Ares KotP: The Breaking
Thirsty. Hungry. Dirty. Hanging restrained with chains designed to nullify my awesome power. I have lost track of time, I have lost track of everything. In all the time I have been here, I have seen nor heard nothing of my captors. Or Captor. More then likely captors.
For the second, or the hundredth time, I flex my body, trying to find a weakness in the restraints, hoping to find something I have overlooked. Nothing. I now know better then to try to use my power to contact help or break free, as the past 20 times I have tried, I have been rendered unconscious as my powers fed back into me. Well, Pekingese are stubborn. Not stupid, just stubborn.
A blinding light suddenly filled the room, or it appeared blinding to me. Having been deprived of even light, it was more then I could handle. Blinking my protruding eyes rapidly, I began to see two forms appear in the door, hearing gruff guttural voices, of which one sounded eerily familiar.
“Well, the little Knight that could. How’s it hanging furball.” Rasped the familiar voice. My blood ran cold, shivers ran down my spine, I recognized the voice. The dread beaver, rider of the red badger, second horseman of the Apocalypse, War.
I turned my head, and observed War, tall for a beaver, extra developed front teeth, clothed in red armor, glowing with sigils of power.
“Nothing to say? Ah yes, you cannot communicate without your power” he laughed. Beaver laughter is not a pleasant sound, more like sawdust being filtered through a mesh screen. And his, was worse then normal. Turning, I looked at his companion. Withered, dressed in black, skeletal in appearance, the fourth rider of the Apocalypse, Death strode forward. Much taller then War, yet skinnier, the rider had the appearance of a skeletal sloth. Which makes sense I suppose. Or as much as anything in the magical world ever makes sense.
Striding forward, War approached me, with Death a little behind him. His hand blurred and my head rocked back in agony. Blood trickled down my neck from the wicked beaver claws. Death calmly stood there, waiting patiently.
Turning to Death, War muttered “This is not quite as fun, without him being able to talk or cry in pain.” Waving his hand, I felt my power rush back into my body. Instinctively I began to pull it in, when two swords appeared at my neck.
“Now now Knight, this is for communication only. Attempt to flee and we will strike you down. Attempt to attack us, we will kill you.”
I raised my head and projected my thoughts out in affirmation. Sheathing their swords, they looked at each other, War calm and cocky, Death cold and withdrawn. With a smile, Death reached out a skeletal hand, stroking my front right paw. Pure agony erupted through my body, as my paw began to wither. A cold feeling crept through my body, I felt like I was dying. With a creepy smile Death removed his hand, and feeling began to return to my paw. I was furious. There was nothing I could do at the moment. Except, a little bit of magic I could attempt deep inside. I checked my mental wards, making sure they were secure, and gathered small, tiny pieces of power in my blood stream, spreading it through my body. It may work, or it may not, but I had to try.
War grinned at me, and back handed me casually, knocking my head sideways and almost cost me my focus. “We will be back little Knight, and then you will know the true meaning of pain.” He slammed his overdeveloped tail down on the ground, re-securing the bindings on me. However this time, because of the small power scattered through my body, they didn’t stick. I had created a layer of me, over me to which the bindings stuck.
I watched them leave, and once gone, I pushed my power up under my false layer of me, then exploded it outwards, shattering the bindings, and the chain, and part of the wall.
I had no time to lose, I had to get out of here. But now, I was free, and had my power back. This should be a piece of cheese!
No comments yet.