A Hero in the Dark: 2nd Edition

Chapter 21: Cycle of Pain

I hear voices, none of them friendly. It's dark, one of the unfortunate effects of a blindfold, I find. I think I've been taken inside somewhere; sounds echo.

I'd try to run, but the wire around my wrists is far too taut for my liking and I don't want whoever that's holding it to yank it and make it hurt more. Even the thought of it ripping my skin is enough to scare me into behaving. I hate not knowing what's going on.

The walk is long, but eventually, we come to a stop. There're whispers, alien snarls, growls, and distant doors opening, and slamming shut. "Forward," one of them shouts, pushing me hard. I stumble before setting my feet into motion again.

I squirm and struggle, recoiling to get out of whatever alien's hold; it doesn't work. They don't release me until I'm dangling some height off the ground. I grit my teeth at the gravity pushing me down, at least until the blindfold is ripped from my head.

A Mogadorian, unlike the giant one that came for me with Number Five, stands dead centre of my field of view, staring at me with this darkness in his eyes, and suddenly, it's like I'm trapped in a nightmare, a nightmare of the destruction he'll bring to this world—my world. He reaches out for me, and I lean back as far as possible. I pray he won't claw his way through me too soon, or sink his teeth into my neck, or anything, but all he does is take the blindfold from my chest. He wraps it around my head. By pulling it tight, my jaw slackens for a gasp of air, and suddenly, my mouth's full of rag. He smiles, flashing sharp teeth that roots the fear in my bones. I frown.

Chained, dangling, alone in darkness, and alone in quiet, my eyes dart about. My breath won't settle as panic spikes. He isn't just leaving me here, is he? He'll be back. He has to be...

I try to pull away from the chains, but they don't budge. I try to scream, but I can't; the cloth muffles any sound I make. I even try to think light thoughts to lessen my weight, as it worsens the strain to my wrists: Light as a feather. Light as a feather. Light as a feather... in the wind...

All I can do is wait; stay and wait, wait for something to happen, and I can't stop the tears from cascading down my face.

I don't know how long it is before the door creaks open, and the giant Mogadorian from earlier walks in. He approaches by a mere foot or few, and my chains rattle. He smiles at me; I hate his smile immediately. It's infuriating.

Carefully, he stretches out a hand for my face. I try to inch away, pin my back against the stone, but in the end, it's pointless. He touches my cheek and I flinch at the cold of his fingertips. Finally, he removes my gag and I let out a long-held breath.

"Hello, Emily," he states, and even the way he says my name brings a shiver up my spine.

"Who—Who are you?"

"I am Setrákus Ra. Supreme commander of the Mogadorian Empire, engineer of the Great Expansion, beloved leader, et cetera," he answers without emotion whatsoever, baring his teeth in a crooked way that I think is supposed to be a smile.

Another chill shoots through me. Setrákus Ra; the enemy of the Loric; the threat to Earth. Murderer. Villain. Liar. No.

He smiles, and I can't tell if it's because he knows that I know who he is or because he's glad I know who he is, or glad because of what he's about to do; the latter sends a gulp struggling to get down my throat. "This can be painless, Emily. You've chosen the wrong side, but I am nothing if not forgiving. Tell me what I want to know, and I'll set you free."

"What—What do you want to know?" What could he possibly want from me? What could I possibly tell him that he doesn't already know?

He draws closer until he's inches from my nose. "Tell me where they are."

What?! Why? Why does it have to be that? What am I supposed to do?! He can't know where they are—he can't! He'll kill them, Emily. He'll kill them all. But what else can I do? No—I can't. Whatever happens, don't give him what he wants. Maybe—Maybe I can lie my way out of this.

"I'm not telling you anything; just—just let me go."

"I think we both know that's not happening."

There's a hissing noise above me and I look up to find a sickly black sludge dribbling down the chains. It's acrid and chemical, like burning plastic. I swear it'll leave rust marks on the chain once it's finished making its way over to me, and my heart rockets into my throat at the thought. It burns when it reaches my wrists, and I scream! It's excruciating, and the inky substance has a stickiness to it that makes it even worse, as if my wrists are covered in scalding tree sap.

I rest my head against the stone wall, trying to withstand it as dark spots swarm my vision, but just as I think I'm about to pass out, the Mogadorian Leader touches his staff to my neck, lifting my chin with it, and it's like this icy numbness flows through me, the pain on my wrists nonexistent. It's a twisted kind of relief, but a relief, nonetheless, and I'm grateful for it.

"Answer my questions," he snarls amidst my haggard breathing, "and this can be over."

He's bluffing. There's no way this will be over any time soon; why—why would it be? You're nothing than a valuable prize for him, Emily. He won't stop until he has what he's after. You CAN'T tell him anything, not a single word!

My voice quaky, I choke out my best convincing lie, "I—I don't know anything."

He huffs, then rips the staff away from me, and with the pain in my wrists returning, it's as if the odd Mogadorian ooze eats right down to my bones. I pant and puff and cry at what I'm sure will be my demise, and by the time he presses the staff to me again, it does little to lessen my wails, merely limiting the burns. The fight—what little there had been to begin with—has completely left my system. "What about Spain?" he asks. "What can you tell me about that?"

I don't know what he's talking about. "I..." I mutter, unsure what to say, until I realize I shouldn't say anything. But at the mention of Spain, all I can think of is Marina and how much she needed Adelina, possibly still to this day... I shake my head, deciding it better to keep my mouth shut.

After Spain, it's India. "You escaped me four times then," he states. I can't tell if he's mad or simply making an observation. "How did you manage that?"

Next, it's the locations of Loralite stones, and "the tenth," which is something that he seems most invested in. But like every question before it, I shake my head. "She's dead," I tell him, trying not to waver as I deliver the lie. I need him to believe that. I need him to let this go; if he does, I might be able to keep Ella from getting kidnapped, and possibly draw this to a close. "She died on Lorien. She died because of you." But when I say that, he's infuriated, and he pulls the staff away so the burning sludge bites me for my sins.

"You're lying to me, Emily. I know she's here," he growls, pinning the staff to my neck so I again have breath. "Tell me where," he spits.

"I don't know," I slur, my voice shaking more and more with every increase in his volume. "I don't know." And with every answer, or lack thereof, he pulls the staff back for much longer, leaving me to feel the searing pain sizzle into my flesh anew.

Eventually though, he gives up and just stares at me, disgusted, I think. I'm delirious; I swear I see the ooze-like substance crawl back up the chain and disappear into the dark that it came from. I'm grateful for the break in this cycle of pain.

"You're useless, Emily," Setrákus raves, dismissively. "It appears the Loric only value you as an additional lamb; an extra; something to be eaten up and thrown away when unwanted." He sweeps out of the room then, thankfully, but his words sit heavy in my chest.

It isn't until later—after I'd hung alone slipping in and out of darkness—that another soldier enters the chamber. I don't look until he's inches away from my face, though at first, I'm certain it's the Mogadorian Leader. When I realize it isn't, my guts goad me in begging for mercy. "Please," I murmur, my breath nearly mute. "Let me go..."

I'm stunned to hear the shackles clack. I fall to my knees and rub my aching limbs to ease the throbbing, until the Mogadorian wraps a cloth round my eyes and wire round my wrists—it stings! He lifts me off my feet and ushers me away, and the heavy iron door slams shut behind us.