Ch. 07: A Name Too Precious

I'm thrown in a concrete room with a pair of chained manacles on the wall and a foot-long makeshift window in the upper right corner, allowing sunlight to just barely spill in. My head bangs against the floor and I hear the door slide shut. I close my eyes, lacking the strength to even raise my head, and open them to complete darkness. The scratchy sound of rats scurrying around makes me shake off sleep, but the sound of the doors slamming open brings me to full attention, and I sit upright quickly. Blinding light evades the cell. Two figures enter to snatch my arms and drag me out. My legs are dead, so I let them dangle.

That blinding light becomes harsher and the air becomes thicker. I can hear boots stomping on cement and voices murmuring around, everything coming for me, watching every dead-weight move. I squint, then rattle my head to shake off whatever the hell I was injected with to no avail. "Walk," one figure urges me forward with a shove, sending me to the floor. I catch my balance with both hands and let the world continue to spin before someone snatches me up. "I said walk." I'm shoved forward again. My feet are their own beings, snaking out from under me every time I step, my legs are devoid of strength to hold my weight. But because I have no idea where I am and because I got myself into this mess, I force myself to hold my own, ignoring the drowsiness.

I will admit this: I'm afraid.

But what's really important is that Wendy's safe now. Whatever these people wanted from her they can get from me. And more. Wendy isn't capable of the inhumane things I can do. She is merciful, moralistic, and quick-witted, as to limit the bloodshed. Me—I'm a different breed. Question is, can they handle me once I've reached that lethal point? What disastrous event is doomed to occur now that I'm in danger, like Cana and Makarov feared? I for one would say whatever's coming for me is worth getting a chance to give this man hell for what he did to the town.

And I have to make it back home to prove I'm not what my ledger lists. The way everyone was gawking at me…it was sickening. I never want to bear witness to such stares again, but I can't ensure that while I'm here, trapped at this mysterious man's mercy.

That…or I'll have to disappear again. And I'm almost too good at that. I'm patient. I can be selfish. I've had practice in the 399 years of my life.

As I'm buried in my own thoughts, the rears of my knees are struck with something hard that makes me collapse. My hands are bound over my head and my ankles to the floor, like in the first cell. It's now that I realize I'm stuck in another prison. Right when I avert my eyes to the closing door, the plated wall goes ablaze with fluorescent lights with the ruthless shine of the sun. I flinch away, chuckling, "Right." Squeezing my eyes shut, I continue, "Put the Shadow Dragon in an obnoxious amount of light. How typical."

I can smell a total of fifteen people on the other side of the wall, watching me like some science experiment gone terribly wrong. Usually, I'd twinge at the thought of people staring at me like this, but now, not so much as a skipped heartbeat grants me the luxury of self-consciousness. Instead, fighting the bright shower of light, I stare boldly at the one-way wall, able to pinpoint just where everyone is standing and sitting. One thing's for sure; they need to lay off the cologne. I bare my teeth when two of them gather closer for a better view, making them rethink their next move and retreat to the corner. I can't make out their muttered words, so I focus on trying to break free from the chains. "So, what do you want?" I call out to them. No one turns to me. But I know they can hear me. Back when I was a bully-target at Sabertooth, Orga and Rufus and the others would do the same thing—ignore me as I hopelessly tried to defend myself only to laugh at my foolishness when I went crying to Sting that no one could hear me anymore. I thought I was invisible, lost in my own magic. But right now, I know they can hear me. Gathering all the nerve I can muster, I nurse a small shadow vine and let it strike the wall with an earth-rattling bang. And like that, all wide eyes are on me. We hold an intense glare through the metal wall, me waiting for a response and them daring me to do it again. "Well?" I say, heart pounding like a beating drum against my sternum. "You just gonna stare at me all day, call me some sweet things, and hope I'm the talking type? Well, I'm not."

