Hello my dear readers,
4 months! I managed to be quicker than the last time!
You see, after I post a chapter I usually fall into a writer's block for 2-3 months and then suddenly, the muse is back and I write the whole darned thing in a week. I wish I could change something about that rhythm, but that's how my brain do. :)
I full-heartedly wanted to thank my many, many reviewers. You really helped me, I was extremely down at the time. And since anxiety is an eternal battle, if I may be so bold, could you do it again? Every review warms my heart, no matter how long and no matter if it is critical or kind.
My dearest beta, SindelV, helped me once more perfecting this chapter. You, lady, are a treasure!
And now, as custom, I will answer individually to the reviews:
Shadow of the Hitokiri: Thank you. Yes, Lisbeth is not doing good and I guess everyone can see that she will not end well, one way or the other.
The Semi-Holy Father: Thank you so much! I put a lot of effort into psychology in this story. Many hours have flown into research about the topics of Stockholm's Syndrome and psychopathy. That it shows, makes me very proud.
TichePotato: Yes, they DO look great!
bigwoof: Thank you and thank you for making me laugh! And you might be right about that whole thing. But I can't promise river dancing. :P
Amir-015: Thank you! If it gives you goose-bumps, I guess I did my job right!
killroy225: Thank you and you are right. My gaps are very long. I wish I could shorten them. But I am not willing to sacrifice joy and quality for shorter uploading gaps. Also, I have not disregarded your idea concerning a soundtrack, in fact, I love it and wholeheartedly agree with it. Since I am a musician too, I am very critical about music and think about your suggestion a lot. I will find fitting stuff in the future, even though I have to meditate upon it further.
Grocamol: Yup. Good for her, in certain regards. But I guess she is also developing hybristophilia. This is a condition in which people feel attracted to people that commit crimes, often of the violent and deadly nature.
DashingxRogue: Thank you, glad you liked it! Sorry for keeping you waiting!
And with that, dive into Commorragh once more!
Enjoy!
Chapter 24
Falling
"That one was a compound called Bloatwrack, boring but effective and… so very quick!
You might want to run now."
— Haemonculus Bellathonis to a Venomyst, whose partner he just shot.
Three months ago...
VLOKARION LOVED IT when he was right. It was a satisfaction he never grew tired of and one of the very few things he truly treasured. Especially when it was something so rare he was right about.
Smiling contentedly to himself, he slithered his way up to the throne room of the Overlord. Or would it be the Scrying Chamber?
He chuckled to himself. He hoped it was the latter. It was always such a nice diversion trying to peer into the crystals and dissecting their functions while talking to Vect. Also, Vect's guards felt uneasy in this room. The entertaining thought of how easily the younglings could be disconcerted with just a few tricks of light always amused him.
What he was right about, was Temira. It amused and bewildered him at the same time that this simple mon-keigh girl was at the centre of his attention so very often these days.
And not only his.
His smile deepened.
She surely also stood in the centre of the Overlord's attention. And that was something even rarer, which made the whole thing even more suspicious. Vect needed her for something. If he had to take an educated guess - as all his guesses were - he figured that he needed her willing. Of course, Vect had manipulated mon-keigh in the same manner before, but he never had taken this much time and care with them. Usually, he grew tired of them a lot quicker, and Temira stayed afloat a lot longer than anyone before her.
That either spoke for her strength of will and body - which was unlikely, a mon-keigh could not stand up to Vect for that long with that amount of grandeur - or the Overlord's will to keep her unbroken.
Yes, Vect needed her intact and he needed her to idolise, no, even deify him.
To what end, that was the seriously grand question.
There was so much that could be discovered about her!
His suspicions concerning Temira had been confirmed not too long ago. He had known that something was different about her the second he first met her. After all, that had been his task on this very peculiar mission - to filter those prisoners out that were different. But even among the special ones, she had been special. He knew that she could make it. That was also why he had made sure that she would be with Chu'uk and brought to Vect directly. And for far too long, he had no opportunity to prove his theory. Terrible for a scientist like him.
But - finally! - when she had lain on his surgical table, buried under hundreds of needles and screaming her skull out, he had seen it. No, tasted it. Felt it.
It was so rare for him to feel more than just dim flickers of emotion.
She was not only the mellowest sip of suffering he had ever had.
There was more.
And he would find out what it was.
But for that, he had to shake some information loose from Vect. It was a task that would challenge even him. It was a rather improbable goal. But that was the thrill of the chase, the rhetorical game he always played with the Overlord. Additionally, talking to Vect always needed a reason. What a reason he had indeed!
The issue was that with Vect sitting in Temira's head, there was no chance for him to have a moment of true privacy with her. The Overlord would know of all his attempts to get behind the secret of Temira's specialness. He needed some true time alone with her. To do that, he had to create a perfect clone. A simple, bodily clone would not do. It would have to be able to house a personality and a soul.
The personality was easy. Transferring that was something he could do on a whim.
But the very essence of Temira, what her kind called so clumsily "soul"... no. That was something completely different.
Vlokarion was not sure how he would be able to pull that stunt. It was a vexing, most complicated question, without cheating the Overlord of his prize, which was a risk that could not be taken. However, his long life had taught him that often enough patience was the key to success.
The whiff of something deliciously great was in the air, he could feel it tingle in his spines.
But for now, he had to deal with the Overlord.
Getting the bodily composition right was not easy… and cheap. Temira was, after all, an ancient human, and reconstructing something so rare was always costly.
He needed Vect's resources. But, of course, he had to dress his idea differently. After all, if he wanted Vect's support, he had to present a good reason for the Overlord to grant him that. Luckily, he already had a good plan. It was not even a lie - it was something he had thought about for quite some time now, and it would mask his true intentions perfectly.
As a slave awaited him in front of the throne room, he knew that his wishes had come true. It would be the Scrying Chamber.
What certainly was refreshing was that the slave was fearing for its life. It was no surprise, though. Often enough those slaves that had to refer supplicants to another room met an untimely end, either because of impatient guests or because the slaves were meant as a small welcome appetizer.
This particular specimen was in luck, though. Vlokarion was not hungry - at least not for a quick kill. It would have been a waste, too. Since the slave was one of the T'au, a slow demise was better suited. Those nice, smooth innards and cool, slimy blood certainly would be wasted with a quick kill. Also, T'au skin was always a good test of how sharp one's tools were since it was harder and more leathery than those of most other races. And, to top it all off, they made especially good Talos. He should know, he invented them.
With a slight bow and trembling voice, it said, "The Overlord is awaiting you in the Scrying Chamber, my lord." A tiny translator deciphered its crude tongue for him.
As expected.
Without acknowledging the words, Vlokarion slithered along, the way well-known to him. However, he would not have been a Haemonculus if he had not added to the suffering of the creature. Showing a slow, wide smile that bared his fangs, he said, while passing the slave, "You are aware that you make yourself even more delicious and more tempting to kill the more you are afraid, yes?"
He chuckled contentedly to himself as the facial expression of the T'au escalated and with it, a new, delightful wave of fear washed over him. He never grew tired of such games.
Climbing the short staircase was no effort for him, his sturdy, artificial spine carried him comfortably. Passing the official set of quarters of the Overlord, Vlokarion smiled to himself, as many pleasant memories floated through his head, stemming from a few, private rejuvenation sessions he had hosted for Vect. Torturing someone for the Overlord was always a challenge, everything had to be planned meticulously, from choosing the right specimen, over the correct methods, to the right orchestration and order of said methods, to provide for a satisfying experience. There were not many that could stage such an exclusive event and walk away from it successfully. He was not the only one that had tried - but he was one of the very few ones that had passed this test.
