AN: Hey guys! Hope ya didn't miss me too much. This chapter is actually being posted a couple days early. The one year anniversary of DOTD is on Jan 2nd! Honestly, I thought I'd have written more by now but that's ok. As a kind of apology, this chappie is longer than any one I've written before. Anyways, enjoy!
Disclaimer: The plot and storyline are mine but sadly, the characters belong to Christopher Paolini.
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Sometimes those heterochromic eyes gazed at him as they were; blank shades of black and blue. Others, the child swore they morphed into pools of darkness. As if blaming him for their change, it became their mission to impart their colours onto him; to burn their colours on his flesh and leave the mark of their work, if only temporarily. They would seldom breach it's barrier however. Underneath coursed Morzan's colour. Surely, the demon took pleasure in the rivulets of blood streaming down the child's pale skin, and would occasionally indulge himself, but those eyes would always favour the skilful breaks and bends that resulted in their secret remembrance.
Those eyes haunted Murtagh through every waking second and would not give him reprieve even in sleep.
Murtagh was thrust back into his thirteen-year-old body. The charcoal walls, crimson drapery and trademark mahogany desk could only apply to one place. He was sitting in Morzan's home office opposite the demon himself. Morzan's face was still a mask- that of a kindly father going to support his son at a sporting match. But Murtagh could already distinguish the growing darkness in them and knew that the demon was playing his twisted game again.
On the desk between them lay Murtagh's third place trophy for the Uru'Baen Annual Chess Tournament: Intermediate 2. Murtagh wanted to sink back into his chair and disappear but managed to remain upright to face Morzan on his leather 'throne'. The older man's venomous words almost lost their meaning in his honeyed voice.
" My dear Murtagh," he chuckled, "how could this have happened?"
Murtagh actively backed himself into his chair's left armrest when the demon got up and started to come around the desk with that sickly sweet smile on his face.
"I just don't understand why you would want to disappoint me like this."
Murtagh shivered as the demon's lithe fingers ghosted across his cheek. His senses went into overdrive. He barely heard the 'whoosh' of displaced air before the back of the demon's hand connected with his face. Even though he could still easily move his head through the steadily diminishing pain, Murtagh did not want to for the fear of seeing those eyes paralysed him.
"Give me an answer, Murtagh," Morzan pleaded, "Why do you want to disappoint me so?"
Murtagh turned just enough to look at Morzan's shoes before starting, "I- I didn't mean-"
"At least have some dignity and look me in the eyes!" the demon growled.
Murtagh wiped the blood drawn from a nick in his cheek where Morzan's silver ring cut in. Timidly, he raised his head to look into the twin pools of darkness he knew were already there.
Murtagh trembled as he answered, "I'm sorry father, I- I did my best but I still could not beat my final opponent. I n-never meant to fail you."
That sickly sweet smile inched its way back onto the demon's face and Murtagh forced himself to not look away. He would save himself from the extra pain. Morzan's fingers wrapped themselves around Murtagh's right wrist while he was locked under the demon's unwavering gaze.
"I see. But you know I'm still going to have to punish you for this," the demon declared.
Murtagh gulped at the implications of that statement. The only thing that could possibly mean was more pain. And yet he was hoping against hope that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different. Perhaps he would be let off the hook for once or at least it won't be so bad. For once, maybe the other shoe wouldn't drop.
"Let's start off with no TV tonight," Morzan hummed, "It would be best for you to go over some of the plays you should have used earlier in."
The universe is cruel in such a way that it tempts you with a small taste of freedom before instantly ripping away any chance of it. The other shoe dropped.
Murtagh whimpered as Morzan's hand tightened around his wrist in a death grip. Murtagh's eyes darted towards Morzan's face only to meet another horror. Living black mist poured out of those pools of darkness, swirling around the room and consuming everything in sight until it was just him facing the demon. When it curled around his legs, Murtagh flinched away as if he had been burned. Morzan's lips twitched upwards when tendrils of the mist snaked around his body. The demon twisted his arm around so much that Murtagh lowered himself to the ground in pain. The bones in his arm felt like they were about to snap. Any words Murtagh might have had got caught in his throat and came out instead as strangled cries.
"Oh, but what's the use?" the demon mused. "If I remember correctly, one needs their hands to play chess."
The pain was unbearable to his weak body. One curious tendril slithered over the demon's fingers and onto Murtagh's scrawny forearm until everywhere from his fingertips to his shoulder was blanketed in darkness. His skin screamed in repulsion under the fiery, foreign substance. More tendrils joined the first and began to curl around Murtagh's other limbs and torso. One even snaked it way up the side of his neck before covering his eyes completely.
Suddenly, he found his older self in the demon's body, staring through those pools of darkness, down at his younger malnourished form. He wanted to shout. To scream. To do anything he could to stop the demon from hurting him anymore. But even in control of the demon's body, he was, as always, powerless. Internally, he recoiled from the perverse satisfaction and pleasure the demon received with each plea that escaped his younger self's lips.
