Resurgence

VIII: First Blood

Warnings:
Graphic violence, objectification, sexualization
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"Aandleir? Elder?" he questioned softly; his mind aflame. The room grew darker, but he was almost thankful for that, as he knew he could not look upon the face of the ruler at the moment, the face of his enemy. The very person whose eyes were searing holes in his skin. The man who he'd tricked, and the man who had tricked him. Who'd had him in a drunken stupor upon an eager lap. Yes, this was a man not to be trusted, who had already forced so much upon him, and here he was, to learn that the empowered man was even more so than he'd originally thought. What did it mean?

He was in no way a fool, not narrow-minded enough not to see that everything was connected. His time on the Solace, the Magistrate, the tournament, the lies. Whoever the person behind it all was, they had a reason for what they had done. Theta Algoriala was remote, governed by a powerful lunatic who seemed to quite desire him in ways he did not even wish to imagine, and home to a rather deadly tournament, which he was now a part of. The Solace was pure hell, a new punishment every waking day -or what he assumed was a day- and the loss of his memories. It all fit with some grand scheme. Someone was trying to break him, make sure he would not be a threat, but who, and why? "Yes, dear Virian." The Magistrate's voice was what reminded him where he was, his eyes landing back on the lunatic standing before him. "I am an Elder, an immensely powerful one. You seem to know this."

He stood and cursed silently, damning the Magistrate with every ounce of his thought and mind, hating the man for his condescending tone, as if he were some oafish warrior who could not fathom the way of intelligence. As if he were a child, new to the subtleties of such a life, but he knew the reason why he hated that. It was true, in part. He may not be a child, but he certainly was to this man before him, the Elder who had lived almost as long as the universe, and even if he weren't, he remembered nothing. He might as well have been a child, for he learned over all the things he had once known, like the ways of combat. "Sit, I have a story to tell, a picture to paint," he was commanded. He knew he had no choice, so he seated himself on the white leather sofa the ruler had pointed to. He was joined a moment later, and immediately pulled close.

"Listen well, my dear Virian, for this bears more relevance than you know." The Magistrate's hands found their way, one around his shoulders, keeping him tightly secured, and the other in his hair, stroking through it and providing a false sense of comfort. "There was once a mad ruler, a king without a kingdom. He had his force, and he could have had any realm, any world he wished for his own, but it was he himself who decided otherwise. This being who named himself but a mere servant of the universe. So, the king who played steward imposed his will upon civilization after civilization, claiming it to be the whispers of higher powers much older than he. And perhaps they were. Perhaps we, the ones who called the steward-king mad were the true madmen. But the steward-king searched for more, a much greater way to achieve his purpose." Violet eyes. They haunted his mind as the man spoke, they watched his every step, heard his every breath, and he could not be free of them.

"And he found a way. After years of searching the self-proclaimed steward of the universe devised a plan, a perfect plan to get what was his. One thing stood in his way, however. A being much older than himself, and terrifying in terms of power. He knew he could not go after his prize with this being watching, so he needed someone to do it for him. And who should he find, who should show up, left for dead, but a disgraced prince, from the very kingdom he feared the wrath of. The mad steward-king took it as a sign, that the broken boy was sent as a reward to him for his glorious work on the part of the universe," the ruler continued, and he wondered, he almost was sure that this was a part of his story too. He had been thrown to the Void; cast out by a man whose name he could not remember. Could it be that this was how he'd ended up on the Forgotten World? Was this so-called steward responsible for his exile?