Merely facets in a long way of triumph.
By now, Vlokarion had reached the antechamber to the Scrying Chamber. He remembered well when this part of Corespur had been designed - and that it had been Valossian Sythrac's idea to have the antechamber resemble a cage, another facet in another story of success. It was an elaborate piece of psychology, no doubt, and it worked on most people exactly the way it should - making them all aware that ultimately, they were all trapped.
Currently, the rain was hitting the thick glass, the shades of the flowing water drawing patterns on the mosaic floor, that made it look like it was moving. The fate of the architect that had designed the floor was not crowned with accomplishment. Vlokarion remembered that he had displeased Vect on another occasion - it was the first design of the Crucibael, he reminisced - and he had ended up gutted, flayed, and hung from the ceiling in his own office - as a reminder for the new architect.
Not entirely clean, but highly motivational and efficient, that whole affair.
The massive, metal doors, which could withstand blasts from heavy artillery, swung open without a sound and Vlokarion knew that Vect was awaiting him.
The circular dome with the ever-shifting, bilious light, which was the Scrying Chamber, received him almost empty. Vlokarion was a bit disappointed as he realised that it would be just Vect and him today, the guards and slaves were gone.
Additional subjects were a rare pleasure anyway since most of the time they had things to discuss that none other should be aware of.
Vect, of course, was seated in his lavishly decorated throne, expression slightly bored and disdainful as ever, clad in artfully decorated black robes and a simple, platinum headband resting on his temples.
"Overlord," Vlokarion uttered, while showing his obeisance with a slight bow in front of the throne.
Vect did not acknowledge his greeting whatsoever, but rather snarled, "Speak, Vlokarion! I have neither the time nor the patience to indulge you for long today."
"Naturally, Overlord," Vlokarion said in not-too-overly-honeyed tones. He already realised that today was not a good day to go and try Vect's patience. Not that there ever was an ideal day for that, but Vect's demeanour told him quickly that today was an especially bad choice. Something was amiss, and the Overlord was unhappy about it. Usually, they traded false niceties in fluting tones, but the brusque and short-worded demeanour of Vect made clear to Vlokarion that today was no time to play.
Oh, well.
He would find another time to fish for information about Temira.
Patience paid off, especially in this particular echelon.
"As resources of lifeforce and essence are plenty, yet, unfortunately, never truly unlimited in our beloved city, I have been thinking about a way to harvest it more efficiently. My latest research into the topic with the ancient mon-keigh material, provided so graciously by you from Temira, has made me realise that a clone constructed out of this precious material could indeed house nourishing essence, hence, stretching limited resources and making more of what little we have, reducing the need for raids into other regions of space. If the essence of one human could be stretched to, let's say, three of them, then most nourishment could be extracted by tormenting those three humans instead of just one, improving the quality of the lifeforce so much, that less of it could suffice for more of us," Vlokarion presented his pitch.
Immediately he knew that the topic was of interest for the Overlord, but Vect was not entirely convinced, as his next words let on, "In my understanding, what separates Temira's physiology from those of other mon-keigh, is merely time and hence, evolution. On what basis do you draw your conclusion? Also, raids are a good means to an end, to separate the wheat from the chaff. Why would I want less of them?"
Vlokarion had expected those questions and replied without hesitation, "What Temira's physiology has shown me is that it is, in a way, more potent than that of regular mon-keigh. I have seen it with a lot of things I have subjected her to, but the most predominant experiment she has gone through was the link between you and her. If her physique had not been profoundly different, and we are talking about more than mere evolution, she would have faded, just like the others. Therefore, I have a working theory, that if one were to work with that exact material and create new bodies out of it, that the spark of life and essence could be embedded in them, making them fodder that does not have to be raided, hence, saving costs and manpower. Also, I am positive that selection procedures could be easily conducted within the city, in the form of countering insurgencies or even as a spectacle, to divert the eyes of the masses, if need be. The important point is, it would mostly self-sustain those that could afford such a procedure, should the need arise for such measures."
Naturally, Vect understood the implication, scoffed, and replied with a vicious smirk, "Or those that know about it."
Vlokarion returned the smirk with false amenity and fluted back, "Or those, yes."
Shifting in his seat and resting his temple on the knuckles of his right index and middle finger, while gesticulating circularly with his other hand, Vect added, "Which would mean that those that know about it would have to make a very special contract with those that could do it."
"That goes without saying, Overlord," Vlokarion replied without altering anything about his countenance or inflexion. This was going well, considering Vect's initial mood. Then again, Vlokarion knew that Vect enjoyed those rhetorical games they played, and more often than not, they eased his temper.
Vect laughed, sitting up, fingertips cupped against each other, "It is times like these when I am reminded why I appreciate you, you old snake. Fine. Another exclusive contract, yes?" A short, well-timed break. In a musing tone, he continued, "Then again," another calculated pause, faked contemplation, "as far as I am aware, it is you that is the specialist for crafting essences and drawing out their best potential and it is Urien who is the better fleshcrafter of the two of you. It seems to me as both your expertise is required in this rather unique experiment. I think it is something that should be done between the three of us."
Vlokarion held back an exasperated sigh. Of course.
Unfortunately, Vect was completely right and they both knew it. There was nothing he could do to contradict the Overlord.
Boiling inside, as the exclusivity of the task was slipping out of his hands, but without missing a beat, Vlokarion replied, "A wise decision, my lord. It certainly would speed up things. However," Vect was not the only one that could do calculating breaks, "a missive would be needed to have Urien cooperate. He has some samples that would make the task significantly easier, but he is rather miserly with parting with them. Also, naturally, costly resources will be needed to execute the task at hand." If he had to deal with Urien for this, he might as well get his hands easily on all his ancient mon-keigh samples.
"Both are not much of an issue." Straightening himself, Vect continued, "I take it I can leave the communication with Urien to you? The missive I shall give you momentarily, to deliver yourself. For the resources, I await an itemisation."
Vlokarion nodded deferentially. "Certainly, Overlord. After all, communication can be… challenging with the Master Haemonculus." He produced a data-pad, as he had readied a rough estimate of the materials needed before he came here. Everything else would have been highly unprofessional.
Vect took the data-pad and called for a servant, to bring him tools for writing the missive, with a device on his wrist.
In the few seconds they waited, Vect scanned the itemisation and Vlokarion asked, "Oh, and may I add this delicious T'au slave you had me greet to my menagerie since it was so open to suggestions?"
Two months ago…
This slave did not do at all.
Vect always thought the same when he was drinking sips of the girl. She was just so… bland. At first, it had irked him greatly, since his doppelgänger had sung praises about the other's mellowness. That this one - he refused to recall her name, she did not deserve one - was so drudging, seemed odd to him at first. After all, almost all of the mon-keigh from this particular mission had proven to be quite delicious. He had attributed her tastelessness to the unrefined hand of his clone, but as he had explored her the first time, he realised that she was indeed… dull.
It had taken him a while to remember, but it came down to something the other one - Temira, remembering her name was vital - had said to his doppelgänger: she had been tried for a long time at a very young age. It left its marks on the essence. The more traumatic their past, the more insipid their taste, which was why well-kept and sheltered individuals from the Imperium's luxury worlds were the finest treats. They had a lot of energy to give, a lot of levels of horror to explore.
