shackled.

Rodents and small creatures of the dark and recluse skittered in every corner, waiting for a slob to fall out of the gelatinous mush that the guard brought in once per day for sustenance, if they were lucky.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Rambling whispers of the neighboring cellmates bounced on the naked walls, echoing throughout like eerie ghostly conversations with no one. One small window with three just as rusty bars hung high next to the ceiling. The red aura of the red sister shone through gently. It was the sole source of light Lwora had seen in weeks.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

"Turn off that fucking faucet!" She yelled from the top of her lungs, inhaling deeply the stale and disgusting air. The thick metal chain and shackles clanked as she tried to move her hands. Lwora was at the end of her wits. She lost track of how many days she had been in this cell, with no one for company but poor mindless thieves and miscreants that too were forgotten in this cold and dark room. Left for dead. She thought.

Drip. Drip. Drip. She gathered all her remaining strength and got to her feet.

Lwora pulled on the chains for the millionth time with all of her strength. They did not budge from the solid brick wall. The heavy shackles bruised her wrist, the weight and tightness of which left deep marks. She could not Wield. She was powerless. The once sister of the Disciplinary Order, while not being a powerful Wielder, she was knowledgeable and her intellect was always her stronger suit. She immediately recognized the stones inlaid in the shackles.

Ashen stones.

She thought back at her time with her Ashen partner twenty years ago as pain grasped at her heart, as if being in physical pain was not enough. Ellias was his name. He had been Lwora's partner for more than ten years and had saved her life countless and numerous times. Her meek powers were good only for parlor tricks, small traps, and used them mainly for support. He was the warrior, the fighter, the protector. Elias would lunge in battle with a fearless expression and unyielding courage. Together, the two of them had faced many perils at the behest of the Empire which they served, just like any Wielder out there. Lwora was in pursuit of becoming a Master herself, but the journey, unlike her friend Araya, had taken more than she ever thought possible. While every other Wielder was gaining their Mastership with ease, she stood in the back, watching, waiting, but progress was too little, too slow.

One small incursion in the Majhara plains would be the one who would put a stop to Lwora's mastership journey, an incursion of which they had done plenty of times with ease, thanks to Elias, of course. She had mulled every second, every moment, every bit of information over and over again in her head ever since it happened, even now after more than ten years, in a dark smelly cell, she wondered: what could I have done differently? How could I let that happen?

Everyone around her insisted that there was nothing, nothing could be done to save him. That it wasn't her fault. But she knew. Lwora knew it was all her fault Elias died. It was her foolish and baseless confidence and desire to prove herself that placed them in danger.

She ran full throttle into the middle of a battalion of armed peasants, she couldn't even call them soldiers or guards. They lacked any armor and real weapons, only armed with a few pitchforks, wood axes, and sticks.

Who would've thought that among those dirt peasants there was a wielder more powerful than Lwora. She had let her guard down, and because of her so did Elias.

He quickly came to her rescue fending off the peasants. She would throw a force blast to one side and he would slash on the other while in the meantime, the peasant Wielder circled around them. How foolish she was for not even thinking to put a shield between them, but it probably wouldn't have done much good.

All she heard was Elias scream then the smell of burnt flesh hit like a slap in the face. Elias' body slumped limp to the ground. Another peasant began to stab at him with a pitchfork. Lwora immediately released a wide zone force blast to move everyone away and raised a shield around her and Elias.

She remembers how warm his blood was as she tried to heal him and how warm her tears were as they dripped away from her cheek.

Drip. Drip. Drip. The echo of the faucet brought her back from that horrid memory. Her knees buckled and she collapsed with her feet under her. Lwora was too weak to even stand more than a few minutes at a time.

She scuttled back to her corner when the metal door at the very end of the room began to creak. Like everything around here, it was caked in rust. Lwora watched careful from the shadow of her little safe place. The guard would bring their slop of food during the early mornings, and no other visitors would follow. It was suspicious that someone would come so late in the night. The small window in the back shined it's hazy red light directly on the door.

An old man peaked it's head inside before opening the metal door fully. Lwora first saw his encrusted tall and rounded hat that gave away his identity on the spot. The head of the Order Cornelius.

