Chapter XXXI

Hostage

Everything hurt; it was difficult to breathe. Corven hung from the ceiling. He couldn't feel his arms anymore; they had become dislocated due to his weight after a few minutes of hanging. Yistel had stabbed him in the back, between his ribs; the pain was sharper in that area.

One umbra monitored the interrogation and approached every time he lost consciousness. He healed his wounds with curaten and curatex, only for them to be sliced open once more by his interrogator's knife.

They took one of his eyes out and broke both his legs four times after fixing them the same amount of times.

“I’m close to letting you die and start looking for those alters myself.”

Corven could perceive the light of the flames illuminating the area. His mind was so distant; he didn't react to what Yistel said.

"Is he even listening? Furka, I think you might've exceeded yourself this time," a woman stated.

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Olia, did I?" He stood, trying to control his anger.

"I don't care if you asked or not. We can't get information out of Corven if he's half-dead!" She raised her voice with exasperation. "We've given him two enhancers. If we make him swallow another, he could suffer heart failure. Why are you so bloodthirsty?"

Yistel approached, trying to intimidate her with his six-foot-five muscular build that could snap anyone's neck without effort. He achieved nothing, so he paced around, away from the interrogatee. His coat propelled fresh air towards Corven, whom Wuzan was healing again.

Tension decreased as his breathing recovered.

"Show some self-respect and keep yourself awake. Snap out of it! Either you tell us, or you die. As simple as that," Olia took the lead this time, sitting in front of him. "Wuzan is partially healing your wounds to keep you alive. If you decide not to talk, Yistel will make sure you suffer in your last hours and I won’t be able to stop him, or healing would involved. There’s a crystaphere veritaserum on its way. We'll know where they are by dawn, regardless of your resilience. I haven't seen the boss this angry in years..."

That speech gave Corven goosebumps. His temperature and blood pressure had fluctuated since Yistel started his 'interrogation.' The dictadurian didn't believe he would make it out alive. No one knew where he was, not even himself. The idea of depriving those Umbras from getting the alters kept him motivated. If he didn't have them, no one would.

Almost as if recess was over, Olia left, and Yistel returned after taking a series of deep breathing exercises. His face got close to him.

"Let's do this again," Yistel's breath smelled like cheap vodka, which made Corven nauseous; he spat bile on Yistel's feet, who became so upset; he punched him in the ribs and face with tremendous strength, breaking a couple more bones. The prisoner fell unconscious once again.

The rest of those Umbras were disturbed by his reaction, especially Olia, who yelled at him.

"What are you trying to do? If you kill him, we've got nothing! Wuzan, bring Corven down and heal him," she ordered and confronted Yistel. "I'm not willing to fail because you can't control yourself! Come back when you can behave like a civilized person."

He walked away, filled with rage. Olia was not intimidated by his tantrum.

A young man, no older than thirty, arrived from one of the surrounding arcs, shocked at what he witnessed. Wuzan placed Corven’s unconscious body on the floor, covered with blood and bruises, ready to take care of him. They all stared at the intruder.

"Abrante, speak. What do you want?" Olia was the one to break the silence.

The man snapped out of his thoughts. "Someone just paralyzed Ghara, and they're coming this way. I don't know, but it seems like they can put up a fight..."

Yistel approached his victim and held him by the face. "You're one lucky furkano, Corven. I'll see you soon. Think about our next meeting." He stepped away and went to Olia. "Let's get ready."

"Got it," she didn't sound happy.

Yistel left without looking back.

"Abrante, go upstairs and alert the Umbras guarding Gorbat’s floor; they'll know what to do," his mentor ordered.

He left in a rush.

"Wuzan, fix Corven. It’s not safe here; we can’t afford to lose him—"

Another Umbra appeared, alert and searching for them.

"Perfect. Vustelli will go with you."

"Ghara!—" The woman didn't understand.

"We know," Olia interrupted. "I’m sure they’re looking for this one. Vustelli, help Wuzan find a levitator, take Corven to the Raft, and lock him up in the cells. We will deal with the intruders and follow later. I can imagine Gorbat will go too. It’s protocol."

"Copy. I’m almost done here," Wuzan worked as fast as he could.

"Be quick. They must be close."

“We can’t take him on our shoulders, his body needs to remain in this position.”

It took him another minute, but he fixed those ribs; with Vustelli’s help, they carried him on a impromtu stretcher made with Olia’s dark green coat and a hammock from the Umbra’s rest room which was a floor away.

"Let us know when you reach the raft," Olia wished them good luck and headed into a different tunnel.

The Umbras left the area moment later.