Since most individuals of the time-travel mission had been scrumptious, Vect had concluded that mon-keigh had been living much more sheltered lives in the past. Only a few of them had seemed to be severely off… and unfortunately, this one was too.
Alas, as much as he wanted to get rid of her, she still had a part to play in Temira's subjugation. So he had to deal with that, and it was jading.
Had she always screamed as much? His senses were so dulled towards those noises. Vect did not pay too much attention to what he was doing right now, his mind was occupied with other, more important things and his hands knew their trade. Nonetheless, it was vital that he touched her himself. Vect needed to know about all her weaknesses first-hand and she needed to fear him alone like nothing else, the perfect contrast to what he did to Temira. Tearing them apart was extremely important.
Suddenly, all his senses and thoughts were focused on the writhing, shackled girl. A drop of utter sweetness and savor had just caressed his essence. Could it be…?
The Overlord repeated what he had been doing and there it was again: a suffusion of complete, silky mellowness that gently stroked him.
Yes, there was no doubt about it now.
Retracting his instruments from the slave, he called for his doppelgänger.
As it was expected of it, the doppelgänger appeared quickly, quietly showing its obeisance with a deep bow.
"Call Urien and Vlokarion to the Scrying Chamber, momentarily," he ordered.
With another bow, the clone left.
Now smiling widely and ending the session, he said to the girl, stroking her hair while she shivered under his touch, sobbing heavily, "Now that makes you interesting again, my dear."
Urien had to be distracted by another idea of his. Then, it was time he included Vlokarion in the whole process. This, indeed, could work out.
Back to the present...
The first thing I realised as I woke up, was that I could feel the lower half of my body again. What had transpired yesterday was drowned in an ecstasy-fuelled haze. I figured it was for the better.
However, what I remembered all too well, was the length of it. Never, ever before had I been subjected to such a long period of denial. If I had not enjoyed it so much, it would have broken me.
Yes, enjoyment.
I felt my cheeks flushing. It was so childish, yet I could not help feeling embarrassed. It was so illogical, my reactions were solely natural, I was dealing with beings against whom I stood no chance whatsoever, whose expertise and experience were so much greater than mine. But the way humans handled sexual matters and how they educated their own on the subject was a value still too powerful within me, even after all this time in Commorragh.
"The amount of psychic suffering it brings you to reminisce on the happenings of yesterday, makes me wonder whether I should further these games with you," the voice I wanted to hear the very least cut into my thoughts.
Taking a deep, tormented breath, I sat up. Too quickly - vertigo hit me immediately and as I wanted to speak, my vocal cords refused to obey me, because my throat was so dry. After all that moaning and screaming, it was no surprise. All I managed was a coughing fit that felt like my lungs wanted to crawl out my throat. Ungainly, I fell to the side.
As I settled down, hearing anything but my rebelling lungs, the darkest chuckle graced my ears. "Easy now, Temira. What you have gone through might have killed someone with a less steeled body than yours. Vlokarion certainly made you more entertaining than before." The dispassion in Vect's inflexion was evident and crushing. It was hard to tell if he meant what he said or whether it was a bleak, pitch-black joke. At least, the notion was disconcerting, after what he had done to me yesterday.
I flinched massively as I felt his touch at my nape, but his reflexes were faster than my flinch. Closing his grip, he sat me up and forced the rim of a cup between my teeth. "Drink. This will get you back into a usable condition," he ordered me. The calmness of his inflexion somehow made the words sound more menacing than they were probably meant.
I did as bidden and carefully did the first sip. I felt lucky that the fluid tasted slightly sweet and nothing more. I immediately got what he meant - my mucosas felt a lot smoother with this first sip than they would have with regular water. Now greedily, I wanted to chug down more…
"Slowly! At this rate, you will throw it up again!" Vect barked at me. "It makes me think you have too little experience with dehydration." The threat was evident. I had to get it together, and fast.
He was right, though. I remembered now what had happened after the trial Hesperax had subjected me to in terms of dehydration and that I had drunk too greedily back then - much to my demise.
I felt better with every sip. The vertigo eased up a bit, my mouth and throat did not feel like sandpaper anymore. As I was done, he let go of me, this time I caught myself a bit more elegantly than before. I was still shaking, as I found.
"Now, give it a bit of time. When you feel stable, go take a shower. Do not rush it, if you collapse again, I will not carry you around!" Vect snarled. "Although, a drop on the carpet might do you good if you do not know your limits."
He was meaner than usual, that much was clear. Of course, I had no idea what had soured his mood so, but I had to tread utterly carefully. Quietly, I managed to say, "Of course, Overlord. Thank you, Overlord." Even though I usually was allowed a bit more leniency, I figured that leaving out his title right now was a bad idea.
Vect did not acknowledge my deference. I just heard that he seated himself at the table. Breakfast sounded like a marvellous idea once I got my body under control.
I heeded his advice and gently laid down again, covering my otherwise naked body with the blanket, shivering. The drink had felt good at first - now I felt cold. Nothing was ever truly pleasant around here.
I was not sure how long I needed to recover, but I was very uneasy as I laid there, knowing that even though my master had told me to take it slow, that I better did not dare to slack off for even a second. My body changed from cold to warm eventually and with the warmth, I felt more alive again, my heartbeat also finding its normal rhythm. I did not remember exactly what he had done to me, but the bruises and cuts I had sustained, as well as my still throbbing throat, abdomen and thighs made me understand that it had been more than the surgical precision I knew so well. I felt like he had devoured a part of me, and the dire truth was that it was probably true. The game the Lhamaean had played with me beforehand was somehow dimmed and even extinguished by the sheer darkness that was Vect.
I positively had never felt so miserable after sleeping with him. Even though the warmth now had returned to my body, somehow, still a cold feeling remained, like ice that engulfed my stomach. I felt… hollow.
Nonetheless, wallowing in my misery would not help me survive, hence, I shoved the thought aside - with much less effort than it should be, I noticed - and sat up, opening my eyes for the first time today.
I had to blink a few times before my vision was acute, and the first thing I saw was a sardonic smirk, which Vect shot at me from under his brow, while he was slowly chewing on his breakfast.
I could not stand to look at him, not now, and therefore lowered my gaze and said, "Thank you for giving me time, Overlord."
He scoffed and replied, "As I said, there is no use in having you collapse. Mon-keigh bodies can only take so much."
I just nodded in answer. Then, I put the blanket aside, not looking too closely at my bruised body, and wiggled to the side of the bed, gritting my teeth because of the friction against the bottom of my lower abdomen.
I was reminded of the blades and barbs that protruded from the side of the bed and decided that a brush with them was not what I wanted right now. Therefore, I placed my feet and hands onto its rim, coiled up, and jumped out of the bed.
It almost was a disaster.
The strength of my legs had not entirely returned and my jump was a lot shorter than I wanted it to be. With gritted teeth and a grunt, I landed, searing pain burning through my thighs and knees from the impact, but I at least crouched and did not knock my teeth out on the floor. However, a tiny part of my left buttcheek had touched one of the blades and I felt that the edge had shaved a bit of my epidermis off. There was no injury, but it made me realise how incredibly sharp those blades had to be.
Biting down all noises, I got up, facial expression escalating, but I was looking away from the Overlord. "That was a rather… pitiful attempt," he commented sarcastically.
