Hell on Earth (Boyxboy)

Chapter 22: Running

22

The administrative assistant hurried through the hallways, sweat beading on his forehead. Something was obvious making him very anxious, and very nervous.

Maneuvering his mousy body this way and that, he skillfully made his way- hurried as possible- to the Supervisor's office.

It was important.

It couldn't wait.

It had escaped.

***

34 BCE

Fadriel woke up, feeling strange. Tingly. As though someone- or something- had overtaken his being, beaten him, then given the broken body back later.

Horrible realization washed over the fae.

His magik was gone.

Fadriel could've cried right then.

Instead of breaking down, Fadriel willed himself through a pounding headache. He opened his eyes.

The room Fadriel was in was dark and unsettling. Whatever the fae was on was cold, damp and keeping him in place. A glance down confirmed his suspicions: Fadriel was strapped to a cot, little more than a stone slab. The fae tried to open his mouth, stretch his sore jaw, only to find that it, too was strapped down.

Fadriel was muzzled.

How strange.

Looking around, Fadriel felt relief as his eyes began to adjust to the dim lighting.

At least they have left my sight. He thought numbly, then frowned. Whoever they are.

Fadriel strained, trying to remember what had happened.

Then it came flooding back. It was like watching the events of last night from the outside of his body. Fadriel remembered the guards, the slave house, the basement and the- the auction. But there was more that Fadriel couldn't remember, and that terrified him. His body felt a million times worse than when he passed out. Fadriel was almost certain that he had been beaten again... His right arm was absolutely on fire, while his chest felt like it had spikes and weights on top of it. The fae didn't even want to assess what state his face was in right now. He was pretty sure that his nose was rebroken, maybe in a couple of spots. If that was even possible.

Well. At least I'm not dead.

Yet.

Fadriel sighed. It felt so real, the crowd consuming him. Thinking now, with a somewhat cleared mind, (save for the overall pulsing pain and headache), Fadriel concluded that he had probably been going through the aftershocks of losing his magik. It wasn't unheard of, losing one's magik. Just unbelievably rare.

I need to get it back. I need to get that charm.

Fadriel began to struggle against his bonds as he moved to assess the room he was in. Stones cover the walls and ceiling, while the floor was dirt. Across from the slab he was tied to was a large wooden door, once again more European than Roman.

I hope I'm still in Rome, not Europe.

Fadriel had heard enough about European cultures to know that he did not want to be handed over to a well paying viking, or celtic. Really, he did not want to be handed over to anybody. Fadriel quite enjoyed being a free creature. Preferably not forced into hiding and anonymity...

SNAP!

Surprised at the sudden release of pressure, Fadriel looked down.

He had actually broken his bonds.