Chapter 6
Anakin lye on the floor of his cell, the cool metal against his cheek, and the warm liquid of his own blood spilling from his mouth, nose and a gaping wound in his right cheek directly over below his eye. A boot came into sharp contact with his stomach, and another almost simultaneously to his spine. He cried out, and almost had the wind knocked out of him by a fist slamming into his chest.
This torture had been continuing for weeks as Anakin refused to turn to the Dark Side. But Dooku kept prying and torturing him when he said no, never giving Anakin time to heal. His eyes were almost swollen shut; his ribs were either severely bruised or broken, he couldn't tell. His left forefinger and middle finger, his real ones, were broken, and he knew his internal injuries were extensive. Because of the creatures Dooku had, Anakin was unable to put himself into a healing trance, and the beatings every day for the past five days were draining him of his strength and life. Mostly they would let him rot in his cell, but it seemed as if Dooku's chosen pastime whenever he was bored was to have his minions beat on him. However, through all the beatings and the knowledge that he would most likely die from this brutal treatment, his angel's face rose out of his sadness and loneliness. She was the only one he cared about now. Not the Jedi, the Republic or even himself. Only his angel mattered, and would be the one to save him.
The two guards finally ended the beating and left his cell. They stood by the door to the cellblock, and Dooku stared at Anakin, who was whimpering silently.
"I'll ask you once more, Skywalker," he said. "Will you join us?" Anakin raised his head as much as he could in order to stare at Dooku. His eyes were ice cold and still held the power to kill.
"No," he bit out. He began to breath harshly from the effort of keeping his head up, but the kept his gaze on Dooku until the man had left. Then he collapsed and fell into unconsciousness, his wife's facet he last thing he saw.
Anakin lye on the floor of his cell, the cool metal against his cheek, and the warm liquid of his own blood spilling from his mouth, nose and a gaping wound in his right cheek directly over below his eye. A boot came into sharp contact with his stomach, and another almost simultaneously to his spine. He cried out, and almost had the wind knocked out of him by a fist slamming into his chest.
This torture had been continuing for weeks as Anakin refused to turn to the Dark Side. But Dooku kept prying and torturing him when he said no, never giving Anakin time to heal. His eyes were almost swollen shut; his ribs were either severely bruised or broken, he couldn't tell. His left forefinger and middle finger, his real ones, were broken, and he knew his internal injuries were extensive. Because of the creatures Dooku had, Anakin was unable to put himself into a healing trance, and the beatings every day for the past five days were draining him of his strength and life. Mostly they would let him rot in his cell, but it seemed as if Dooku's chosen pastime whenever he was bored was to have his minions beat on him. However, through all the beatings and the knowledge that he would most likely die from this brutal treatment, his angel's face rose out of his sadness and loneliness. She was the only one he cared about now. Not the Jedi, the Republic or even himself. Only his angel mattered, and would be the one to save him.
The two guards finally ended the beating and left his cell. They stood by the door to the cellblock, and Dooku stared at Anakin, who was whimpering silently.
"I'll ask you once more, Skywalker," he said. "Will you join us?" Anakin raised his head as much as he could in order to stare at Dooku. His eyes were ice cold and still held the power to kill.
"No," he bit out. He began to breath harshly from the effort of keeping his head up, but the kept his gaze on Dooku until the man had left. Then he collapsed and fell into unconsciousness, his wife's facet he last thing he saw.
