Okay, this is the worst chapter for the torturing. If you make it through here, I don't think there's much more to fear, at least in terms of blood and gore. The psychological stuff might be tougher later on, though.
This is the chapter that is titled in my head the "I AM SO EVIL AND SORRY NOT SORRY" chapter. That about sums it up.
Enjoy!
Melancholy and sadness are the start of doubt...doubt is the beginning of despair; despair is the cruel beginning of the differing degrees of wickedness. – Comte de Lautreamont
-==OOO==-
Alone in the darkness, Kento raged.
"I've gotta get out of here! The guys need me!"
Summoning up all his strength, he focused on his guiding virtue. Justice.
The darkness was unmoved.
-==OOO==-
Sage was struggling to keep his mind focused.
"If the armors have been corrupted, it will take all my power and the purest of Grace to even have a hope of breaking through. I cannot allow anything else to distract me."
But the oppressive darkness made it hard for the warrior to keep his thoughts from turning dark themselves.
"If Skullmaster has taken all of us, Max is alone against his greatest enemy. I trust that he will survive the encounter…but at what cost?"
-==OOO==-
Virgil wasn't sure who was the more relieved when the airplane door finally opened – himself, that they had at last arrived in Cape Town, Norman for the same reason, or the flight attendants who could clearly tell any delay at all in releasing the passengers might result in Norman forcibly removing the door himself. Virgil knew perfectly well that Norman was not only entirely physically capable of ripping the airplane door open, but at this point, the Viking was more than willing to do it as well.
Norman didn't even wait for the all-clear signal or for the last poor cabin attendant to get out of his way before he was shouldering through the narrow aisle and bumping aside anyone between him and the exit. Virgil could only follow in his wake, murmuring apologies.
They'd just reached the door when the captain began to announce, "Representatives of the airline will be on-hand to help you reach your final destinations…"
"Virgil." Norman's voice was cold and sharp. "Now what." It was not even a question.
But the Guardian's tone grounded Virgil back in reality and his flustered relief at not having to deal with confused civilians melted away, leaving only the diamond-strong core that had kept him alive since eons before the fall of Lemuria.
"Now we must arrange for a private plane to take us to the nearest airstrip to the exit portal in the Namib," he said, striding forward as Norman fell in beside him. "It will be faster to hire someone from our current location than to contact the plane I'd already reserved out of Johannesburg and have them pick us up here."
Norman nodded his silent assent. His fingers itched with a need to do something, anything. His boy needed him.
They were most of the way through the concourse when they heard the commotion ahead.
"What is it?" Virgil asked, his diminutive stature preventing him from being able to see over the crowd.
Norman froze before he reached down and plucked Virgil from the ground. A few moments later, a stampede of panicked civilians were streaming their way. Norman could withstand the crowd between his size and sheer mass, but Virgil was just as grateful to settle on his shoulder and avoid being trampled – even if he could almost hear the Mighty One making a comment about him looking like a parrot or some such thing.
"We need to go that way?" Norman asked.
"Yes," Virgil said.
"All right then." And Norman began wading against the sea of fleeing humanity towards their destination. Because, as far as he was concerned, if there was even one pilot with a working plane in that direction – even if that plane was inches from a nuclear meltdown or a monster or a black hole – that was the only thing that mattered.
But the crashingly loud roar a few moments later was unexpected.
Norman actually paused for an instant. "I know that roar."
He picked up the pace, jogging now around the last of the mass of frightened people. Virgil, still perched on his shoulder, held onto the Guardian's broad arm, his beak clacking at the bumpy stride.
"Norman, what is it?"
They rounded a corner and Norman had a clear view down into the arrivals area where a squadron of security and police officers were trying to maintain a perimeter amidst the chaos.
Norman actually smirked. "An old friend."
Virgil frowned darkly at the Viking. But before he could ask, his eyes seized onto a familiar spot of red. "The Cap!"
Within the circle of the police officers who hung back hesitantly, an enormous white tiger was growling ferociously. Its tail whipped back and forth and its body was poised to spring. But it was the red Cosmic Cap held between the tiger's teeth that drew all of Virgil's attention.
Norman called out in a loud voice, "Bai Huo!"