I could not help it, I had to chuckle shortly, because he was right, even though I felt like one of his hands was still at my throat.
Just like yesterday.
Oh no, I started to remember.
Pushing against the rising memories, I looked at him over my shoulder, smiled, and said, "Miscalculation seems to be my thing today."
"Apparently," he slowly said, teeth flashing with his sardonic smile.
Good. I still managed to entertain him. That felt better.
Without any further ado, I went into the bathroom, as he had ordered. And I understood why - I needed a shower. Direly.
He had not told me to hurry, so I relished the warm water raining down on me for a while. As usual, it burned at first, but soon it was soothing, easing the tension of my muscles and calming some of the aches in my body. I also used my breathing techniques, not because of the pain, but because of what my mind was currently going through. I remembered more and more from yesterday's deeds and came to realise once more how much more gently Vect had treated me before the Carnival. Yes, the gloves were coming off, that was for sure. I just hoped that my enhancements were strong enough to let me make it. Currently, it seemed as if they were barely enough.
After I had relished the shower long enough to gather myself sufficiently to face the Overlord with more than just the bare minimum of composure, I dried my body and did my hair, and dressed in what was prepared for me, which reminded me strongly of my training clothes in the Crucibael. The look in the mirror reminded me of a lot of details of yesterday's 'adventure', but I swallowed the memories down. I realised the power of my regenerative upgrade once again, as I knew that after what he had done to me, I should not be standing here with some light bruises and mostly healed injuries. I took a deep breath, then got back into the main room of the quarters.
I came back to a freshly made bed and cool, fresh air. It made me halt for a second because it was so unusual.
The Overlord was now standing in front of the window row of his quarters, but they were now opened. A soft wind swept through the room and it brought with it this unusually fresh air. The eternal, underlying stench of blood, tears, and death that usually reigned in Commorragh could not be perceived right now, up here, in this sanctuary. I was surprised that the Overlord dared to stand at an open window; snipers could be anywhere.
And yet again it underlined the unique position Vect was in.
He did not have to fear constantly for his life. It was pure luxury in this deadly city.
Strangely, I felt moved as the wind played with his long, black hair and equally ebon robe; the eternal, crimson light drawing soft shadows onto his immaculate face. It was such an unusual and peaceful picture of him that did not fit the monster that lay beneath.
"Come here, child. Let's have a moment of peace," he said and he sounded strangely sober.
I did as bid, clenching my teeth as I crossed the carpet, and came to his side. The fresh air swept the last of my drowsiness and dizziness aside, even though it made me shiver, as it was quite cold.
The view was breathtaking. Looking over the pure vastness and chaos that was Commorragh never grew old. Also, it was a new angle that I did not know by heart.
For a while, we stood in silence, and had I not perceived the slightly choking sensation in my throat, I would have forgotten who I was with.
All of a sudden, he said, "A word of advice, child."
Confused, I looked at him, "Master?"
His gaze met mine, and for the first time today, I was able to meet it. "Do not dwell on things that happened yesterday, unless you want to learn from them. I appreciate this constant racing of your mind, it is rather luscious, but you are wasting what limited capacity you have, and I demand you to be sharp today."
"I… will take that to heart, Overlord," I gave back dutifully. I had no idea how to manage that. It was not like one could not dwell on traumatic things, even if they were mixed with pleasure.
"Good. Now, go, eat. You will need quite some endurance today," he demanded.
I bowed slightly to him and did as bidden.
For a while, the Overlord continued looking out of the window. Even though I enjoyed not having to meet his gaze while eating, slowly but steadily the temperature in the room became too low for my scanty clothes.
As the tips of my toes and fingers started to feel numb, he finally closed the windows and came to me. I did not even question once that this had been some cruel calculation.
Suddenly, I remembered something I still had to confess to him. Even though he most likely already knew, it was dangerous to withhold things from him.
So, I swallowed my current bite, gathered my composure, and said, "Master, there is something I have to confess, which just crossed my mind. I indirectly told my co-competitors about my non-Imperial origins. I hope for your forgiveness and expect my punishment for my failure."
I tensed up before he said, "An undesirable mistake on your behalf, but a none too severe one. Those Archons that have listened in, probably already suspected as much in the first place, and those that have not, have no slaves anymore that could tell them. It matters little." Of course, he left open whether he would make me suffer for it, but his answer was rather benign.
"I see, master. I thank you for your indulgence in the matter," I replied carefully.
Vect tilted his head and mused, "Hm. I find myself indulging you a lot. But then again, your honesty is rather unusual. I am not used to my slaves not trying to hide something from me that would bring them potential punishment."
"I've said it before and I say it again: there is no point in lying to you. I always knew that," I replied.
"Yes, and that makes you such a good girl," he said with an acerb smile.
His tone and this horrid smile froze me. He did not touch me, but I felt like he had his hand at my nape. Suddenly, swallowing was hard and the food lost its appeal for me. I needed to talk about something else and fast.
"Something I have been wondering about, if I may, my lord?" I asked him cautiously. Luckily, there were still a million things I wanted to know.
Vect nodded.
Phew. "Even though I had the most excellent support I could possibly get in the Carnival, I still felt barely superior to my co-competitors. Is there a particular reason I am missing, master?" I inquired.
The Overlord scoffed yet again, and answered, "It is quite simple, child. Yet, there are multiple points to consider. For one, you were not the only one that was enhanced. The ones that made it to the prize room had similar upgrades, no matter how stupid you perceived some of them to be. Two, it is a rather good example of how much the skill level and base materials matter. A lesser Haemonculus than Vlokarion would not have been able to draw that much potential out of you, not only levelling you but making you surpass competitors that were more experienced, stronger, and fitter than you in the first place, something that you could never level with by yourself. Also, your evolutionary less advanced physique is simply weaker than those of the Imperials and it needed a far sharper mind to work with it. And three, do not forget that even the best teacher is meaningless if the student cannot keep up."
Unsurprisingly, his points were pretty good and I hated to admit that he was right. In fact, I had not considered them. When I looked at it like this, it was most likely that I would not have come out on top if I had not had a helping hand from the very best Commorragh had to offer.
"I see, my lord," I answered. There was not much more to say. Also, I was done eating. My indestructible appetite had never failed me before. I was positive that it never had been like that before, and he had done worse things while punishing me than yesterday. So, it was not that. Something had changed.
Maybe it was because the pain started to become predominant in everything he did to me?
I could not tell.
That I did not know threw me off.
While Vect had been speaking, he had reached for the wooden box I had already seen yesterday on the table, and from his robes, he had produced a small, metal cylinder on which his seal, intertwined with the sign of the Black Heart, were engraved.
As he saw that I was done, he said, "You will bring this," he put the cylinder between us, "to Zuol. But since even Corespur is a place that can be dangerous for a lone slave, I have decided to equip you with those." He opened the wooden box and showed its contents to me.
I raised my eyebrows in disbelief as I saw what the box contained. It was my daggers from the Carnival (clearly cleaned and refilled as a small gauge showed me) and a small, plain band, whose function I did not know.
This was huge.
Slaves usually did not get equipped with weapons. I needed a few seconds to answer, "I… Thank you, master! I am honoured."
Vect scoffed at my almost childish joy and said, "Do not get any dim-witted ideas, yes? I think I do not have to tell you what is going to happen if you dare to betray my trust."
I shook my head, "No, of course, not, master! I would never!"
