The arc grid's hum masked the buzz of cloaking tech. Sylvanni wasn't paying enough attention to the seemingly empty surroundings of her cell, lost in her thoughts, until the moment the attack sprang.
She heard something metallic clatter to the floor of her cell, a canister of some kind, and then suddenly the air filled with billowing clouds of noxious fumes. She coughed as the scent filled her lungs, making her head swim. She collapsed to the floor, mental panic speeding up as the insidious weakness overtook her body. She opened her mouth to yell, to scream, to call for a help that wasn't coming, but the smoke rushed in instead, choking her.
She was entirely helpless as the cell door clanged open. Two Vandals pinned her roughly, one set of four hands pinning her arms down while the other swiftly bound her wrists, then her ankles. She was surprised that they took such precautions against her. Apparently even weaponless, armorless, and Ghostless, they saw her as a threat. Enough to gas her before opening the door.
She'd be flattered if she weren't so terrified.
As a final touch, they yanked a cloth sack over her head, obscuring her vision. Then they pulled her up and began to drag her from the cell. For the first few minutes of the trip, she couldn't do anything to resist with the toxin in her system. Her arms ached as they pulled her between them, feet dragging limply on the floor.
Eventually the smoke's effects wore off, but tied as she was, she had no leverage. She tried a few times to get her feet up under her, if only for some momentary relief for her aching shoulders, but whenever she did, they yanked her forward off-balance again.
When they finally reached their destination she was dropped to the floor, hitting hard against her face with nothing to break her fall. She groaned, pained all over. A hand grabbed the bag—and an unfortunate amount of her hair with it—and yanked the cloth free.
She stared up into the glowing, hollow gaze of a Servitor floating inches from her face.
She had a moment of primal panic, like the jolt of adrenaline she got when the center of her radar flashed from an enemy she hadn't seen approach. She'd never been so close to a Servitor that she hadn't destroyed immediately afterward.
That fear redoubled as the Servitor began to charge up, the glowing ring of its mechanical eye brightening as a recognizable whirr ascended in both pitch and volume. She struggled against the hands that held her down, staring annihilation dead on with no way to escape.
The Fallen held her fast. She closed her eyes, offering a single prayer to the Traveler as the Servitor unleashed its blast.
Only… it wasn't a blast. She gasped, eyes flying open as it hit her; not an attack, but a pulse. It washed across her, over her, through her and something deep within thrummed in response. Her bones resonated beneath her skin, every nerve firing at once in a sensation that was not quite pain.
The guards released her, leaving her to tremble on the floor, muscles spasming as the whatever it was slowly ebbed from her body. She didn't even notice the bonds on her wrists being undone until she unthinkingly tried to push herself up and realized her hands were free.
The House Judgment Vandal, the one Uldren named Erxaris, stood over her, peering down with a keen curiosity. Her presence seemed like a bad sign.
"What… did you do to me?" Sylvanni asked, surprised at how unsteady her voice sounded. Now that her hands were freed, Sylvanni could see that the guards who had brought her in had their long spears trained on her, ready to strike her down if she tried anything.
Erxaris tipped her head. "The Other spoke of many things. Interesting things."
The Other? Sylvanni wondered, after realizing with annoyance that her question had been completely ignored. Uldren?
"Spoke of prisoners. Captives not held in cells, but hunted. Killed for sport. A game."
There was a moment of confusion, and then a sudden nauseating dread. It clicked in her mind.
The Prison of Elders.
She had a moment of unexpected empathy with the Fallen, thinking what the Prison must look like from their perspective. To Guardians it was a game. They kept score. They gave each other challenges. They laughed over comms through the fights. They were never in any real danger.
Yes, the enemies they fought there were prisoners, but they still served the Darkness. There was no reason to spare them, just because they were captured. Or so she'd thought. How would she have felt if those were members of her species, being hunted for sport? She'd killed plenty of Fallen in the Prison. She'd struck down a Kell.
The captives in the Prison were contained, technically no longer a threat to anyone. They were killed for entertainment, nothing more.
Erxaris leaned down close to the Warlock's face. "It looks worried."
Sylvanni forced herself to meet the Vandal's eyes. "I think I've figured out what it is you intend to do with me."
"Baroness intrigued," Erxaris hissed out, and Sylvanni could have sworn the Vandal was smiling beneath her mask. "Wishes to see prisoners punished for crimes. Wishes to watch. You will fight. And you will die."
She resisted the urge to ask 'and then? ' She wasn't going to ask about her Ghost again. She had a feeling that was exactly what Erxaris was hoping for, and she didn't want to give her the satisfaction.
Very slowly, so as not to spook her guards, Sylvanni turned her head, eyeing a large double door at the other end of the room, more than twice the size of the other doors out of the room. She could swear she heard a faint roar from that direction. It seemed her execution would have an audience.