Like crows, they all gather to one area of the safe room and squint their eyes at me, awaiting the perfect moment to see what this monster will do next. My fists ball when an ear-piercing screech erupts from the wall, two valves becoming visible with two hose-like structures emerge from the pits, directed at me. The target. An additional click and the stench of murky water halts my breath. They're planning on hosing me as interrogation, but to deny them the satisfaction of seeing me squirm, I level my frown on them. What takes me by surprise is a bass-toned voice escaping a hidden intercom, speaking at rapid-fire speed. "Rogue Cheney, is that correct?"

I sigh. "I'm so tired of people making me confirm my name."

The nasally voice continues, "You claimed to be a new form of mage, classified as a third-generation dragon-slayer. Yes? By your tattoo, you are not a member of the guild Fairy Tail, and therefore are not within Sabertooth's jurisdiction."

"Sure," I say slowly. I just notice that I've been stripped of what I was taken in, instead dressed carelessly in worn-down tan and gray cloth with holes in the elbows. No shoes. A prisoner's uniform. "And since I've been abducted, I'm out of my master's control. Bad news for you guys." Silence. I flex my hands, stretch my shoulders as best as I can. "You know some about me; what happens next?" Wait, they changed my clothes? I crane my neck beyond what's comfortable until I see the necklace Skiadrum gifted me. Relief fills me when I see the amulet reflecting the white light.

"Evidently, you volunteered to come along with us on this trek to further expand our knowledge on your kind." The man I assume to be speaking steps forward, clutching the microphone in a hand while gesturing with the other. "We thought your kind had limitations within clear view. Lacrima-engineered humans and feral children stranded with mythical creatures, masquerading as parents. But you," he gestures at me, and I can almost feel it on my chest, "you've shown us that there is so much more to understand! More…promise."

"Tell me." I blink. "What did you want with that other girl back at Fairy Tail? Energy? Power?"

"'That other girl?' You seem so nonchalant."

"I have no interest in her, but seeing as I was being held on trial, her voice is vital to my case," I say. "Enough about her. What do you want?"

"We want from her what we crave from you," one woman spreads her arms apart. Her posture reads: we're all friends here—you can trust me. "What you possess can better the world for everyone. You can make the land of Fiore a safer place."

"Safe for who?"

"Everyone."

"Sure."

"You can be known as a king among men! There are no downfalls to such a discovery."

"Every psychopath sees his own crimes as just," I mutter. "I'm flattered you think so highly of my magic. But you're a fool to think such power will bring only peace." My magic can drown the world in shadows, spread fear and cause death faster than they could make it out that door. I can smell trapdoor from here. When I crack my neck from both sides, something thick presses against cheek. I crane my neck to see what it is—a metal collar with flashing knobs according to some random pattern.

"Notice," the woman continues, "the collar we've presented you acts as a transmitter to a generator. In short, we can trace your thoughts, we can track vital signs, and we can record your magic energy. We can, in a sense, control your very body."

"You said it's connected to a generator," I start. "A generator to what?"

"As of today, you are our main energy source." The same man from before takes the mic back and places a hand on the counter, intensely engaged in our conversation. "You sustain such a great amount of magic energy, an amount equivalent to almost a second being inside you. With your energy, we can power this entire peninsula!" Peninsula? I was wondering why the motion sickness stopped. "With your energy, boy, we can finally understand the full extent to dragon-slaying magic!" His face stretches with a forced smirk. Pulses of grasping trepidation close in on my core. I hold my breath, hold my tongue. I can't quite pinpoint it, but there's something fleetingly familiar about him, about the grouse pattern of his speech, about that sinister grin. His scent, even, strikes up a retracting flare in my mind that makes me cringe and makes me despise him.

"What makes you think you can take down a dragon-slayer?" I challenge, despite my position. The hoses make another cranking noise, dropping the temperature in the room. I stare at its black hole, but keep my voice as stable as I can. "And what makes you think I'll give you what you want?"

"Oh," a woman chuckles, "you don't have a choice." As the final wisp of his words, water breaks from the hoses with the force of a bulldozer and slams into my body full force. Before I can even comprehend what's going on, my vision clouds with red dilations and all the oxygen escapes my lungs, making room for murky water. With my arms bound apart from each other, I can't defend myself. The water pressure dies down quickly, leaving my body limp and lifeless against the soaked wall. "We are going to break you, beast."