A sincere, sinister smile. "Of course, you do not. And strangely, I believe that when you say it. You have always been such a loyal little dove."
I could not tell whether he was mocking me or not, but then again, did it matter? I asked, "My lord, what is that band for?"
"It is a wristband, which will show you where to go. After all, you have not seen much of the rest of the tower, and I do not want you to get lost," Vect explained, that unsettling smile still on his features.
"Of course, Overlord. When I am back, where do you want me to go? To the throne room, the Scrying Chamber, the other quarters or here?"
"When you are done, you will come back here and stay here. However, you may not go into the garden for now. I might have another errand for you later and I do not want to waste time searching for you. Also, when you are back, you will put everything back into the box."
"Naturally, my lord," I said and got up. "Is there anything I shall relay to Archon Zuol in words?"
"No, the cylinder contains everything he needs to know. Now, go! It will take a while for you to reach his demesne, especially because you are not allowed to use any kind of other transportation than your own two feet. Think of it as endurance training, I want to keep you physically fit," Vect ordered.
I equipped my daggers and the wristband, bowed to him as custom demanded it, and then left.
When I was out of the secret area of Corespur, I sighed deeply. This would not be a cakewalk. For one, this errand meant that I would have to run up and down a lot of stairs. And for two, because I was known to a wide populace of Commorragh, I would have to be utterly careful. It was not like the city was a safe place in general, but being famous did not help the matter at all. Especially if you were a slave.
Was this another test? Vect had never had me run errands before. Or did it not happen because I only now was finally capable enough to do so? Without any fighting skills, wandering around in Commorragh was a surefire way to get killed. I just hoped that Corespur was a bit safer than the outside of the city.
Even though I jogged along with a queasy feeling concerning the way that lay before me, I also felt excited. I had always longed to see more of Corespur, and as it seemed, now was my chance, as perilous as it was.
As I reached the top of the enormous winding stair that dominated a big portion of Corespur, I halted and activated the wristband. A small holo-map got projected into the air, and I could see the path that was laid out for me. Down the stairs it was, but not completely.
As I jogged down, I remembered all the unpleasant occasions I had been on it. The very first time I had stepped into Corespur. Oh, how naive and afraid I had been back then! Chu'uk and his crude games seemed like child's play when I looked back now. They would not even faze me anymore. Since I had trodden in high Commorrite society for so long, I now realised very intensely how unfit for his position Chu'uk truly had been. I mean, I had noticed that he was not particularly smart for an Archon even back then, but the breadth of his idiocy was astounding. One did not write down their assassination plot against Vect.
I could not help but giggle. What a moron! I wondered if he was still alive, somewhere, in the belly of the beast.
The other time was less joyful to remember. It had been when I had gotten eviscerated by the assassin. I tried not to think too hard about it. I had been so lucky that Vlokarion had been around. Now when I thought back about it, I had been lucky in general that Vlokarion was around. It was ironic that of all the people around here, the torture master was the one that had always kept me safe. It still was weird, but Vlokarion most likely had his own evil agenda.
As I trotted down the stairs, something happened I had hoped I could avoid somehow, even though the notion was ridiculous. A squad of Trueborn Kabalites came up the stairs. They probably were the mounting of the guard upstairs.
I lowered my head and focused on the stairs in front of me, trying to look as much like a beaten and broken slave as possible. Unremarkable, so to say.
I held my breath as they passed me.
However, I was not in luck. These stairs were not a good spot for me.
I heard that they halted, and then one of them barked at me, "Hey, you! Show us your permit!"
It struck me like lightning. Right. Usually, slaves were not allowed to use the main stairs without one. How could I have forgotten about this? My one-year break was apparently getting me into trouble.
Uncomfortable, I shifted from one foot to the other. Without looking up, I said, "I'm sorry, my lord, I don't have one. I come directly from the Overlord and are to deliver this," I showed him the cylinder, "to Archon Zuol."
I could not see the face of the one talking to me, for one because I did not look and for two because they wore helmets.
"I know the Overlord's messengers, you lying bitch," he hissed at me and grabbed me by my hair, shoving my head into my neck.
As he saw my face, he immediately let me go again, as if I was searing hot. He grumbled tensely, "Oh, it's you. Never mind, then. Move along!"
I did exactly that. I fled down the stairs.
It seemed as if my fame was not so bad for me after all.
My higher speed brought me quickly to the crossroads where I had to leave the stairs. An encounter like that again was now out of the question. I was relieved.
A long, dark corridor now received me. I once more had to acknowledge how enormous and ornate everything was around here. The hallway was easily five meters high and a multitude of others quite like it branched off of it. Each square centimetre of the floor and walls was finely chiseled with vertiginous and nauseating patterns. It must have taken ages to build that tower. Luckily, I knew how to handle the scenery pretty well by now.
The map, however, guided me steadily to where to go. Whenever I heard someone coming, I hid in a corner, in another corridor, or took small detours, as a lot of ways seem to be redundant. I was sure this labyrinthine layout was another of countless countermeasures. I wanted to meet as few people as possible. Before I had come to Commorragh, I always had thought that every building had to be brimming with activity, but around here, there were not many people walking around.
As I had been running for quite a while - keeping track of time was hard in here - I had another unlucky encounter. On the far end of the corridor I was currently in, I could see a group of laughing Drukhari coming towards me. In their midst, they seemed to jerk an unfortunate slave around. Her cries were easily audible. The last thing I wanted and needed was to run into a group of bloodthirsty Kabalites. If they did not recognise me like the last ones, I was doomed.
I took a quick look at my map and saw that there were a bunch of smaller halls that led around the passage where they stood. I would take a small detour then. I picked up my pace and vanished into the side corridor.
In here, I would have been blind, had it not been for my enhanced eyes. It was pitch-black in here. It seemed as if only the bigger main hallways were dimly lit so that races that did not possess night vision could move around. I carefully padded along in the corridor, vigilant to move along quietly, as I did not want the bunch that had come my way to notice me.
Having my senses only peeled backwards was a mistake.
Suddenly, I heard a clicking noise and then a continuous hiss behind me. I looked back and saw with widening eyes that I had triggered some kind of trap. Yellowish gas was filling the hall behind me.
I started to run.
And as I did, I had to realise that the whole corridor was riddled with traps. I dodged all sorts of contraptions. Spike pits that opened up, lasers that shot out of the wall, a part where the ceiling came crashing down on me, blades that suddenly shot out from all sides…
Where the hell had I landed?
Huffing and puffing I ran, jumped, dodged, ducked, and lept through this deadly hell.
The trap that crowned it all was an enormous blade, which came down like a guillotine across the whole hallway. In a desperate dive roll, I threw myself past it. The cleaver came crashing down behind me and I felt the whiff of the blade as I made it through.
Drenched in sweat and completely out of sorts and breath, I crouched at the other end of this utterly deadly u-turn corridor. "What the fuck…?" I panted. I had not figured that one of my slight detours would end up so deadly!
I heard a door opening in the u-turn. A croaky Drukhari voice said, "Now, Grara, let's see what we have caught this time…"
I jumped up and ran, ignoring my burning muscles. I did not want to know who the one was that apparently had devised this trap hallway.
"No more detours," I huffed as I sped along the main corridor. Luckily, the bunch I had avoided earlier was gone.
Only as I was a few corners away, I allowed myself some rest. I caught my breath, fighting down a side stitch. I shook my head in disbelief. I had known that around here, there were no safe places, but the fierceness of the dangers was something I had not expected.
