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25-04-2023, 07:58 PM
Chapter 2: Another Begins
With heavy eyelids he slowly blinked his eyes open, looking around he expected to see the bunks that he woke up in each morning but he saw only an unfamiliar and cold durasteel plated room. He came to his senses when the sharp pain in his head set in, remembering what happened. He tried to sit up but found himself restrained by the neck, wrists, waist and ankles. Fixed to a metallic bed.
"What the-.. what is this?Where am I?!"
Fighting against his restraints he looked around again and saw it... a durasteel operating table like the one he was fixed to. The first thing he noticed was the pale arm that hung limply over the side of the table, a lattice of deliberate and fresh cuts criss-crossing their way down the arm with crimson streams meandering their way down the limb and dripping down from the fingers to form a sickly puddle below. Making his way up the arm he came to a scarred and bloodied face that was almost unrecognisable, if not for the sapphire blue eyes that stared emptily at Sheros. Sheros' wide-eyed horror was broken by a chuckle and the body was dragged from the table, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.
"Vecton! What have you done to hi-"
As anger pooled up within Sheros and he thrashed against his restraints, trying to break free to rush over to Vecton, he was stopped dead by a sudden and powerful grip on his jaw. A cold metal gauntlet that grasped and turned his gaze away from Vecton and to the red-eyed mask that peered into his eyes. He felt his mind under intense pressure, an invasive and oppressive force against him, and his anger quickly turned into fear. He laid there, frozen. The figure looked into his eyes before releasing an almost satisfied metallic exhale. Patting his shoulder in a twisted imitation of reassuring him.
"Don't worry, he's still alive - though he begged for death. I'm sure you will too..."
Sheros did not thrash against his restraints, he did not embrace his fear for strength. He shut his eyes tight and tried to remember his training, suppressing the emotions that arose from within as best he could, muttering quietly to himself..
"There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the force. There is no emotion there is-.."
"Peace is a lie, there is only passion!"
The masked figure roared, chuckling to himself after as he rustled around on an operating table and causing multiple metallic clunks and scrapes. Eventually he selected a scalpel and lifted it between their two faces, inspecting the blade before tracing the flat of it against Sheros' cheek.
"For you, though... there will be only pain. Until you learn -the truth-. Let's start with this pretty face, shall we?"
The first, of many, incisions was made into the flesh of Sheros' face. Causing him to cry out in pain and thrash against his restraints to no avail as his tormentor released another chuckle that was distorted by the intimidating mask. Sheros shut his eyes as tight as he could and repeated the Jedi Code over and over again in his mind, anything to distract from the pain. Until a combination of pain and blood loss caused the young Mirialan to lose consciousness...
With heavy eyelids he slowly blinked his eyes open, looking around he saw the same cold durasteel room. There was no sun, no windows to judge the passing of time. He was strapped to the table with tubes connected to his body in various places, food, water and various stimulants pumped into him to prevent hunger, thirst and even the aching or atrophying of muscles. He did not have the luxury of eating, drinking or even moving and could not even judge the passing of time by the comings and goings of hunger. He laid there, staring up at the constantly flickering light, stewing in a combination of agony and complete hatred. He didn't know how long it had been, but he knew that reciting the code and suppressing his emotions only caused his tormentors to try harder. Every inch of his body had been defiled, scarred and disfigured. Every inch covered in a lattice of fresh wounds that sent pain signals, amplified by one of the stimulants flowing through his veins, directly to his brain with nothing to distract him from them.. until he heard a new voice from outside.
"To the Logistics division..."
"Yes, My Lord. And this one?"
He recognised the voice of his tormentor and as he was addressed he felt a new presence, overwhelming in potency and darkness, reach into his mind. Judging every shred of his being.
"To the Horuset Acolyte system.."
"The Mirialan? My Lord, he hasn't even been to one of the Academ-.."
"My decision is made. With any luck he dies within the month and we have met the quotas."
"Ah, I see... very good, My Lord. Your will be done."
The same chuckle that had haunted Sheros for years was the last he ever heard of his tormentor as the heavy metal boots strode away down the corridor. His stimulants were ceased moments after and he began to fall unconscious once again...
