He saw him arrange Karla's capture. He saw him command another man to eliminate Eren. After that Malachi had called off the tormentors whose job it was to break into his mind. Christian was left to his own devices, but to sit there and wait, to dread, that was another kind of torture entirely.
His cell was high–ceilinged, windowless, and awash with pure white light. The floor, the walls, all were done up in some glittering white material which reflected the light back at him. A bench or a shelf just wide enough to sit on ran round the wall, broken only by the door and, at the end opposite the door, a toilet with no seat. Every surface was smooth. So white were the walls and so piercing the light that at times he felt like he was in fact sitting in a white void, without boundaries or shadows. And he himself was part of this void. His captors had provided him with new clothes, pure white shoes, padded to eliminate any sound, and a white jumpsuit.
Really, who was to say he wasn't, in fact, sitting in an unbound white space? Malachi Greymist seemed to use his sorcery very sparingly for a self–proclaimed dark lord, but he when he did use it, he employed it to great effect. Maybe whenever he blinked, Christian was transported briefly to some place that was no room at all. Maybe every time he closed his eyes he sat on some vast white plain stretching across an equally blank sky. Maybe every time he closed his eyes he was in fact melting into that void, dissolving, merging with it, becoming it... No, no, fight it, fight those thoughts. This place would drive him mad if he allowed it.
What was the time? Since his capture he had not been allowed a moment to himself, a moment to rest. Now Christian found his eyes closing of their own accord. Only behind his eyelids was some relief to be found from this void, this alien dimension consisting only of light, and even then it was a small relief, for the light followed him there too. He moved off the bench then to sit on the floor next to the toilet, covering his face with his arms. A single solitary shadow, even for a mere moment, would've been a welcome respite.
He then heard the white door to his white cell begin to open slowly. He looked up. Were his captors here with Karla in tow? No, it was just one person, a girl, and merciful God had heard his prayers at long last, for she wore black clothes. In this cell, that was as close to a proper shadow as he would get.
„What is it now?" Christian began, and she pressed a finger to her lips. He realized she wasn't here to torture him; if Malachi saw fit to assign new torturers to him, they would have to wear the same white clothes as himself, and the same white shoes that would absorb sound. But she would not speak to him either. He hadn't heard a single one of Malachi's men speak other than Malachi himself, the girl he had sent after Karla, and the chubby guy he brought in moments later to threaten his life and then send him after Eren. Christian thought he knew why they would not speak, for just before he was sent back to his cell he caught a glimpse of the wall directly behind the dark throne of his host. Malachi's throne room? In his thoughts he now referred to it as his tongue room, or trophy room. They would not speak, because they could not.
Still pressing a finger to her lips, she came to kneel in front of him. She was a young girl, dark–skinned, with short black hair that stopped just slightly below her eyebrows. She moved it out of the way with her finger and grabbed the professor by the arm, standing up and dragging him up with her. She let go of his arm, and he saw a faint black stain where she had grabbed him. He never thought he'd be so happy to see dirt. He looked a little closer and saw black grime under her fingernails, all cut short. She was dressed in black overalls like a mechanic, though he did not know any mechanic to wear a sash of red silk as she did, tied around her waist.
The girl motioned for him to follow, and so he did. From his cell they went, from light into darkness, moving through a dark labyrinth with only faint red strands of light to guide them. Eventually they emerged into the great hall.
Christian did not have much time to process the size of this place the first time he walked through it. He had even less time now, if this girl with the red sash was truly guiding him to escape as he was hoping, but from what a momentary glance could tell him the hall seemed to be more than a hundred meters in length and over thirty meters in width, enough space for all the strange machinery clustered in the expanse. The curved ceiling stretched far above their heads, immense skeletal ribbed supports meeting over fifty meters above.
There was a corridor of sorts leading down the middle of the hall, cleared of all instruments. No one else was around except for Christian and the girl. They walked, as quietly and as quickly as they could, and at last they reached the gate of this facility and the great red dragon crest.