The tiger turned to look at him, a few guards between them shying away from the creature's sudden attention. With an audible huff, the tiger bounded forward. It leaped over the assembled peacekeepers and raced to where Norman stood at the top of an escalator.
"What is going on here?" Virgil demanded as the tiger drew up near. "Why do you have the Cosmic Cap? Who are you? How does Norman know you?"
Norman ran one hand fondly over the cat's great head before turning his attention to the squad of armed forces now heading their way. "Maybe we should get out of here first," he suggested.
Virgil made an ugly squawking noise but he acquiesced quickly and slid to the ground. Drawing forth the scroll he always kept within his robes, he searched for the nearest portal. "There. In that gift shop. Quickly now." But before he moved a step forward, he peered at the tiger.
"It's okay, Virgil," Norman said.
"The Cap," Virgil commanded, his voice remote and cool.
The tiger made a low almost humming noise and gently dropped the Cosmic Cap into Virgil's outstretched hands.
"Good. Now let's go," Norman said. He scooped up Virgil once more and set out at a brisk sprint for the portal, the tiger keeping up at his side and leaving the rightly-alarmed guards behind.
But as the Cap glowed in Virgil's grip and the portal burst to life, the Lemurian felt his own heart sinking. What can have happened to the Mighty One?
Virgil almost hoped the tiger would balk at the portal, but it followed docilely as though unsurprised by the magical vortex. A few moments later, the three of them plopped out onto a rocky, dry mountainside in Utah. Virgil was gratified that Norman landed as easily as always, setting him on the scrubby ground after just a moment. The tiger exited the portal with a graceful leap and sat before them.
"Norman, I believe you owe me an explanation."
The Guardian nodded. "Bai Huo came to me when I was a young warrior, shortly after I earned my first ten-thousand years of life. He kept me company for almost a hundred years as we wandered the world. When he left, it was because he was needed to help another young one find their way on the true warrior's path."
Virgil assessed the tiger more carefully. It was substantially larger than most white tigers ever became, and the look in its dark brown eyes was uncommonly intelligent.
"He's not a normal tiger," Norman added.
Virgil glared mildly at him. "Obviously. I suspect he is a spirit of some kind, perhaps even a lesser deity."
Bai Huo rumbled low in his chest.
"But the question remains," Virgil said. "How did you happen upon the Cap? You must have been with the Mighty One. Is he alright?"
The tiger looked downward, his expression openly pained.
"Then how did you come by the Cap? Did you take it from him?" Virgil asked sharply.
Bai Huo's head came up at the tone and he growled darkly, clearly offended.
"That means no," Norman offered.
Virgil stepped forward then. With the tiger sitting, they were almost the same height. Virgil reached up and, heedless of the growl, touched a feathered hand to the tiger's head.
When he spoke, his voice was soft. "The Mighty One sent you away with it, didn't he?"
Bai Huo nodded with a slight whine.
Virgil nodded too, closing his eyes. "Only something extremely dangerous, a truly hopeless situation, could leave the Mighty One with no option but to surrender the Cap and send it away for safe-keeping. Not simply being lost in the desert. The Cap-Bearer must have been certain there was no possible chance for him to escape. That suggests danger of the highest order."
Norman stepped up behind Virgil and rested a heavy hand on the Lemurian's shoulder. He knew Virgil was remembering another Cap-Bearer who had left the Cap behind in order to save the world.
Virgil roughly cleared his throat. "But he isn't dead."
Norman swallowed harshly. "Of course he isn't."
"No," Virgil opened his eyes and turned to the Guardian. "This is not mere faith on my part. The Cap is here and still in this form. Thus, the Mighty One as we know him has not yet fallen."
Norman frowned with confusion.
"You know that the Cap's appearance is dependent upon the one who will wear it to victory, correct? When Maximus," his voice hitched very slightly on the first Cap-Bearer's name, "made the decision to launch a final stand against Skullmaster, that was when it changed its shape. Before that time, it had been a scarlet helmet. It was then that I knew Maximus would fail and another Cap-Bearer would be called."
"So, because it's still a ballcap, it means our Mighty One is still alive," Norman concluded.
"Yes," Virgil nodded. "But in perhaps the gravest of dangers. We must find him."