The mist receded leaving his battered body lying on the ground before him. Murtagh saw his younger self cradling his bruised and undoubtedly sprained wrist. The demon had yet again accomplished the perfect crime. He had twisted the wrist just enough that Murtagh would experience excruciating pain but he wouldn't need to go to the hospital and draw any unwelcome attention. Besides, it was the beginning of the Easter holidays. It would heal within that time and Murtagh would suffer in silence at "home".
Those eyes also succeeded in their mission once more. Even if it was only for a few days, the boy's flesh would again secretly bear their sacred colours.
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Murtagh bolted upright, wide-eyed and chest heaving. His head whipped to the right when he heard the clang of metal against metal. During that unholy hour of the night, the dimmed light outside his cell left him in near darkness. He backed up against the wall of his cell as hot tears streamed down his face. In the basement level cells, sound was magnified so much that Murtagh could hear the hushed voices of the officers on the other end guarding the level's entrance. He bit down in his fist so they wouldn't hear his anguished sobs.
He slumped against the wooden bench at his side and dropped his head into his shackled hands. Using the heel of his palm, he rubbed at his eyes furiously and struggled to dry his cheeks. When he pulled them away though, they weren't slick with tears. The crimson liquor drunk by demons stained his hands. By seeing the red leaching through the cracks of his fingers, was he becoming one too? He forced a mantra to take root in his mind and keep playing until the thought consumed him.
'It's not real. It's not real. It'snotrealit'snotrealIT'SNOTREAL!'
After many long minutes, his heart rate eventually slowed. His sight returned to normal but he was more aware than ever of the blood on his hands. He swallowed the lump in his throat and simply rested his head against the bench for a while. He would not close his eyes, though. Despite his weariness, Murtagh knew that if he were to succumb to sleep again, he would spiral down through memory after memory, nightmare after nightmare. At this point, he could no longer tell the difference. Instead, he took a deep shuddering breath and allowed his grey eyes to zero in on the fluorescent light outside his cell so he could keep the darkness at bay.
His mind wandered to an interaction he'd had a couple hours ago. A naive officer new to the precinct was making his rounds when he stopped to mock him for his "little show", as he called it, in the interrogation room the day prior. Confident that Murtagh wasn't going to be able to harm him from behind bars, he accidentally let slip that Murtagh was being transferred to Gil'ead Maximum Security the following day. In short, the guy left limping while clutching his knee where Murtagh kicked it. Just because he wasn't the best at karate didn't mean he was the worst.
His mind circling back to his original problem, Murtagh realised that the whole trial was probably just a formality. If he had a million dollars, he'd bet that even the judge would condemn him before he took one step into the courthouse. Plus, he was being transferred to Gil'ead before his trial- a prison reserved for the worst psychos, murderers and traffickers. Murtagh almost smiled at the irony of it all. No one would care that Morzan tried to kill him first. No one would care that he had spent almost every day of his life abused and broken at the hands of their precious 'saint'. Hell, no one would care even if they had seen his suffering with their own eyes. Morzan was one of the most influential people in society other than his dinner guests, Islanzadí Ehlve, C.E.O. of Ehlve Industries, and Independent Senator, Galbatorix King. Even if some unlucky bastard had noticed something a little off with Murtagh's medical history, a bundle of cash or a little file with some information detrimental to them or their career would have been more than enough incentive to keep quiet.
His mind wandered to even less pleasing thoughts, "I have a way to escape now at least. All it would take are the cell bars and these handcuffs. No one would know until morning and even then, no one would care. It would definitely be less painful than dragging it out."
Clang!
He was brought out of his musings by that same sound he heard earlier. Ignoring his stiff and aching back, Murtagh shifted so that he was now sitting upright and strained his ears to catch the sound again.
Clang!
The haze of sleep rapidly diminished to be replaced by adrenaline. Though he knew he couldn't be reached by the demon here, Murtagh still gulped as he was reminded of whenever Morzan drunkenly swung his saber in the mansion's den. He shook his head to rid himself of such thoughts. Morzan was gone for good. He should feel relieved instead of constantly having to look over his shoulder. Resolving that it was just one of his inmates making a fuss, Murtagh relaxed slightly and leant against the wall.
'Let the guards handle it. It's their problem now,' he chided himself.
His peace was short-lived. Soon enough, he heard shouting coming from the other end of the basement, oddly enough, near the stairs. What was even more confusing were the echoing 'bang!'s of recoiling guns. Murtagh pushed himself against the wall and struggled to slide upwards into a standing position. He staggered carefully towards the bars lining the front of his cell to get a better view.
For a moment, everything fell into silence save for the pounding of feet against the floor. To Murtagh's confusion, they seemed to be getting louder and more hurried. He craned his neck to glimpse any action in the general direction of the footsteps and spotted one man barreling down the corridor to his right intent on inspecting a different group of cells. What Murtagh didn't notice was the other man sprinting towards his cell from his left. To say he was surprised when a black clad man with a silver wolf mask on his face started to unlock his cell door was an understatement. Murtagh tripped over his own foot while backing away from the black blur that slammed itself against his front bars and would have fallen if not for the bench at his side.