I gasp heavily, cough harshly, and drop my head. "By getting me wet? Gonna have to do better than that, darlin'."

"You speak as though you've already figured everything out."

"Might've." I cough again, heaving desperately for the breath that constantly evades. Cackles, grunts, and satisfied sighs pass in the steady silence; I rest my head back and stare up at the ceiling. The door opens with a dragged-out creak, the patter of leather shoes sneaking between the whine. I lift my head, squinting through drops of water stuck to my eyelashes, and am slammed with that familiar scent.

The man who tried to take Wendy slithers his way to me, a ringleader hovering over an untamed animal. I frown. "Are there more of your kind?" He speaks in an authoritative tone that dehumanizes me; it's taunting, patronizing, and malicious. "Third-generation, you called it?"

"No," I reply, concealing the lie under the bass of my voice well. There are reasons why I get away with the crimes the judge announced. Lying comes as easily as walking. "I'm offended. Are you not satisfied already?" He chuckles. "Tell me who you are."

His unwrinkled face expands with a dominating grin, scrubbing away my will to stand my ground with just a glance. "Oh, you don't remember me? How disappointing. Perhaps this will help." He backhands me across the face hard enough to knock me to one side. My ear rings. He lifts my shirt to expose a long scar slanted just above my hip. "You went through this just to come work for me."

My heart jolts out of rhythm, but I mask my surprise by glaring at him through blurred vision under my dripping hair. "Arian…?"

He flashes a smile and opens his arms in a presenting manner. "Ryos." I can't breathe, can't find it in me to react when he brings his hands to my face gently. "A pleasant surprise, my boy." You'd think we were old friends by the way he's handling me and through the lightness of his malicious tone. "You've grown to be quite a handsome young man. How proud am I." His face expands in a wider sneer. "If it weren't for that cowardly gawk, I don't think I would have recognized you. It's been much too long."

"Wha—" I stammer, strength overridden by reminiscent terror. "How did you survive—"

"I've taken it upon myself to rejuvenate my body with samples of your blood. I survived this long because of you. Your blood is a valuable thing, boy. Eternal life. How could anyone pass that up?"

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into." I suspected he might have been after my abilities decades ago. That was one of the reasons I tried to kill him when I escaped. Living as long as I have is a curse. No one should have to go through what Sting and I have to.

He gets closer, so close that his hot breath oozes against my nose. "You never intended to kill me, Ryos, and that's the mistake you made. You cannot run from me." His eyebrows raise. "Oh, yes. It's Rogue Cheney now, isn't it?" He cackles inwardly the moment I'm aware of my heavy breathing. "Once again, you're going to be my little project. Doesn't that bring back such fun memories?" My name falls off his tongue and splatters on the tile floor right in front of me. I can feel it, my mind trying to surrender—surrender to the influence his distinct voice has on my subconscious mind. Like a stubborn thought trying to build its way to dialogue. Odd compulsions to retreat to the shadows cloud the cold water that runs down my body. "It'll be just like old times…if not better. You should reconsider your own thoughts." He taps the collar around my neck and I can hear a beep when my heartbeat spikes. Stirring up the nerve I just lost, I spit in his face to get him away. He retracts and wipes his eye. "You may regret that."

"Your efforts to intimidate me are futile," I contend. Being pitted against his undeniably strong presence is something I expect to be another trying task. There are few to none that I truly fear. What's worse than a dragon-slayer lurking in the shadows?

"I know there is another," Arian interrogates. "Your name…Rogue Cheney…has more to it." My throat catches, but I hide the truth behind a sturdy glare. "One of the Twin Dragons, correct?" He roughly pats my face twice and stands over me like a tower. "What is the name of your partner?"

"You're clearly lacking the correct information. Even if I did have a partner, do you really think I'd pass that information around so carelessly?" My own prideful foolishness prevents me from noticing Arian stepping back to allow way for the blasting water. Water crashes into my body, invading places that make my face sting, compressing my ribs to crack. I try to push my body forward when more water is added and I'm knocked back against the wall. It takes another fifteen, long seconds for it to stop. When the water pressure dies down, I topple over, forehead touching the puddle under me, gasping and coughing.

