Zelda breathed in and out in rhythmic pattern. Inhaling with a single thought, and exhaling as it ended in order to give birth to the new one. Her breath came chilled in the cold air of unheated air, but nonetheless controlled and disciplined.
Kneeling before the old wooden bed in the room she shared with the other women, Zelda prayed to whoever wished to hear her prayer. Once finished she murmured a few words, and gracefully stood up still in a demeanor of absolute control. She closed her eyes, and sighed.
Her arm ached from a fight earlier that day where her muscles had been torn, and even though the healer's had spread a balm on the arm, it still hurt. She rubbed the painful sections, allowing the magic she possessed to force the swelling down. With that done, and arm hurting less she moved over to the bed and sat down on it.
:Will you be alright, Zelda?: A voice only in her head asked. Zelda nodded her head, answering in her mind that she would be fine. :Today you should have let me fight. Then you wouldn't be hurt, now.:
Zelda smiled a bit. Loyal Sheik, who even now trying to protect her from harm, even though there no way to avoid it. Touching though, that Sheik still attempted after two and half years of suffering in this place. A very long two and half years it had been.
With a tired type of amusement Zelda answered back. :You fought last time, did you not? Fair is fair.: A simple answer was all she had, Sheik always wanted to be the one in the arena, yet Zelda stayed insistent on an every other arrangement.
Mentally, Sheik snorted at the concept of fair in this place. Her lady was always difficult to appease. :I don't wish for you to be hurt, that is all. My duties have been banished because we were arrested, and sent to here. Let me take over for the night, I can use our stock of goods.:
Closing her eyes, Zelda let out a steady breath, and she rubbed her sore head. Sheik's personnel magic caused her to heal slower than Zelda but she had more knowledge of how to tend injuries was far superior. :Very, well: She agreed to Sheik's request. Spreading her small hands across her chest, Zelda opened the channel of her magic and shifted her mind into a trickle of thought. Her head swarmed slightly, as it did every time she changed
Suddenly, Zelda was emerged in a white glow. Then sitting in the same spot, in the same position sat a different women than the one who sat there before. Two souls that inhabited one body. A simple description of what was going on there. Each soughed a serrate body, but only one could present at time. Normally Zelda remained the dominate one, with Sheik able to communicate her thoughts to her.
Sheik leapt from the bed, catapulting herself a corner of the damp room. While Zelda had a lithe, beautiful but delicate body, Sheik's form was entirely groomed, flexible muscle. Use her course, ragged hands Sheik dug away a lose stone from the floor, and moved away the newly grown moss. The stone gave easily showing a space that previously had been hidden. A small, simple crate was all that was in the space, but Sheik opened it to reveal, small bundles of dried herbs all tied together.
Grabbing a single leaf, Sheik placed back the stone on the her hidden spot. Then she chewed the leaf into pieces and used the rags of cloth she wore to keep the herb firmly on her wounded arm.
:Thank you, Sheik.: Zelda mentally touched Sheik's shoulder. Two people would be hard pressed to be closer then these two were. At times like this, Zelda appreciated it.
:Of course, my lady:
An interruption arrived when the old, cracked door opened, and a blue haired, slender man stuck part of his head in. "You should come Zel-," Marth Lowell stopped his speaking when he realized that it was not the soft spoken lady he expected in the room. However he continued despite the hesitation, "One of the new slaves got in a fight with a guard. They're fighting right now, but it is about to become a public a beating."
Sheik nodded, and made sure the precious herb pieces on her arm were unable to be seen. "Thank you, Marth." She vaulted over near Marth, then headed out the door without another word, instead just giving him a nod of acknowledgment.
Zelda mused, :It has been a long time since someone has been beaten before everyone else as an example. What did he do, I wonder?: In fact she could barely recall the last time that had happened, lately everyone scurried away from the guards in hopes of not getting in trouble. :This place lately has lost emotion. You think it may possible for it to come back?:The slow draining of thoughts had been prevalent in the last half year but Zelda before had shoved it in the back of her mind. Now however, the sharp mind that she possessed began to grind thoughts away.
Only one reply seemed at all likely to Sheik, and her grim outlook to life, :Unlikely there will ever be.: The bitterness of her words stayed entirely unhidden from Zelda, letting her lady hear every last drop of disbelief. After all in the place dubbed hell, who dared to dream of emotions?
:Perhaps you are right.: A tad of uncertainty tainted the words, and a sprinkle of wondering weakened their meaning. Something in Zelda's sense told her of a new taste in the flow of this place. Be it for the better, or worse she could not tell. Neither could she say why she felt his.
Sheik idly scratched at the blue rags covering her toned body. Trusting the instincts Zelda possessed, Sheik snorted slightly. Once a noble, always a noble, even when living in an arena for two years. If Zelda's thoughts perfectly formed themselves into acute, precise words, then she shared them to others. Not until then of course, words not yet completed at later date might be used against you.