With heavy eyelids he slowly blinked his eyes open, looking around he expected to see the bunks that he woke up in each morning but he saw only an unfamiliar and cold durasteel plated room. He came to his senses when the sharp pain in his head set in, remembering what happened. He tried to sit up but found himself restrained by the neck, wrists, waist and ankles. Fixed to a metallic bed.
"What the-.. what is this?Where am I?!"
Fighting against his restraints he looked around again and saw it... a durasteel operating table like the one he was fixed to. The first thing he noticed was the pale arm that hung limply over the side of the table, a lattice of deliberate and fresh cuts criss-crossing their way down the arm with crimson streams meandering their way down the limb and dripping down from the fingers to form a sickly puddle below. Making his way up the arm he came to a scarred and bloodied face that was almost unrecognisable, if not for the sapphire blue eyes that stared emptily at Sheros. Sheros' wide-eyed horror was broken by a chuckle and the body was dragged from the table, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.
"Vecton! What have you done to hi-"
As anger pooled up within Sheros and he thrashed against his restraints, trying to break free to rush over to Vecton, he was stopped dead by a sudden and powerful grip on his jaw. A cold metal gauntlet that grasped and turned his gaze away from Vecton and to the red-eyed mask that peered into his eyes. He felt his mind under intense pressure, an invasive and oppressive force against him, and his anger quickly turned into fear. He laid there, frozen. The figure looked into his eyes before releasing an almost satisfied metallic exhale. Patting his shoulder in a twisted imitation of reassuring him.
"Don't worry, he's still alive - though he begged for death. I'm sure you will too..."
Sheros did not thrash against his restraints, he did not embrace his fear for strength. He shut his eyes tight and tried to remember his training, suppressing the emotions that arose from within as best he could, muttering quietly to himself..
"There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the force. There is no emotion there is-.."
"Peace is a lie, there is only passion!"
The masked figure roared, chuckling to himself after as he rustled around on an operating table and causing multiple metallic clunks and scrapes. Eventually he selected a scalpel and lifted it between their two faces, inspecting the blade before tracing the flat of it against Sheros' cheek.
"For you, though... there will be only pain. Until you learn -the truth-. Let's start with this pretty face, shall we?"
The first, of many, incisions was made into the flesh of Sheros' face. Causing him to cry out in pain and thrash against his restraints to no avail as his tormentor released another chuckle that was distorted by the intimidating mask. Sheros shut his eyes as tight as he could and repeated the Jedi Code over and over again in his mind, anything to distract from the pain. Until a combination of pain and blood loss caused the young Mirialan to lose consciousness...
With heavy eyelids he slowly blinked his eyes open, looking around he saw the same cold durasteel room. There was no sun, no windows to judge the passing of time. He was strapped to the table with tubes connected to his body in various places, food, water and various stimulants pumped into him to prevent hunger, thirst and even the aching or atrophying of muscles. He did not have the luxury of eating, drinking or even moving and could not even judge the passing of time by the comings and goings of hunger. He laid there, staring up at the constantly flickering light, stewing in a combination of agony and complete hatred. He didn't know how long it had been, but he knew that reciting the code and suppressing his emotions only caused his tormentors to try harder. Every inch of his body had been defiled, scarred and disfigured. Every inch covered in a lattice of fresh wounds that sent pain signals, amplified by one of the stimulants flowing through his veins, directly to his brain with nothing to distract him from them.. until he heard a new voice from outside.
"To the Logistics division..."
"Yes, My Lord. And this one?"
He recognised the voice of his tormentor and as he was addressed he felt a new presence, overwhelming in potency and darkness, reach into his mind. Judging every shred of his being.
"To the Horuset Acolyte system.."
"The Mirialan? My Lord, he hasn't even been to one of the Academ-.."
"My decision is made. With any luck he dies within the month and we have met the quotas."
"Ah, I see... very good, My Lord. Your will be done."
The same chuckle that had haunted Sheros for years was the last he ever heard of his tormentor as the heavy metal boots strode away down the corridor. His stimulants were ceased moments after and he began to fall unconscious once again...