"Tell me your partner's name, Ryos."

I sit up and sag against the wall, chains jangling, and mask my emotions with a shade of disdain. "Partnership…You honestly think I'd associate myself with such a stupid thing?" I force my mind to deny any thought of this sworn partner of mine to elude whatever mind-scanning mechanism they have. "You've forgotten who I am. I work alone."

He cocks an eyebrow.

"The so-called Twin Dragons was a one-time alliance. That person is not what I am, but another deplorable mage who was credited for my magic. You're wasting your time—" My voice whisks high before cutting off sharply as electricity overtakes my body. The attack knocks me to the side, leaving me writhing in the conductive water. Oxygen rushes out of my lungs along with the strength in my muscles. I allow only brief, almost soundless winces to emerge from my chest—I barely recognize my own voice. I'm unsure if it's the high voltage or my magic fluctuating, but the overhead lights flicker and buzz harshly. When it subsides, I can feel intense vibrations coming from beneath my weight. The stench of gasoline and metal makes me remember that my body is a catalyst for the generator. Residual currents search for ways out of my system, each wrong turn sending sharp agony through me. My muscles contract on their own; my magic energy has been cut in half, I notice.

"Oh, dear." Arian steps out again. "You know how I hate punishing you, boy. We'll try this again." His voice echoes between my temples as I pick myself back up, failing to see his backhand coming. My head slams against the wall, droplets of blood sprinkling the tile. "Name, now."

"Go to hell."

I'm answered with a foot to the face. Twice. With the toe of his boot, he directs my head into the floor. Blood from my nose spreads in the water. When he kicks me in the side, I manage to rip the chain from the floor, freeing my left hand, and almost drive a coughing shadow-coated claw through his leg. He bounces back and stares at me in awe. In the other room, two men hurry to their feet and gather more chains to come to his aid.

"No," Arian stays them with a hand. "Let him try."

I growl, mustering energy to perform a Roar that will decapitate him where he stands, but the collar beeps twice before zapping me a second time. My Roar becomes a cough. The electricity knocks me into a black-out stupor and doesn't stop until the skin on my neck becomes raw. I cough again and again, arched over.

~Rogue.~ That damned voice. ~I can finish this. All the pain you're in…I can make it stop.~

Arian scoffs. "Oh? That's it?"

~Over here. Look at me.~

My teeth bare sharply. Ignoring the next taming shocking session, I force shadows to blast from my throat. Although the size and impact is lessened, it strikes a hole in the wall over Arian's head where the voice resides. Silence. I'm granted some relief with reward; seeing Arian flinch away like that is enough for me. My heartbeat reaches my ears, every pulse slicing my magic energy in half. It starts re-materializing immediately, but at a slower pace than that of a slayer. "I'm not giving you anything."

Arian cackles loudly in the same familiarly haunting manner. "Talk big now, Ryos. But you must remember that I always get my way."

The last thing I remember is the sound of crashing water meeting bone.

years ago—

"Hah! Look, he's crying!"

"What a baby!"

"Get off your ass, Diablo!"

"Oh, I know!" Holding my hands as a shield over my face didn't protect me form the gallon of toilet water that drenched me where I was shriveled in the corner. It was cold and reeked of rancid minerals. I coughed out a few times, growing nauseous and choking on shame. Orga let out a hefty laugh and tossed the bucket aside with a bang. "Hah!" Everyone echoed his laughter. "That sparked some life in him!"

Through my black, wiry hair, I looked between everyone, reading their lips even when I did want to. How, in the blurriness of the water, their glaring eyes and sly smiles resembled my magic's. How even the thought of it struck such fear in my heart that I hugged my knees closer to my chest. I muttered for them to stop, but that continued to point and sneer. Nothing worked. Nothing I said or did ever worked. They never stopped. And neither did the haunting voice echoing between my eardrums.

A black leather book with thick pages slammed with a splash at my feet. "Read it," Grigia hollered, echoed by a girl in the back. The girl who flinched away from me like a spider on the first day. "Read it! C'mon Diablo!" As the constant butt of their jokes, I've grown accustomed to humiliation and harassment that their demands to recite Satanic script were not at all surprising. That was nothing compared to the previous month when I was doused in goat blood.