I just hoped that from now on, things would go a bit smoother.
After some more hours of running around in Corespur, and being rather sure that the map had made me run some detours, I came to the borders of Zuol's demesne. After my near-death experience earlier, things had gone rather smoothly. But by now, my bare feet were hurting from the sharp-edged floors and I was tired.
Luckily, the guards there let me in immediately after I showed them the message cylinder from the Overlord and pointed me towards the heart of the fiefdom.
Half an hour and a few corridors later, I stood in front of a heavily guarded, extra-heavy door made out of dark metal. I showed them the cylinder again and the Sybarite ordered one of his men to take me to the audience chamber. Without further ado, I was led inside by a taciturn Kabalite.
I could not help feeling queasy as I entered the heart of Zuol's demesne. Even though I felt safer, knowing that the heart of the domain of an Archon was more secure than the rest of Corespur, I knew about the fierceness of this particular one. That he lost a bet against Vect because I won the Carnival, probably would not add to him being favourably inclined towards me.
However, this was Zuol. I had to be tough, everything else he did not tolerate.
Zuol's fiefdom spoke of his belligerence. I was led down a corridor which was adorned with the weapons and heads of those he had slain. I had no idea who those people were, but I could at least identify that the humans presented here mostly stemmed from the Adeptus Astartes and the Inquisition. I was not surprised. A warrior of Zuol's calibre probably found not many interesting matches in regular humans.
Of the other races presented I knew too little to tell much about them, but I could see Eldar, T'au, Orks, and Rak'Gol heads.
It was not only intelligent species, though. As it seemed, Zuol also relished sporting his skills against massive beasts. His gallery of achievements certainly was something else to behold, I had seen museums that were not as well-stocked.
I was ripped out of my pondering as the Kabalite said to me, "There, that's the door. If you want to live, approach carefully."
Then, he turned on his heels and marched back to his post.
I sighed as he was gone. They were always so encouraging!
I was not fearing for my life, because I assumed Zuol was treasuring his own more, and killing me probably would put it to some kind of unpleasant end. But the implication behind that statement pointed towards some bad mood of the Archon, and that meant I had to find a very fine line between deference and toughness. Then again, when had the third-in-command of the Black Heart not been ill-tempered?
I padded along the last corridor, in which the presentation of slain enemies got even more impressive and I halted in my step as I saw Zuol's crown achievement: the head of a Drukhari male, mounted right above the door the Kabalite had pointed me to. I quickly understood. Zuol was the spitting image of this man. This had to be his father, whom he had killed to take his place in the Circle.
A shiver crept down my spine. The thought that he exhibited his father's head right above his audience chamber froze something in me. Even after all this time, on some occasions, their psychopathy still got to me.
What I found odd, was that no guards were posted right in front of the door. 'Door' was also not the right word. I stood in front of a massive gate made of ebony. Even opening it would prove to be a challenge.
Hence, I used all my weight and strength to pry one of the wings of the door open. This time, it was as hard as it looked, not like in the Carnival, when I had almost fallen over because the massive gate gave way so easily.
It fit the relentless and strength-emphasised mindset of Zuol.
I shoved myself through the small opening I had generated and straining, I closed the wing behind me again.
"Curious, I figured you would not be strong enough to open the gate," Zuol's familiar, harsh voice boomed through the room.
As I beheld him, I no longer wondered about the missing guards. Zuol was flanked by an Incubus and in here, two Trueborn guards were stationed beside the door. It did not look like much, but this trio was as deadly as they came, and that was not even counting Zuol's famed battle prowess.
The Archon himself sat at the head of a gigantic, ebon table in a throne-like chair made out of parts of weapons and armour. I figured they had been taken from his conquests outside. The table dominated the whole room, it was a marvellously ornate, yet massive piece of furniture. The whole room somehow reminded me a bit of a mead hall of a Viking jarl. It was not like the furniture looked anything remotely like those of that age, but the fashion of the room, with banners and huge weapons (probably from more conquests of Zuol) mounted to the walls and braziers, which glowed with orange light and lit the room dimly, somehow invoked that picture in me. It struck me as odd that the room was, apart from Zuol and his guards, empty. I had figured that courts of Archons were more lavish and filled with lieutenants, sycophants, and Lhamaeans, and such.
But something like that probably could be found at Ea'nash's.
I immediately greeted Zuol like it was expected of a slave to greet an Archon and said, as I was finished, looking him straight in the eye, "My current experiences have left me steeled, Archon."
"And you finally manage to look properly at me. Come here!" he said, without acknowledging my words.
Tense, but with a sure step, I came to the side of his throne, as he portended. I bowed slightly as I halted, but then stood upright and looked him in the eye again.
Without warning, he delivered a hit to my stomach. I barely saw it coming but managed to breathe out as his fist connected. I felt lucky that there was no gauntlet attached to it. Pain exploded in me. I grunted and tumbled one step backwards because of the sheer force of the hit. But my steeled, enhanced muscles and correct breathing technique kept me from being stunned or throwing up. Still, it hurt like hell.
"Some would even say 'impressive' to that. Usually, your kind throws up after a hit like that. Then again, I was not using a lot of my strength," Zuol analysed.
I had to catch my breath and fight the pain before I could answer, "I take it this happened because I made you lose the bet?" It would fit that he was that resentful.
Zuol uttered a short, hard laugh. "No, I am just analysing how good your enhancements are. Apparently, your mental faculties are adequate, and you made good choices. Also, slave girl, it was never a real bet."
I blinked and halted for a second.
Not a real bet?
Then it dawned on me, "So… you were just pushing me before the Carnival?" Inevitably I felt betrayed by my master. Had it really been necessary to put that much pressure on me?
"Naturally. As that squeamish thing you were before, you needed some encouragement," Zuol nodded. He sized me up from top to bottom and remarked, "A slave with weapons. The Overlord must put pretty high stock in you to allow this. I wonder, are you worthy of them?"
"It seems that way, Archon," I gave back dutifully, ignoring the rhetorical question.
Gesturing demandingly, Zuol said, "Very well, hand the message over. Best not keep the Overlord waiting."
I did as bidden and handed him the metal cylinder.
The DNA-encoded casing immediately opened to Zuol's touch. The holo-projector that was inside of it showed some runes I could not decipher. I figured that code language was not uncommon in Commorragh, so I thought nothing of it. Zuol quickly read the message, then typed in a short answer, packaged the projector in the capsule again, and handed it back to me.
With a fierce smile, he said to me, "Let me guess: you are wondering your skull out what stood in the message that you had to deliver it by hand, correct?"
I shook my head, "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Archon, but I know that messages of this echelon are something that is completely beyond me. I have stopped being curious about such things a while ago."
"Maybe you have learned something after all," Zuol mused.
"Is there anything else you require of me, Archon?" I asked plainly, ignoring his mockery utterly.
"No. Leave!" Zuol ordered.
Conversations were always so colourful with him. But that was Zuol in a nutshell – belligerent and taciturn. All the qualities you wanted in a good general.
I bowed shortly, then turned on my heels and went to leave the room. I heard Zuol order a slave to bring him writing gear, and promptly one appeared from a side door. I passed the tall, human man on my way out, who was carrying a small box.
As he was in my back, my hackles rose. The slightest sound of metal upon metal. A faint whiff of air.
