Chapter Thirty-Eight

It seemed like every molecule of his being was protesting his movement… even after the comatose state he had been in, Coran still felt fatigued, physically and mentally. But the security of likely the very world itself couldn't afford for him to be tired. His brother had once chided, "You'll have plenty of time to sleep when you're dead."

The young headmaster's eyes crossed. Never thought he'd live to see the day where he'd be taking the advice of his brother.

In reality, it was three stairwells, all going down, that led to the small yet brutally efficient holding cells of the academy. On normal days, it was exceedingly rare that a member of the population of Atal Ra so gregariously crossed the line, thus it's small size… yet despite that, the Asura always felt that if you were going to do something, you do it right and to the best effectiveness possible.

Thus, the hold was not a pleasant place. Imposing steel bars with only the minimal space and accommodations. It was designed to dissuade you from doing whatever it was that got you put down there again. It was also receiving much more use than it was designed for over the last thirty odd days.

In this case, it held a stewing, haughty, arrogant Charr. Coran began to muse if there was any other kind of Charr, but forced himself off that stereotype quickly enough. Despite the very sturdy cell it was locked in, it was also under the guard of three of the academy's elite phalanx.

"So… who comes to question me now?" The prisoner snarled, "You waste your time. I will not yield to mice."

"I keep offering to question him myself, but so far the administration of your school won't let me." A voice called from another cell on the opposite side of the hold. Coran jerked around in a start to see Eve lounging in what appeared to be relative comfort on the cot of the open cell, stroking her "pet skull" distractedly. "I do so hate schools."

Coran rubbed his forehead. Eve had declined to join the expedition team, citing that "clambering through old, dusty caves is boring." He wondered if she had some precognition about the perils within, because her refusal was probably the smartest decision any of the human contingent in Atal Ra had made.

If he was honest with himself, he really didn't want to deal with the prisoner at that moment. He had no doubt that he could eventually get the prisoner to crack, but really did not like utilizing the crude and near torturous techniques he'd have to use. Eve, on the other hand, would probably get no measurable amounts of enjoyment out of the exercise. The fatigue in his body, the reluctance of his mind, and the fact that there was someone with neither allowed him to make a decision he would not have made under any other circumstances.

"What would you need?" Coran asked simply, and the guards boggled. They were already unnerved by the necromancer. She had been sitting in that cell, a willing prisoner of sorts, for the last four days since the Charr had been brought in. Singing macabre songs to herself, talking to the skull she carried… surely the woman must be mad. Could their headmaster really be considering letting that crazed female human do what she wanted?

"Nothing much, really. Just about twenty minutes alone with the prisoner. He'll be willing to wash your nether regions with his tongue by the time I am done with him." Eve stretched herself out in a manner that might have seemed seductive in the right environment, but in the current time and place instead gave off vibes of intense creepiness.

"How much success has the academy investigatiors had?" He asked the guards.

One of them piped up nervously. "Not much at the moment… but we're certain he'll concede any and all information you desire given time."

Coran's eyes narrowed, and he bore a cold stare towards the Charr prisoner. "Time is not a luxury we have an abundance of, Guardsman." He paused, then turned his head slightly towards the now sitting necromancer. "Very well, Eve… I give you permission to interrogate the prisoner. Gentlemen, let's give her some alone time with our guest."

"Headmaster sir… are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Better than any I've had in a handful of weeks, I suspect. It's a step up at any rate. Stand down and pull out. That's an order."

Reluctantly, the guards retreated from the hold, and took up positions in the stairwell outside, closing the thick metal door behind them and the Headmaster. "Inform me immediately if and when she is successful in teaching our guest to be more of a conversationalist." Coran groused, and rubbing his eyes, started what felt like a torturously long trip up the stairwell to the academy proper.

Meanwhile, Eve was preparing herself to have some fun in this boring place at long last. She laid out her silver needles, long puncturing tools nearly a foot long yet very thin for their length, out with great care out on the cot before gathering them in one hand and slowly approaching the chained Charr shaman with a grin that promised no pleasantries.

"Heh, they think a little mouse is going to make me talk now?" The prisoner bragged with a sneer.

"A mouse?" Eve asked, as if amused. With a powerful tug that did not seem like it should be possible from the necromancer's slender frame, the chains binding the Charr pulled taut, spreading her prisoner in a spread position across the far wall of the cell. "Squeak, squeak." She then chirped brightly, drawing three needles from her hand and spacing them between her fingers. Then, with a shockingly pleasant, melodic voice, Eve began to sing.

"I'm just a little mouse; squeak, squeak, squeak." With each of the final sounds, she crisply drove two of the needles into each wrist and one just above the vocal chords, pinching nerves in the neck and killing all feeling below that point.

"What… what did you do?" The Charr demanded, but Eve ignored him, continuing her sweetly toned tune.

"I scurry through the house; squeak, squeak, squeak." Another three needles were drawn, and formed a triangle of sorts beneath each shoulder blade and at the lower sternum.

"I scamper 'cross the floor; squeak, squeak, squeak." Three more needless, piercing the tender flesh of the underarms and the upper sternum.

"I dash under the door; squeak, squeak, squeak." This time, the elbows and the liver took Eve's next punctures.

"I'm just a little mouse…"

A needle pushed through the gap in the Charr's ribs, Eve stopping as she felt it graze ever so barely against the prisoner's beating heart.

"Squeak…"

This one found its way into the abdomen just above the groin.

"Squeak…"

She then drove one final needle into the Charr's temple, the stinging pain dying quickly, leaving her victim extremely confused. Was this supposed to be painful?

"Squeak!"

The last word lost all of the smooth, intoned melody of its fellow song… instead it was a sneering hiss that accompanied the needle in the prisoner's throat being drawn out. With that, all feeling returned to the Charr, each thin metal spike injuring vital pressure points of the Charr anatomy, and sending one uniform, agonizing message all at once to the victim's brain, centering where the needle in his temple rested, like a lightning rod for the nerves of his body… a portion of the brain that processed one of the basest of animal stimuli…

… Pain…