"Do it!"

"Read from your book, witch-mutt!"

"You wrote it, after all!"

"Diablo! Diablo! Diablo!"

I shrunk into the tightest ball as physically possible. The onslaught of their words—that name—rose burns to my ears and cheeks. I vowed not to give them the satisfaction of seeing me scram and cry the way I did during the blood ritual. My magic screamed for release, tearing through my skin slowly, painfully. So, I tucked in my head and braced for the worst. That's when Sting showed up, standing between me and the crowd, over the Satanic bible with not a single glint of intimidation in his sapphire eyes. "Hey," he called, not a trace of fear in his voice, "don't you have anything better to do?" I looked up to see no one else daring a word. "You really want to get mixed up with two dragon-slayers?"

Out of instinct, I scrambled to hide behind the assertive barricade that was his body, clasping his shirt while unintentionally jostling him in the process. I sensed the voice still, urging to have over the reins. I knew they knew what could have happened if they pushed me further. They saw the monster through the red iris visible under Sting's crossed arms. As much as I craved to seek revenge, I knew what I was capable of. Memory returned me to my original reclusive nature as they left, herded back by our friend, Finn. I couldn't remember what they said or what Sting barked at them, but what was priority was that they were gone. What was priority was that Sting was there with me.

My relief was short-lived when his fist came crashing down on the top of my head. I saw stars for a moment—green, blue, red—causing me to hold my head and back away from him. "What?!" Tears stung my eyes at the corners.

He crossed his arms and sent me a dissatisfied scowl. Like one a parent might give a child preluding a lecture. "Rogue," he sighed, about to start the same conversation we have had for years, "you gotta stick up for yourself. I ain't the only dragon-slayer here. What were you doing?"

"Uh…" I peered over my shoulder at the leather book in the rancid water, staring at the shattered pieces of my pride. I wondered: when will I finally snap again? Will I hurt someone again? "I was just… Nothing."

Sting grabbed my shoulders to help me stand straighter. "Stop walking around like that."

"Like what?" I muttered, ducking my head. Through my hair, I watched him scratch the back of his head.

"Well…" Sting shed his overcoat and placed it like a hood over my head. The material became damp with the water on my body. "You walk around with your head down and flinch away from people. Don't do that!" I recoiled. "Stop ducking away."

"I can't help it."

"What would you have done if I didn't show up?" We started walking through the corridors. More like he went on in his sure pace as I tripped into step just behind him, clinging to a handful of his shirt with my eyes on my feet. "Huh?"

I tugged the coat closer to fend off the cold that snatched my breath. "They usually stop after the while."

"C'mon, Roro—"

"You know why I don't fight back, Sting."

Sting watched me closely. Like I mentioned, we've had this conversation a billion times. We're monsters to society, misfit lacrima-happy users of a sacred art that most could only hope to never encounter. Fighting back, even if in my own defense, would be overkill. Even if my guildmates tormented me. They were strong—admirably strong, no doubt—but something about self-defense, to me, sounded…selfish. Instead of arguing with me, my brother wrapped his arm around my neck and dragged along. At that moment, I promised myself I'd never let anything happen to him. Not because he was always defending me, but because I wanted to, for once, be the one to protect him. Someday, I wanted to be the one to stand with my body as the shield and I wanted him to be the one to watch the back of my back.

I vowed to become what he was to me. He was the only family I had, the one I ran to when I needed to feel loved, the home I came back to everyday. Never wanting anything back in return, just me.

It's the last thing I think of tonight as I lay my head down. It's the only thing I can think about as a sole ray of moonlight sneaks through a crack in the wall. And even though I've been beaten, water-boarded, and electrocuted beyond bearable, seeing that sparkling silver light fills me with relief. Sting's safe. Hours ago, with the fleeting energy I possessed, I formed a buffer between my skin and the neural electrode of the collar. I did this not as a potential method of escaping this place, but so my mind could wander and I could use the thought of my family as a source of strength.