Cornelius hovered a light stone from one of his many inside pockets and entered the r.om. Another man followed. His garb contrasted Cornelius from the neck down. Just like his hat, the other man wore gold and jewel encrusted clothing that would have fetched quite the pretty sum if sold, probably enough to feed an entire village for a while a year.

She knew this meant trouble, she backed away even more but it was in vain. Cornelius sent the stone with haste into her tiny cell and shine some light in her face.

Lwora's once tan flawless complexion was dirtied and irritated. Spots began to appear from the filth that surrounded her.

"My, my, my. What a sorry state you are, my dear." Cornelius said with a sickening smile on his face.

Lwora inhaled deeply scrounging up all the phlegm she had and spat a fat glob right onto his clothes.

"Insolent child." The man's lips turned in disgust. His eyes caught the red light coming from the window making them appear as if pure rage had enveloped the man. With a flick of his wrist, Lwora was hit by a massive force. Her whole body flew against the side of her cell. The bars clanked and reverberated throughout the room. The other mindless prisoners screamed in fear.

She didn't let them hear her pain. That's what they wanted.Her dirty hair covered her face as she looked them in the eye.

"Now, now, Cornelius. She won't be any help if she's dead, would she?" The other man crouched down to get a better look at her. He maneuvered Cornelius' stone closer to her face.

"Just give me five minutes with this whore, Councilman Ameral, I'll teach her what respect means." Cornelius cleaned the slob off his clothes with Wielding then spat on the floor in disgust.

"You had her for how long?" The Councilman asked.

"Almost two weeks, Councilman."

"And she said not one word about Araya."

"No, she did not."

"I think you're out of your depth, Cornelius." The man looked back at Lwora and gave a curt nod as if he decided something in his head.

"It's quite a shame." he sighed. "I never liked destroying a pretty face, but it must be done."

Lwora panicked. Her heart began to race and she tried to scoot farther away from them but the wall prevented her from doing so. She let out soft whimpers of fear.

"There, there. You don't have to be afraid," His smile sickened Lwora to her stomach. "At least not of me." He laughed.

From a dark corner of a room, behind Councilman Ameral, a loud low chuffing bounced off the naked walls of the room. It sounded like a slow drum, clicking in the back of her head. Heavy steps approached from the shadows, inching closer in view.

Lwora screamed when she saw the creature dimly lit by the sole window. An abominable life form that resembled a human. It's elongated members were distorted in mere semblances of arms and legs. Its arms were long with huge hands that ended in sharp claws. They scraped the bricked floor like metal. It's mouth, completely unlike a human's, was vertical, similar to that of animals. It had no distinct facial features, just smooth peaks and valleys with no openings for the eyes, nose, or ears. It's neck was almost as thick as its torso that was covered in slightly diagonal sloths that moved as if they breathed. The creature let out a soft rattle as it approached the Councilman and Cornelius stepped back. Fear was apparent on his face.

The creature leaned down and extended its hideous and deformed head to the Councilman. The man, fearless, reached a hand and scratched it behind one of the slits on its thick neck.

"What is that fucking thing?!" Lwora yelled. "Get it away from me!" Her lungs were on the verge of giving out from her terrifying screams, pulling on the chains was futile but she tried nonetheless with all of her strength.

-----

It was well past midnight. The red sister was apparent in the night sky, clear as ever. Stars sprayed the heavens like a myriad of blood specks. Truly a night for predators. Emperor Ryel thought as he looked lazily through the opened window of his study.

Ever since he brought the pod that housed the inanimate body of a Creator a feeling of being watched always overcame him at night. He didn't know if it was just his imagination, paranoia, or there was something behind those closed lids, all three of them. He tried to avoid eye contact with it as much as possible during the night to not creep himself out, but it was impossible. It commanded to be looked at, even in that state it oozed power, even Ryel could feel it, and it was dangerous. The mere idea of its existence would give weight to everything in the scripture, be it original text or man-made amendments, allowing the Order to sway people's beliefs in whatever twisted way they desired. It is the most powerful weapon he had, and he had to use it at the right time, or else the Order would take advantage of it and bring upon his downfall. He could not let that happen. Only a handful of people knew about its existence, and they all were the only people Emperor Ryel fully trusted, some although zealots, would never betray him.