A billion questions were running through his head. They couldn't possibly be trying to rescue him. The very thought was absurd. Who would actually want him after everything he's done and everything he hadn't? It must be a mistake. And yet the key was jangling in the lock to his cell that very moment, not someone else's. He was about to open his mouth to voice all his queries. But the man in front of him held up his hand in a placating gesture to stop the onslaught of questions he knew were coming.
"I know you must be confused but the answers you seek will be revealed soon. You can choose to stay here but if you follow me and do exactly what I say, you may yet have a chance at salvation."
The cell door now open, Murtagh was faced with an impasse. Just a couple minutes ago, Murtagh was looking for a chance to escape. He could stay in the cell and await his impending trial and death or he could get his wish from these masked men and have one last chance of freedom. He wasn't going to spit in the face of his saviours.
Thrusting his bound hands forward, the man understood Murtagh's wish and unlocked the handcuffs. A shrill whistle resounded from under his mask, alerting his three comrades that Murtagh had been found. The others were outfitted in similar gear and seemed to be uninjured from the previous fight. Footsteps pounding against the concrete, they sped through the lines of rowdy prisoners and rounded the last corner leading to the stairs. Littering the floor next to the two fallen officers were bits of chipped concrete from where the pillars had been shot. Murtagh barely glimpsed the silver darts sticking out from the officers' shoulders as he was herded up the steps onto the ground floor/lobby area.
The woman behind the counter was slumped over her desk with a silver dart poking out from the side of her neck. She started to slide off the side and Murtagh thought nothing of it. One of his masked saviours, however, swore and darted around the counter to reach her. Her elbow was bent underneath the desk in such a way that if it were to move to her left, it would trigger the emergency button. When the alarm blared, any hopes of secrecy were crushed. Flashing red lights replaced the fluorescent ones and the rolling steel door automatically pulled down over the entrance, sealing them in.
Murtagh drew in a raspy breath. Though he knew the others could see the red too, the color still unnerved him. Doubts also rolled through his mind about his escape which seemed more impossible with each passing second.
"Beta!" commanded one of his rescuers. Instantly, the other three complied, switching out their tranquilizer guns for the Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine guns strapped across their backs. They formed a protective ring around him and moved as one up the half lit staircase, passing the locked door of level 1 completely.
When they neared the landing for level two, the door below them swung open, releasing a swarm of officers into the stairwell. Murtagh's rescuers moved so that he was against the wall and they could pick off enemies from the railings while running without him getting shot in the process. In this new formation, they bounded up the steps. Murtagh heard the grunts and cries of the fallen officers below him but couldn't bring himself to care. They sat back and watched as he suffered all those years so now, he'd do the same.
When they finally reached the level three landing, one of the masked men halted in his tracks.
"You know the plan," he'd simply stated, "I'll meet you up on the roof."
Despite his confusion, Murtagh continued to follow the other masked men up to the roof. Once they'd covered half the distance, the masked man below shot open the lock, threw in a smoke grenade stored in his tactical vest and entered. Murtagh faced upwards after he could no longer see the man below them. He could still hear the patter of machine gun fire though, and was extremely sure everyone else felt the shock waves emanating from the miniature explosion within.
Upon finally arriving at the exit to the roof, one of the masked men shot open the lock and pushed the steel door open. On the tarmac in front of them lay harnesses connected to a strong metal satellite pole. Murtagh's mouth went dry at the prospect of having to jump off the building. His masked rescuers reassured him that it would be safe since the pole had a strong foundation and would support their weight. Still, they could not quell his fears entirely.
Nevertheless, time was of the essence. They needed to jump off soon if they were to make their escape. Each of them strapped on their respective harnesses and double checked the security of their cords. Murtagh took a shuddering breath as he creeped up to the edge. Before him lay the shimmering expanse of Uru'Baen. Even that late at night, twinkling lights coloured orange, blue and white were visible for as far as the eye could see. Towering buildings and apartments were pressed together to provide enough space for the labyrinth of roads snaking between them. Though Murtagh knew the city's beauty was a mere façade meant to ensnare it's victims he couldn't help but marvel at how breathtaking it appeared from above.
Within seconds, the three masked rescuers joined him at the edge of the roof while giving him instructions.
"We'll jump off the eastern side since the wall is completely flat and there are no windows except for the one on the ground floor. The cords have just enough length that we'll have to manually unclip ourselves and jump the last three metres to the ground. That extra room prevents us from hitting the ground upon the rebound and breaking any bones. Follow us from there."
Just as they were about to jump, the fourth masked rescuer hobbled out while pointing his gun at a whimpering secretary's head. His other hand was clutching a thick folder against his bleeding thigh. When he was sure no officer had disregarded his warnings, he shoved the secretary down onto the tarmac and stumbled towards them at the edge.
"GO! GO! GO!" He shouted.
There was no time to strap on his own harness so he grabbed onto one of his comrades and held on for his life. They were all keenly aware of the officers risking their lives to apprehend them. The footsteps hammering against the stairs were getting closer. Hastily, one of the rescuers shot at the door as a final warning before grabbing onto his cord with one hand and turning back to the edge. Together, the five of them leapt into the air, weightless for just a single moment. And then began their free fall.
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Review please! Also, I made a trailer for the story which is not staying on here so I'll put it in my bio.