On the other side of Erxaris, the Servitor floated, watching her with a silent stare. There was an uncomfortable intelligence to it; not a mindless machine, but something with sapience. With malice.
She tried to sense if there were any lingering effects of whatever it had hit her with, but she couldn't pin anything down. Everything was too overwhelming to know for sure.
So, they intended to have her fight for sport? She could work with that.
"The Baroness," Sylvanni said, trying to put the Servitor out of her mind, "is she newly raised?"
Erxaris cocked her head, giving a few inquisitive clicks before dipping a single nod. "Rewarded. Promotion for valiant service."
Sylvanni only pretended that she couldn't hide her smirk, chuckling to herself. Erxaris bristled, taking the response as an insult against an important member of their society. She made a sharp gesture with her lower hand and in an instant, all three guards spears were at Sylvanni's neck, barely brushing the skin.
Erxaris slunk forward in a fluid, dangerous motion, getting extremely close to her captive's face. "It is amused?"
Sylvanni met her gaze evenly, refusing to be intimidated, even with weapons ready to run her through. They wanted to make a spectacle of killing her. They weren't going to off her here in a back room just because she talked back.
"I meant no disrespect," the Guardian lied, letting the insincerity show in her tone. "It simply occurred to me that your Baroness should probably thank me. The last time I faced the House of Kings, I killed three of their Barons. She probably owes me her promotion, since I opened the way for her."
Erxaris hissed, ether puffing from the sides of her mask and for a moment, Sylvanni thought she'd miscalculated and had gone too far. Though the guards couldn't understand what she'd said, one reacted to their leader's aggression, unintentionally nicking the side of her neck with his spear. Sylvanni forced herself to remain perfectly still, even as she felt the small stream of blood drip down the side of her neck, fearing she'd impale herself on the other spears if she so much as flinched.
For a few tense heartbeats, the two simply stared at one another, Sylvanni believing that at any moment she'd hear some snapped order in their language before they rammed a blade through her.
But it never came. Erxaris backed away though, seeming reluctant to leave the comment unpunished. "I will enjoy watching them kill you," the Vandal finally said, as though realizing she didn't need to win the upper hand.
Sylvanni kept a calm smile on her face as the House Judgment representative gathered one of the three guards and the Servitor and headed for the door. Despite the fact that she was very possibly being brought to her death, the Guardian couldn't help but feel satisfied that she'd won some kind of victory.
"Erxaris," Sylvanni called.
The Vandal woman turned, though likely more in surprise at hearing her name from the Guardian than as a response. It had probably been pronounced incorrectly, but Sylvanni didn't care. So long as Erxaris was listening, she would take it.
"It won't be much of a fight for the Baroness like this," Sylvanni days, gesturing to herself. "Unarmed and unarmored. I don't even have shoes." She wiggled a bare foot at the Vandal to reinforce her point.
Erxaris sneered. "Seeks pity?"
"Of course not. I'm simply saying that it won't be entertaining if I'm just killed immediately. At least make it interesting. Give me a weapon or something. You don't want this over too quickly, do you?"
It felt like a long shot, but she needed any edge she could get. Besides, she was already headed toward her death. What harm could come from asking?
Erxaris considered for a long time, watching her closely. Eventually though, she reached over with one of her lower arms and grabbed something from a rack on the wall before throwing it at Sylvanni with a deadly precision.
The Guardian ducked instinctively, reflexes moving of their own accord as they snatched the object from the air. A short knife, which she had somehow blessedly managed to grab by the handle, not cutting herself. Why can't I ever do that in the Crucible?
"Shock dagger," Erxaris rasped, and Sylvanni would have sworn she was smirking. "Dreg weapon. Suits you."
Sylvanni assumed the offer was meant as an insult, but she'd take whatever she could get. Flipping the small switch next to the hilt, she felt the little blade start to hum in her hands, jagged threads of arc energy flickering down its surface.
It wasn't much, but it was something.
Calming herself for whatever was coming next, she turned back to the main doors, letting the guards prod her toward them. If anything, they were more wary of her now that she had a weapon, even a small one. She momentarily considered trying an attack, something risky to get away, but she had no upper hand here. They'd cut her down immediately.
The two guards marched her straight up to the doors, two spear points at her back to keep her from running. Absently, as she waited, she reached up to the side of her neck, touching the place where she'd been cut. Though the blood was still wet, staining her fingers, the skin beneath was now hale and undamaged.
So I've got a little bit of healing that still works, she thought. With no armor and no shields, she couldn't take many hits, but perhaps she wasn't entirely defenseless.
That too, was something.
Squaring her stance, she lifted her chin, determined to meet her fate head on. Whatever came next, she wasn't going down without a fight.