"How?" Norman asked. "Bai Huo doesn't talk." His tension, which had faded somewhat at the unexpected appearance of his old companion, returned in full-force. Before, he'd been fearing an injured Cap-Bearer alone in a desert. Now, that same boy had apparently run into something much worse – and there was no telling how hurt he'd been to start with.
Virgil turned back to the tiger. "Can you take us to him?" He held out the portal scroll.
Bai Huo nodded once and bumped his nose on the parchment.
"Mighty Max is in Japan," Virgil said. "Come. We haven't a moment to lose."
-==OOO==-
Rowen stared into the darkness calmly, his normally-racing mind still for once. Rowen's guiding virtue of Wisdom was not necessarily synonymous with intelligence, and at the moment he thought he was not deserving of either.
"To be fair, I really didn't have any way of guessing about Skullmaster. None of us did."
But even though he could forgive himself for being so very caught by surprise, there was something far more insidious that held a prominent place in his thoughts.
"I thought we had more time. Even if Talpa could ever return, and I didn't think it was particularly likely, I estimated it would take him several years to build up enough power. I thought we could solve the problem of the armors and the virtues slowly – and we could heal the rift at the same time."
He closed his eyes with a pained sigh.
"I waved Sage off. I shouldn't have. There's no guarantee things would be better if we had acted then, if we had said something. But I'd be willing to bet we'd have more room to maneuver if Cye's guiding virtue was with us."
-==OOO==-
Cye curled his arms around his knees, clutching himself in the smallest, tightest ball he could make of his lanky frame.
"I was right. I was right all along. The evil in the armors is too strong. And now Max is going to die and that monster is going to use Talpa's power to take over the world. I should have said something. I should have told the others that we should fear the armors. We should have left them behind so that Skullmaster couldn't use them against us. We should never have trusted the armors!"
A powerful ache rumbled through Cye's chest.
"But would they even have listened to me? Why should they trust me when I can't even trust myself?"
-==OOO==-
Max couldn't tell if he'd been in Talpa's armor for hours or days or years.
He was losing track of what it felt like not to be in pain. His broken arm still screamed, but Max was so caught up in so many other aches it was just one more. And not just the aches of his body – which were grievous enough given that Skullmaster seemed to truly enjoy twisting the armor and bending Max's vulnerable body in increasingly devastating ways. Max didn't even know if he still had feet attached anymore; he certainly couldn't feel them.
But worse than the sickening crunch as the armor's arm bent his broken limb was the electrifying pulse that went through him as Skullmaster tapped into the boy's inherent powers. Max didn't even have words for that sensation, that violation of his spirit. Skullmaster could rip past the boundary of Max's body and grab onto his soul, tearing his gift from him and turning it to evil use. Max faintly remembered the warm pulse of the universe as it existed in the portals, the fierce strength of the cosmos when they answered him.
And now I'm polluting those very forces. Dirtying them, profaning them, defiling them. I'm so sorry.
"You should be."
The low voice of Skullmaster wrapped around Max like a caress and he shivered.
"It's not bad enough that I'm strung up in here," he managed to gasp, "but I'd rather have you torture me with math homework than listen to you talk."
Max could feel the glee that met his words.
"You may try to hide your fears from me if you wish. It makes your failing courage even more delightful. Play the brave hero for as long as you can. I will enjoy your final surrender all the more for it."
And that – that was what was breaking Max's spirit. More than the pain, more than the vileness of his gifts turned to evil. Skullmaster was sitting inside his head, feeling his emotions, reaching in so that Max could conceal no pain, no fear, no shame. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to flee that Skullmaster couldn't reach him, read his thoughts, and pull them out into the open. And even as Max kept trying to be brave, kept trying to withstand it, his defenses were falling.
How long could one mind, no matter how strong, stand against such an onslaught?
Max felt like a frog staked out for dissection. He couldn't stop the sharp knives from cutting into him, seeing what was inside him, pulling it out at will. He couldn't keep his body from breaking apart. He couldn't retreat, couldn't escape. Skullmaster could pluck out his heart and slice it to ribbons, and Max could only watch.
"Yes, Cap-Bearer. Feel your helpless impotence. Your vulnerability. Every paltry beat of your heart is mine, now and forever!"
Max grit his teeth. He couldn't think of a good, snappy comeback, but he resisted the despair. He could not, would not allow Skullmaster's soul to hurt him.