At this point, Christian felt compelled to ask a question. He hoped it would not be rude, the girl was obviously trying to help him escape and he did not wish to offend her, but he really had to know something. „Why?" he whispered. „Who am I to you?"
The girl tapped one finger against the side of her head and shook it lightly, like a disappointed parent. She unzipped her overalls slightly and reached within to produce a silver necklace, at the end of which hung a strange object. It was a tiny crystal thing that bore the same reddish tint as the seal at the gate and the crimson energy permeating the air, incredibly ornate, but in essence it consisted of a half–crescent pierced by an elongated lozenge. It bore no resemblance to any object of faith or charm he had ever seen, but the way she clutched it in her hand resembled how one would hold a... key?
The girl went for the door, then stopped, turned to Christian. She let out a shuddering exhale.
Super or not, every organism needed rest. The self–proclaimed dark lord's hive–mind of workers was currently not present because they were resting. But not all of his agents were here at the moment, there were others running his errands. And a group of four had just returned with Karla in tow. The girl with the red sash felt them. They felt her, too.
The door swung open, slamming Christian and the girl in the face. Abigail strode forward first, the seal on the door rippling as she did so. Next came the trio of the self–proclaimed dark lord's faithful, hauling Karla inside with them. Seeing their comrade on the floor along with the professor they stared, momentarily confused.
Christian got up. A white shape stood on the other end of the nave, arms behind his back. The girl must've thought he had been resting but there he was, fully dressed. Did he know of their attempt the entire time? Did he know and allowed it to happen, to give them a semblance of hope that he could crush?
The nest was awake. Malachi's hive mind had been roused and now they poured in from their sleeping quarters, four of them walking up to Christian and the girl and taking them by their arms.
Christian could've said he was glad to see his daughter, but that was a lie. She was only here because of him, because they couldn't break through to him. So now they would break her. And she had arrived just in time for a demonstration of what the self–proclaimed dark lord could do to those who disobeyed him. At a silent signal the girl with the red sash was hauled before Malachi. Karla and Christian were dragged along with her. They would have the front row for whatever punishment there was in store for Christian's would–be saviour.
The girl was on her knees, breathing deeply, slowly, trying to still her heartbeat. Christian thought he could hear it through her chest. So brave. So foolish. Doomed from the start.
Malachi's gaze settled on the girl with the red sash. And a hurricane began to roar through her mind.
If the mind was like a fortress, then in an instant whatever gates the girl had held closed were opened, opened by a gust of black wind that danced and cavorted through the ruin it was creating, cleansing it, murdering every occupant inside. The fortress was beset on all sides and consumed from within and reduced to rubble and the rubble was crushed down into fine dust in a moment and the earth was salted so that nothing would ever grow there again...
And everything that constituted her as a person, all the things she'd done and those she could have, the joyous memories, the warmth and the calm, the silly thought that one day she would be free, the naive adolescence, off track with its dreams, but in the end harmless and innocent, the anecdotes, and digressions and pauses, those moments of bliss atop the green hills, the illusion of belief, justification and truth, all those things she'd left for later, for another day, and every word that could've been spoken, every thought that could've been thought, and all that could have been...
...was now...
...no more.
The girl with the red sash gagged and drooled and sprawled on the floor, her body wrecked by the shattering of the mind and the destruction of the soul. She remained alive, from a biological standpoint. But she was now reduced to an imbecile, and less than that. Less than even a newborn baby. Where was she? Who was she? What did it even mean, to be someone? She had been lobotomized by the dark lord's gaze and would never even be able to ask these questions anymore, let alone answer them. For all intents and purposes, this was the end of the girl with the red sash.
This was a lesson for the self–proclaimed dark lord's congregation. How could they rebel? How, when any one of them could have their master within their head at any moment? If you so much as thought of going against Malachi in some meaningful way, chances were he or one of his synapse wizards already knew. Rebellion would never and could never topple him. In here, nothing was beyond the self–proclaimed dark lord's reach. Not even the few cubic centimetres inside your own skull. The only way to survive was to restructure not merely one's own actions but one's very thoughts around obedience to the dark deity lurking here, unseen. Do your task, think as little as possible, and don't be amusing enough that Malachi Greymist decides your mind is a fun place to play.