I dodged the dagger the slave had drawn and slashed at me with a quick step to the front. I heard the blade missing me by a fair amount. I hurled around, my daggers springing into my hands. I used my momentum to deliver a fair kick to the right knee of the slave, making him go down with a howl of pain. Torn knee ligaments. He still held on to that dagger. But not for long. I hooked the blade with the curve of my left dagger and a quick twisting motion sent it flying, without cutting his fingers. With the backtrack of the movement, I elbowed him into his right temple. The rolling of his eyes told me that he was stunned. I then closed the distance completely, stepping into his lower back and flexing my arm crook around his neck, nailing him in place by tugging against the pressure of my foot in his back. One wrong move and his neck was history.
"Shall I kill him, Archon?" I asked.
"You even have to ask?" Zuol gave back, apparently amused. "Do try to not make too big of a mess."
That meant cracking his neck and slicing his throat were out of the question. Zuol wanted to see a slight mess. A broken neck would not provide that. A slashed throat would overdo it.
I nodded and silenced the pleading of the slave with a swift jab into the back of his head, coming from below, destroying his brainstem and cerebellum. A bit of blood, but not too much. He went limp almost immediately. I let go. I felt nothing. My blood pressure did not even rise.
Calmly I looked at Zuol and asked, "Why did you have me attacked?"
Baring his sharp teeth, he gave back, "To see whether you are worth those weapons."
I was confused. "Didn't you assess that already while watching the Carnival?" I asked.
"Screens are boring and too slow to show true details. Witnessing a fight first-hand is always best," Zuol explained.
"If I may ask: what is your assessment, Archon?" I wanted to know.
"You deserve them – for now. Let's see how your senses and prowess hold up once you have been dulled with menial and simple tasks for a while," Zuol smiled.
He enjoyed this, that much was clear. A warrior through and through. It was impressive.
"Thank you, my lord. I will do everything I can to avoid that," I said with a hard nod and returning his hard stare unflinchingly.
"We'll see. Now, go!" the Archon ordered.
I bowed shortly, then pried the gate open once more, and left.
I only dared to let out a relieved sigh as I had exited Zuol's demesne. That had gone better than expected. Also, I was sure that I had at least somewhat straightened out my connection to Zuol with my well-performed kill.
I still did not feel anything about the life I had taken.
Had they really turned me into a cold-blooded killer?
It seemed so. What made me wonder was that I did no longer feel terrible about that. The thing was, I kind of noticed what was going on with me, but there was no horror because of it. Had I detached myself from my emotions so much? Unfortunately, my knowledge of psychology was not broad enough to answer that question.
Maybe it was for the better.
No, it certainly was for the better.
I knew what it looked like when a slave was not able to make that cut. Lisbeth was the prime example.
"No," I hissed to myself. Thinking about her would not do me any good. It would just hurt and the Overlord would see it. And he would not like it. That was something I could never afford. I needed to get to grips with the fact that she would not survive much longer. Not if she did not get to understand that she had to change her mindset in Commorragh.
I pressed my lips together, struggling for control of my thoughts. It was by far the hardest topic to push aside. At least, human feelings were still there in this regard.
But did it really help?
I shook my head, grunting, and concentrated on the way ahead. If the way back was anything like the one that led me here, I needed my head in the game.
Suffice to say, I got lucky on the way back. I only had to duck for cover two times, and both times were rather a precaution than actual necessity. I was grateful for that, as running up the stairs was so very taxing, even with my enhanced physique. I did not know how long the way precisely was, but it surely was numerous kilometres.
Nonetheless, I only dared to relax once I had reached the secret part of Corespur again. I was looking forward to resting for a little bit, even though there was no telling when Vect would call for me again. That marathon had taken its toll on me.
I entered the new quarters, glad to be here, yet still feeling uneasy in this room. However, I was not granted my rest.
As I entered the room, I immediately saw that I was not alone. There was somebody locked up in the slave cages, and since he was pretty tall, he had very little space to manoeuvre. But that was the cruel calculation of those cages.
What hit me first was that it was a Drukhari, not one of the other races. He was littered with all different kinds of injuries, very little of his pale skin shone through and his hair was ruffled and cut relatively short - just long enough to be comfortably grabbed by it. The tips of his ears had also been cut off, and I could see that some of his wounds were inflamed. Considering his state, I was surprised that he did not smell awful. Eldar physiology clearly was something else, as I had already remarked so often.
As I had stared at him for a while, and he back at me, it dawned on me.
I knew him. Oh god, I knew him.
With a quiver in my voice, I asked, "Archon… Varys?"
Varys laughed, then coughed and caught his breath arduously. His breathing did not sound healthy, there was a rattling sound to it. "Archon no more!" he cried. "Took you long enough."
"I'm sorry, it's just hard to… recognise you," I said.
"I guess it must be pretty satisfying for you to see one of us like that," he hissed.
I shook my head. "No, the feeling I currently have is rather of the confused kind. How… how did you end up like this?"
Varys laughed again - I was puzzled that he managed his apparent pain so well - and spat, "So he hasn't told you anything at all. Typical."
"The Overlord did tell me that there had been management changes, but nothing too major. That was… untruthful, apparently," I said and as the words left my mouth, I realised this was probably the first time I had uncovered one of his direct lies. The only other thing I ever had confirmed was the issue of my menstruation cycle. Even though I was aware that Vect most likely had lied to me on many other occasions, it hurt to find out that he actually did.
Varys bared his teeth with a predatory smile as he got to feel my emotional pain. "Oh please, don't tell me that it actually hurts you that he lied to you. You are far more naive than I imagined," he mocked me.
Even though he was in no position to be a threat to me, and, even more impressively, in such a pitiful state, he still was unbelievably confident. It probably was best if I ignored him, but then again, I was sure I could shake some information loose from him. This was an important talk for me.
"It is the first time I uncover one so blatantly, though. In this case, it is normal for my race to feel betrayed," I gave back.
A sinister smile showed on his marred and sunken-in features. I only now realised how skinny he was. He probably had been starving for a long time. "How does that make you feel, being left out so much? That he did not even tell you about something so grand? Does it make you doubt your importance?"
"As I said, I feel betrayed. And yes, of course, I doubt it," I answered. "But I don't fail to notice that you have failed to answer my question." I could not allow him to get into my head, even though he made me insecure about a lot of things.
"Heh. And what if I don't answer? Are you going to torture me?" Varys's body shook with silent laughter, ignoring the barbs that set themselves deeper into his flesh with that. "I'd like to see you try."
"I know I can't. But I am aware that I am probably the first treat you got in a long time. You answer my questions - I let you feed off me," I declared.
I knew I got him with this.
"Seems as if you understand how this game works," he said, now calm. "Fine. I was the one that tried to have you killed in the Carnival."
"Oh," I uttered. Even though I was supposed to be mad at him, I was not. It was just… politics around here. Also, it fitted. I had known that Varys was a traitor for a long time. After all, Vect had me tested with that the first time I had met his Circle. Now that I thought about it, it was not as surprising as I had thought when I had seen him. That he would eventually end up like that was inevitable.
"Not infuriated at all? Either you still retain this strange emotion of compassion you mon-keigh value so much when you see me like this, or you got your head into the game around here. Both would not surprise me," he said.
Only now it hit me that he spoke with me in absolutely fluent Low Gothic. I had never thought that so many of them did.
"What good would it do me to be mad? It is not like I can take my revenge on you," I gave back.