"You don't have much choice about it, hero."
True, but I can try.
"For every instant you resist me, every sinew of courage you try to raise against me, I will rain pain and humiliation and suffering upon you tenfold." Skullmaster's voice wasn't loud and threatening and angry, and that made it all the more frightening. He said it matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather. It was the casual certainty, and the truth behind it, that shook Max to his bones.
Maybe that's all I can do. Maybe the only resistance I have left is just that – resistance. I can't stop him, I can't beat him, I can't even save myself. But maybe I can slow him down a little while he thinks about what he's going to do to me to break me. At least until he succeeds. The hope surged in Max's chest. It wasn't much of a plan, but at least it gave him something to do.
"Ah, Mighty One. So foolish your hope, so charming your stubborn pride. Shall I demonstrate how truly powerless you are?"
"Not sure it makes a whole lot of difference, Skully," Max shot back, even though his lungs wheezed as he said it.
"I'm certain I can find something to entertain you," Skullmaster purred back.
Whatever he does to me, he's focusing on me. And I can keep him pinned right here. Or die trying.
"Oh, you will. But not yet." Then the voice of Skullmaster sounded outward, echoing strangely within the suit of armor. "Go! Bring me what I require!"
The five Ronin suits of armor moved like robots, filing out the broad door of the tower room in silence. Max wasn't sure what they'd be bringing back, and he was certain he didn't really want to know. Anticipating it won't make it hurt any less.
Skullmaster was quiet for a while, his attention clearly not entirely on the boy trapped within Talpa's armor, and Max used the momentary reprieve to close his eyes and just focus on breathing in and out. It was a trick he'd picked up from one of his teachers at the various community centers where he took lessons for everything from acrobatics to diving. He envisioned the small, sharp woman who had said it to him months before: "When the only control available is control of yourself, focus on it. Steady breathing and the reliable pulse of your heart may be your only companions, but as long as you have them, you will never face anything alone." Max remembered telling her that if he didn't have breathing and a pulse, he'd be dead. She'd smiled slightly and nodded. And then she'd made him take another run at her dastardly obstacle course.
If I've got absolutely nothing else, even when I lose my nerve and Skully breaks my soul in half, I'll still be able to listen to my breathing and my heart-beat. It's better than nothing, and it might be the only thing I have left. Until he kills me. At which point, I won't care anymore either way.
A few long breaths later, he wondered, Will I even remember to listen by then? Will I remember anything about who I was before this?
That was something else Max decided he just didn't want to know. Not that it mattered. It was one of a million things he couldn't control and couldn't do anything about. He had enough to worry about keeping himself sane for as long as he could. Borrowing trouble wasn't going to get him anywhere.
The slight clanking of the Ronin armors alerted Max that whatever Skullmaster was planning was about to begin. He opened his eyes and braced himself.
But nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met him.
The five Ronin armors were arranged in a ring. Boxed in between them were seven terrified civilians.
"Chain them," Skullmaster's voice commanded.
One of the armors – Strata, Max noticed, not that it made any difference since it sure wasn't anyone with his own mind inside it – separated from the others. The seven people might have tried to escape, but the four remaining armors simply closed in on them and held them, their superior and inhuman strength making them as unmoving as stone no matter the struggles of their captives. Strata retrieved a length of black chain from somewhere. One end it wound around the nearest pillar, bending the links to fuse it into a solid noose. Then, taking each person one at a time, Strata wrapped a portion of the chain around the throats of the civilians and bent the links until he had all seven people strung along the chain as if on a leash.
"Bow before me!" Skullmaster's voice roared.
The seven people sank to their knees, struggling and choking as the chain pulled them unevenly. Max looked at them, cold fear gripping his heart. Four were dressed for working in an office, two were dressed casually in jeans and shirts, and one wore pajamas. Five were men, two were women. All were white-faced and shaking in their fear.
"They were unaware until they entered your presence, Mighty One," Skullmaster's voice said slyly. "Your proximity to them removed my curse. It's too bad. They will know their fate and see it coming."
Max was torn between yelling at Skullmaster, demanding to know what was happening, and fearing the answer.
"Allow me to give you a better view."