The Dark Lady huffed. „I never really liked her anyway."
„What took you so long?" Malachi demanded of her.
She gestured at Karla's captors. „The boys got hungry!"
Christian watched as one of Malachi's blessed, a senior if the greying beard was any indication, rolled his eyes at that and approached a lean, dark youth of nineteen whose eyes were fixated upon the scene, unblinking. He got patted on the shoulder as the other fixed him with a solemn look which seemed to say, „You did well."
Christian looked now at his daughter. Karla had barely made a noise throughout, other than a slight whimper as the girl fell to the floor with dead eyes. She did not quite understand what just happened, but she understood what it was: a warning, a display of power.
Malachi watched them and shook his head with what appeared to be disgust. „Why would you make me bring your daughter into this, professor?" he asked, and Christian thought he heard the exact same words in his head before Malachi had spoken them out loud. Surely it wasn't beginning already! Surely his mind was not being overcome, like the minds of all the others? It was!
He knew what was required of him. „Lord Greymist," he began. He wasn't sure how exactly to address him, but that would have to do. „For my daughter's sake... I will brew the atsilatree poison. But only if you swear not to harm her."
„You have my word. And you will have all the supplies you may need." Beside the professor Karla hissed in German. Malachi regarded her. She was a rather slim and graceful woman, with magnificent dark brown hair and a hectic flush to her cheeks. Her breathing came in nervous broken gasps and her eyes glittered as if from fever, her gaze harsh and angry. „How long does the process take for a pint?" Malachi asked.
„An hour," the professor replied.
An hour, to make an alchemical weapon of such power? Malachi wondered for a moment if he was being lied to. He turned away from the professor. Assuming the old man was not lying, then all it would take for the beast to rear its head again was one hour. Soon, Malachi's plans would be ready. His deeds were erased from the world after his arrest, but now he would reenter with such force that they would never forget him, no matter how hard they tried. The Statute of Secrecy would be broken forever and all would know... It's not over.
Someone's voice interrupted his musings. It was the professor. „I must warn you, lord Greymist. I may have tried to grasp the essence of magic, but I am just a muggle. I cannot perform the rituals that would require the poison to truly come alive, as you want it to. I'm not lying!" he raised his voice in panic as Malachi rounded on him. „Why would I lie and risk Karla's life?"
He had a point there, Malachi had to admit. „In the Appalachian Mountains they knew the secret."
„Yes, the shamans, who still abide in the hills and caves, unknown by the muggles. But we never met them. There was another. They trusted him enough with the secret." Malachi was slithering slowly into his head, probing for an entrance. The sensation was far from pleasant, but it wasn't like Christian had the ability to resist. Might as well get it over with. He opened his mind, and allowed Greymist to see for himself that he wasn't lying. „Wh–why do you think I'm working here, in London?" the professor asked, his choler suddenly rising. „I can do my work just as easily in my own country, but there is a wizard here who had met with the shamans..."
„Papa!" Karla hissed from the side, but her feeble protests went unheard.
„...and he refuses to see me! This wizard, this Irion, he's stupid, hates me for being a muggle! He wrote down all his findings but won't give me access to them!"
„Papa, hör auf!"
„Very interesting, professor," Malachi said. He looked like he might smile, yet he did not. „Envy, rage... these are the things I understand. These are the things I trust. The information you need, professor, are you sure it can be found in the documents of this... wizard Irion?"
„Positive. But he does not have them with him."
„Where are they, then?"
Karla sagged in the hands of their captors. She couldn't bear hearing her father trade the fates of millions out of... what, jealousy?
Christian knew very well that she would probably never look at him the same way again. He was prepared for it. In fact, she might even end up hating him. He was prepared for that, too, so long as she lived. „There is a vault," he said. „Under Temple Church."