Marth turned his head to watch the young woman sprint down the hall. At a much more leisurely pace he followed suit, since he saw no reason to rush anywhere. Nothing here managed to be worth the extra energy needed to hurry along. Nothing changed here.
As he spit at the feet of the large guard, Pit realized that perhaps that calling the man a bastard, had not been the wisest thing of all things to do. Perhaps a little late in the the revelation though, as the guard grabbed a large stick and swung at Pit's head. Pit ducked, and then in an immediate reaction to being threatened, hit back with his fists.
The result was the now livid guard yelling for others to come and help him beat the rebellious prisoner that dared to show defiance. They did come, large strong men with gigantic weapons that they knew how to used.
One came from behind, in order garb Pit's arms. Avoiding the grab, and the low swing from another, Pit backed away. Every defiant ounce in him wanted to fight, but the part of him that stayed cool, and sensible in battle warned him that no battle he could not win or even escape was good.
Sweat rolled down his back as he swerved left, causing the flail looming closer to snap against the stone wall. He backed into a corner of the wall, holding out his hands in a defense against attack.
Pit was a talented fighter, he always has been since he can remember. However at the time, he was no match for the guards. They were well feed and had access to luxuries that the prisoners could barely remember anymore. Pit still felt sore from losing to the maniac in green the day before. The result being his blocks were off and a just a bit slow.
Mistakes that in his position, were not affordable. His side was bruised as it slammed into the wall after a heavy hit with a mall. His shoulder screeched in agony to his nerves when the heavy glaive of a guards thrust into it. A situation desperate enough that even Pit, known for his arrogance in thought saw no way of heroically winning.
In that case he did the one thing that could derive these depraved guards of something. He refused to scream, whimper or moan in the pain. Not the one thing every sicko in the world gleefully wished for in there sadistic fantasies. Even when his exhausted body fell on the ground, he said nothing. Screamed nothing. Begged for nothing. He closed off his voice from the hearing of others.
They dragged him to somewhere by the roots of his hair. Through swollen eyes he saw a crowd of other prisoner's, including Red who watched him. Only Red seemed to look horrified. The others just looked on with dispassionate eyes that stared blankly.
Damn them, damn them all. Where had there spirits gone to make them so limp. Did they break like brittle sticks after there first look of this place. As the guards summoned every prisoner with the sound of a gong, Pit glared through the pain. They all looked like wilted stems in a pond to him at that moment. They could have tried to fight this place. Hell, they could show some emotion. Something to make them real.
Shadowed figures then as his vision blacked. Did nothing touch them anymore so twisted by the nature of here there spot of hatred they lived in. Suffering should not make anyone close their heart. So damn them. All that remained clear to him was Red. Red cared, he still clung to his heart, and embraced the sorrow. Red was a good person, a person caught in the etches of fate and wrung out to dry, nothing he did qualified him for hell. Nothing at all. That was something Pit held onto, in his mind to block the escalating injuries. An example for the others the guards thought. An example not to fight their leadership, and sheer might.
Fools. Pit was going to prove that he still had fight. He would fight, and continue to do so for as long as it took before he was out of here or dead and embraced by death's guardian.
Don't worry, Red. We will get out of here. I swear.
Someone raised their lip disgust at the angel being beaten. Idiot and Moron were barely terms that covered his absolute stupidity. It was like the kid wanted to get hurt.
One didn't fight here because there was nothing to fight. Even if you got rid of the guards, they were only pawns, the true leader were unreachable form the short grasp available to the imprisoned. That the person had learned the hard way, through blood and tears. And the scars of in their sight.
The only things to do here were to keep ones head down and jump when told to do so. Then you prayed either to survive for as long as possible like a drowning rat fighting for breath or to die quickly, and painlessly in the ring of torment. Whatever one's preference here was. The place for heroism was were you were visible to the eyes of all. Not in the shadowed corners they lived in, and breathed in for there every breath.
The person casts their eyes down when they throw the unconscious body on the post to remain for the rest of the night. If the angel had smarts he'd quit now. Before he lost his life for nothing.
The person was the last to skitter out of them except for that kid with the Pokemon. He timidly crept to Pit's unconscious form. A friendship perhaps? The more pain for them then. The more for the true villain to use in his playpen of hell
Once the person could have recalled having a trusted friend but events had blackened the person's heart and they knew it. The best way to live without anguish was to rip remorse away. That meant no bonds were forged. Not by those who wished to no longer to feel the edge of the knife called guilt, and the stone of the hammer called failure.
The higher up your ideal of nature was, the harder you fall. The person had watched someone fall once far. Never again would the person watch with the same eyes.
Yay, for the second chapter being out. Hopefully everyone enjoyed it, then did the wonderful thing of reviewing.