Without warning, the chest-plate of Talpa's armor opened a little, enough for Max's head and upper-body to be exposed to the air and light. He flinched at the sudden brightness. But even as his eyes were adjusting, Max pulled at the strange power that held him immobilized. If he could get even a little room to move…
"Wildfire!" Skullmaster snapped. The red armor stepped forward. When it drew its twin katanas, Max's icy fear went sub-zero.
Talpa's armor took one of the blades in its right hand. It held it up in front of Max's face. "Seven innocent humans. One for each time we have met face-to-face." His voice went low and guttural. "One for every time you escaped me."
Max tried to look away, to close his eyes. But his body refused to obey him.
The man on his knees at the end of the chain was looking up at Max inside the armor with tears streaking down his face. "Please…no…" he moaned.
Max couldn't even blink when the katana fell and sliced the man's head from his body in one blow.
A scream tore its way from Max's chest, a scream of rage and pain and denial that had no words and was as feral and mindless as a nightmare. He screamed and screamed. But he could not look away from the dead man.
Skullmaster waited until Max had run out of strength, until his throat flamed with pain and his chest was sore. Only then did he speak.
"Music to my ears, Cap-Bearer. How long I have waited for this!"
Max could only shake his head numbly, feeling for the first time the hot, wet tears on his cheeks that ran down his neck and splashed on his front.
Tears…and something else. Max glanced down. His shirt was covered with blood, and much of it was not his own.
The armor of Talpa shifted to the side, to the second poor soul in line.
"No…" Max rasped hoarsely. "Please…"
This time, when the blade fell on the second victim, the spray of blood hit Max in the face. He could taste it as he screamed again, though his howls were ragged and strained.
After the third victim, Max turned and bit into his own shoulder to try to stifle the hysterical sobs tearing through him.
After the fourth, Max threw up on himself.
The fifth and sixth victims were panicking by the time Skullmaster approached, choking themselves on the chain at their necks. Skullmaster was obliged to order two of the Ronin armors to hold them still, and these he sliced through the heart to kill them instead.
Max realized he was oddly grateful for that, for something other than beheading, and he threw up again in horror at his own relief.
The seventh was the one in pajamas, and Max noticed dully that he was an elderly man. In spite of the chain and the carnage beside him, this man knelt quietly, his face blank.
"Do you not fear me?" Skullmaster taunted him. He waved an arm at the six bloody bodies in his wake.
"I pity you," the man replied in a low, quavering voice.
It took Max a moment to realize that the words were directed not at Skullmaster, but at himself.
Black eyes met Max's with infinite gentleness as he added, "Your fate is far worse than mine."
Max couldn't speak, was beyond anything resembling sense. He even couldn't have lifted his head if Skullmaster wasn't controlling his body. But he tried to say "I'm sorry" to the man with his eyes.
"This is truly only the beginning, Mighty One. We have a world to slaughter together. And you have a lifetime to wallow in the knowledge that you are powerless to stop it. That it is your fault. That I have attained victory because you failed." He chuckled. "Nothing I can do to your body will harm you like this will, and if you are like every other hero I have ever destroyed, it will hurt you every single time for a long, long while. I intend to savor it."
Skullmaster closed the distance between the armor and the last captive, close enough that he could grip the man by his hair – close enough that Max was inches from the man's chest.
Close enough that Max could have counted every single tendon and sinew and artery as Skullmaster sawed through the bared neck – slowly.
The man never made a sound, not even when the last breath in his body rushed from his lungs to where his throat had been opened and the hot air swirled around Max's head.
Max felt darkness beckon and he fled into unconsciousness.
-==OOO==-
Bai Huo stopped.
Norman instantly tensed – even almost ten thousand years couldn't keep him from reacting to the companion he'd known so long ago. "What is it?"
Virgil paused. He briefly reflected that it was well that their journey to Japan did not go by way of needing to cross any major freeways where such an abrupt halt could have far messier consequences. Instead, the birds of Colombia merely cooed at them with as much disinterest as they had acknowledged their arrival.
That disinterest vanished when the white tiger reared his head back and roared.
Amidst the fluttering of dozens of wings as panicked birds took to flight, Virgil looked to Norman. "What does it mean?"
The roar faded to a moan that reminded Virgil of a wolf's lonely howl more than anything else.
Norman's face went pale. "Something is really, really wrong."
Virgil gulped around a dry throat. "We need to hurry."