"It's not getting any easier than this," Varys smirked sourly.
"You are not mine to punish. I am pretty sure that the Overlord would not look kindly on that," I snapped. "Whatever you might think of me, I am not that stupid!"
"For a mon-keigh, certainly not," the disgraced Archon remarked. "But, you know, at least I had some lovely company while he cut me up," Varys said and the sly, smooth tone in his voice I knew so well was back.
"What?" I asked, dreading the answer.
"Well, your lovely little friend was the highlight of my day. I have to say, for one of your kind, she is pretty tough," he continued.
I shook my head. I neither wanted nor needed to hear this.
"You still care for her, right? Oh, the things she suffered… Too bad I did not get the tiniest sip of that. It is astonishing that she is still able to walk and speak, after what he did to her… Every. Day," Varys proceeded.
I gripped the hilts of my daggers tightly. With every shred of my will, I resisted the urge to ram them into his chest. He was not mine to kill. Bad things would come for me if I did. But I also could not flee.
"Stop," I snarled at him. I hated that my voice broke. I sounded so weak!
"I hit a nerve, didn't I?" he chuckled evilly, mouth closed. "Not very smart to hang on to someone else around here, girl. Especially when they were subjected to…"
"Shut up!" I screamed at him. "I don't want to KNOW!" Why was he getting to me so much?! Why could I not hold back my emotions? I was completely breaking down, I fell to my knees, sobbing.
"I wonder how you made it so long with him if you are so easy to crack. How has he managed to…" He suddenly broke off.
"Are you DONE?!" I shouted at him, tears in my eyes.
Varys was very quiet all of a sudden. His eyes went wide. He realised something. I could see thoughts clicking in his head. After a while of silence, which was just broken by my sharp breaths and sobs, he whispered, "No…"
"What now? Took a sip too many? Not liking my taste, you bastard?" I spat at him.
"Malys was right. It's all true. You need to die," he continued whispering. His expression showed pure horror. He shoved himself against the back of the cage, apparently not even feeling the pain of the barbs.
Now realising that he was not playing anymore, I narrowed my eyes and asked, "What are you talking about?"
He whispered in a panicked tone, "Don't you realise why you are still alive? Why you are still sane? He needs…"
But he never finished.
The door to the quarters opened with a hiss and in marched the Overlord.
"That is quite enough chatter, children," he said in a calm and almost fatherly tone.
"You're insane! You're going to..." Varys continued ranting, staring Vect dead in the eye, but broke off again as he suddenly started to spasm and choke, as if all of his muscles immediately stopped working.
"Pachu'a, Pachu'a. Still, you learnt nothing. And clearly, you have forgotten about certain implants that keep you from babbling if I will it," Vect smirked. He went to the cage, opened it, and pulled Varys out of it, grabbing him at his drastically shortened hair.
As the Overlord passed me, dragging the convulsing Varys behind him, he said to me calmly, "Temira, do go and collect yourself after dear Pachu'a here tried you so. I allow you in the garden again, for now."
I just nodded, still too out of sorts, and watched quietly as Vect hauled Varys up the metal stairs and through the door at their top. Blood dripped from the grate-like metal of the stairs. Now I knew what was behind it.
I knelt there for a while, frozen, crying silently. Never before had I cracked up like that, shown my emotions so much. But the way Varys had talked to me, the words he had chosen, somehow they had… clicked with me.
I now knew for a fact how much Lisbeth had suffered. If Vect had tortured her every day indeed, then probably a lot less was left of her than I thought. I now wished that she was not here. This would end badly for her.
Also, and more importantly, what had set Varys off so much? What had he realised? Why did he and Malys want me dead so much? That the Overlord wanted me for something specific was now clear to me.
But, again, did the realisation of that really help me?
The bitter truth was, it did not. For Vect would not let me see his cards and if I started asking questions, it could very well be that my lucky streak ran out. If I was important for something, I guessed that there were backup plans for that, and if I dared to become too much of a nuisance, I would be following in Lisbeth's steps. I needed to stay good and diligent.
I snivelled, pulled myself together, and got up. I put the cylinder on the table, the daggers (who had a self-cleaning function), and the wristband back into the box and went into the bathroom. I took a shower, as I was still drenched in sweat after the long run I had behind me. The stress I just had been subjected to made it reek pretty badly. This fine nose was sometimes a curse.
As usual, the shower calmed me down a bit and I reached for the old, mental instruments Vlokarion had imparted to me. Meditation always helped. I wish I had known so much about it in my old life. I found it weird that I thought about it now, of all times. There was no use in it.
At least my master seemed to have taken all that had happened in a pretty relaxed way. The last thing I needed right now was him going medieval on me too.
After I was done with showering and drying my hair, I dressed in the silken dressing gown and matching briefs that had been prepared for me. Back in the main room, I decided to go to the garden. The plants and fresh air would do me good. As usual, the stimulator-carpet annoyed me and the hand-chair freaked me out, but luckily, I did not have to stay.
I went down the stone stairs into the garden.
Immediately, I relaxed. I had never thought that I could miss plants and greenery like this. I had lived in a big city all my life and I only got out of it when I went house-sitting. Nature had never touched me so much like now. Then again, I had not seen any plant for over two years. It was weird how closely the human psyche was connected to nature.
I wandered around for a while, inhaling the fresh air and fragrances of the plants and flowers around here. My enhanced olfactory sense was a blessing in here, even though the freshness of the air made me a bit light-headed. Sweet tones and lush nuances graced my nose, and soon I breathed pretty easily, now calm enough to push the mental invasion from before aside.
Vect indeed looked out for me. Every time I had a really hard time, he gave me a break. And each time it was measured so well that I was back on track again.
But I did realise that a breakdown like I just had should not be over so quickly. I still was pulling myself together too quickly and for the life of me, I could not figure out why that was.
I did not know how long I wandered around in the garden, letting my senses rest.
At some point, though, the realisation hit me.
It felt too good.
My eyes grew wide. I turned around to leave, as I felt that my vertigo grew stronger by the second, now definitely more than just a bit of light-headedness. My vision started to blur and changed colours; the picture in front of me twisting and turning now. Breathing got arduous; I only managed to draw slow breaths and my heartbeat slowed down even more. I staggered and inevitably fell, as my leg muscles started to relax and it was no longer possible for me to use them. I hit the floor quite hard, for the paralysis also now extended to the rest of my musculature and I cursed myself vividly on the inside, for I could no longer speak. Breathing and blinking were all I could manage.
Fucking stupid mistake.
I should have known, I really, REALLY should have known.
Vect was mad with me.
His trap was sprung. And he had goaded me so perfectly into it.
There was no place of peace in this blasted city, only traps, and trials. Something in here definitely worked as a paralyser and psychotropic, at least on human physiology.
I should have seen it.
The world was spinning around me like crazy and I felt like I had a really bad acid trip; twisted, distorted colours and shapes, visions and the likes swayed in front of my eyes. Seconds stretched to hours. Though all this was highly disturbing, the worst part of it was that my mind stayed clear, so I had this enormously stretched time to ponder what would await me from the hand of my master.
All I could do now was lie here and pray that he would not be too harsh on me.
It was a faint hope.
Temira's in deep.
Varys's words thicken the plot.
And what the hell did Vect see in Lisbeth?
Let's find out in the next chapter!
And now, dear reader, please, warm my heart with a few words of your own!
Stay safe and healthy!
Love,
Shâtî