Weirdly enough this simple study, although lavishly decorated and made comfortable, was the most secure room in the Red Keep. Only one way in, guarded by Master Wielders, Ashen, and soldiers alike and access is only possibly through a unique key that only he had. The door was protected against Wielding and reinforced with sheets of metal. The man that had made this lock and door had been a long forgotten genius. It was his last masterpiece before Ryel's father had executed him, taking the secret of the key with him to the grave. The walls of the Red Keep are impossible to climb, only someone with the impossible ability to fly would be able to get to this room and even then, they would have to get through Ashen stone windows. This was the only room in the city where Ryel felt safe and yet he hated being here. It reminded him of his long departed older brother. An innate powerful Wielder. Ryel often liked to imagine that if he was alive to this day he would've been even more powerful even than Araya, as if the Creators took every ounce of power from every future generation, including him, and placed it all inside a feeble bodied human. An assassin brought his untimely death which in turn brought pain and anguish not only to his family but across the Empire as it began a series of wars, although triumphant, the Empire was left in poverty, which was thrust upon Ryel to fix. The odd turn was that not only his brother was assassinated, but the vast majority of the imperial line with only him, his father, cousin and son left alive. But that was probably for the best.

He hated to brag, he already had many people doing it for him, but he had to admit that after his father's death he had made only the best decisions and swiftly rebuilt the wealth that his father lost in futile war. War should be strategic, not revengeful. He thought. Even if he cared for his brother, he didn't care for avenging his death. He was too young at the time to understand if the culprit was found and the killings stopped or this was the plan all along, but he cared not to dwell on it. He was quite thankful to whoever orchestrated this whole ordeal as it brought him in power and Ryel enjoyed power, sometimes he enjoyed it too much and it got to his head, but that's where Araya came in. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes imagining his Advisor in all sorts of indecent postures. His father would have had her head if he knew his only son had placed so much power and feeling into such a low status woman. Good thing there was no one to tell him otherwise now.

He pushed away all idle thought and upon thinking about the situation at hand more deeply he sighed and looked at the piece of paper that had been haunting him for the past couple of days.

He moved a lightstone closer so that he could read the neat writing. He shook his head and looked straight at the Creator in the Pod.

"They're following your writings, and yet you say they're false prophets." He said calmly. He knew very well what each translated text that Ad'hm and his team brought said, he was the first person to read their translated versions. And someone had leaked them out into the world, to the damned Order which is now planning mass genocide. He shook his head in disbelief. For a moment his faith wavered, but the sight of power steadied him. Fulfilling his grand plan and gaining power. That was what he was working for, what the Creators actually wanted. He knew that after all they were the ones that told him.

He sighed heavily again. "I will have to deal with this nuisance before Jurissa." He said to himself, then pulling another piece of paper that had the imperial coat of arms. Once he finished writing his letter, he proofread everything and added a few dots and lines. Satisfied, he signed the bottom with an overly embellished signature and placed his pen neatly back in its place.

"Now, what's really important." he reached for Maven Marduke's report. He skipped two whole paragraphs of praises and embellishments from the Maven and skipped to the important part. In it they stated they had found a way of activating the artifact. They have successfully recreated conduits compatible with it. While a steady supply of Fios is required, the Wielder manipulates the energy through the minuscule geometrical grooves in very specific sequences. Immense joy swell up inside Ryel, his stomach churning and tightening with anticipation. The mavens moved much faster than he had hoped, and he was pleased. Threatening to execute their entire families had worked wonders in furthering the research on the artifact and brought upon new discoveries that will also help the Empire grow. Another wise decision in his opinion that will serve the Empire well.

The report stated that experimentation had begun, although they are running out of subjects.

The first batch of subjects experienced physical deformation which took a severe psychological toll on them, rendering them unresponsive. The second batch, as they tuned the sequence, gradually began to experience less and less physical deformations and maladies. The most remarkable and outstanding find was that all subjects had their mouth twisted to a vertical position, becoming more and more animalistic. Marduke's last note was "Further research is needed until a safe procedure and sequence is established." Ryel made a note to re-supply the man with another few dozens of slaves and leaned back in his chair after burning the piece of paper, allowing it to turn to ash before falling to the ground.

"Harvesting season might come earlier than expected."