"Who is this?" Vustelli was the first to speak as they carried Corven away.

Wuzan lowered his voice to a whisper.

"A hundred gatvits to a member of the Kilorentz. They’re still angry at us for killing Byrt last week."

Corven had been pretending to be unconscious since the medic had freed him from the chains; his body felt like a bag of mashed potatoes. The improvised stretcher, rocked him gently but still hurt. He was confused by their conversation.

"I don’t like this," Vustelli murmured, struggling to keep up with Wuzan’s pace. "Is this the war you guys have been talking about for months?"

"We’ve been warned about a war since Copernus took presidency, it’s the usual gibberish."

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With his eyes closed, it was hard to be certain, but Corven could swear they were taking him uphill. The cave became warmer with each step.

"This sack of bones is heavy. Is it worth taking him to the Raft?" Vustelli would have left him there if it were up to her. "We could hide him somewhere—"

"I would rather carry him myself. Please don’t be foolish, Mertina. As insignificant as Corven might seem, he is the most valuable Dictadurian right now. Far more than you, believe me," Wuzan’s words seemed to have the desired effect.

Vustelli continued without further complaint, instead changing the subject.

"I could swear each time I try to take a shit, something happens. I was about to use the bathroom when I saw the cameras. I’m glad we don’t have to stay and fight; that Dictadurian took down Ghara with some crazy good moves. Abrante was much quicker to react and warn you, if I'm honest. I stayed and watched the whole thing."

"It doesn’t matter! We need to rush!"

Corven felt the increase in speed in his aching bones. Their movement became more reckless; he was worried about it. Almost as if on cue, Vustelli tripped on the concrete floor, dropping him.

“Furka, my bad, fren, my bad.”

The pain was excruciating. He silently cried out while they lifted him again and continued on. Minutes later, the Umbras placed him on a cold surface.

"Vustelli, you're in charge of Corven; take him to The Raft. Prove me wrong." Wuzan ordered her.

"Wrong about what? You're not coming?" She sounded confused.

"About you. My vote was against your naming as an Umbra. I don’t believe you have what it takes. So, prove me wrong. I have to go back and help our brothers and sisters."

"I’ll get him there," Vustelli was scared but knew she was needed.

Corven listened to the crackling sound of crystal growing near him.

"Your life depends on it. Go!"

They sped away on the levitator without hesitation. Corven felt confident enough to open his one remaining eye. He saw the rocky mountain used by the Umbras as a base. The hangar was barely visible from where they were; it had no lights, making it appear as an insignificant crack that disappeared the further away they were.

Corven heard Vustelli’s heavy breathing behind him. It seemed she hadn’t been an umbra for long, which somewhat eased his nerves; she couldn't be as bad as the others.

He was almost certain he wouldn’t survive the night; he felt his body bleeding internally. There was a tap on his shoulder.

"Hey, are you awake?"

The mutilated man had no strength to respond.

“Whatever. You’ll listen to me even if you don’t like it. There’s nothing you can do about it,” Vustelli took a few moments to compose herself. "I didn't sign up for this furkan nonsense. The Umbras are on a whole other level of cruelty. Look at what they did to you! I didn't know. I wouldn't have allowed it…" She paused, attempting to give weight to her words. "Or not. I've never been more afraid in my life. The Umbras can take a life without a second thought. Here, death is a normal, trivial, an everyday occurrence, like rain. It's not like back home. You can't choose when to move on. It happens whether you're ready or not. Murders, accidents, catastrophes. The Sephirot don't mention it. They let you discover it on your own. I've witnessed death almost every day since I arrived here. Furka, you could be next."

The pity in her voice made Corven lose hope.

Realizing her mistake, Vustelli continued, "But not on my watch. We're close to the raft. Don't worry; you can continue playing dead. I won't say a word. I'm sure someone there will take care of you," he felt the levitator lose altitude. "You might not care, but I'm sorry you're in this situation. I hope you survive and apologize for being too pessimistic."

They landed, and there was a drastic change in temperature.

That 'raft' was cooled and smelled of pinewood.

Corven was about to open his eyes when someone approached.

"Oi! What's this? Nobody told me about a night delivery," a man yelled at Vustelli.

"It wasn't scheduled," she replied. "Something happened back at Muntana. There was an intruder. We were evacuated. Olia said Gorbat is coming here too." Each word alarmed the man more than the last. "He needs to be taken to a cell. It's top priority. Help me carry him, or they’ll kill you for ignoring me." Moments later, the man approached Corven and lifted him.

He wanted to cry.

“We’re supposed to take him on that hammock!”

"Should’ve told me earlier. Follow me. My name is Ximet."

Vustelli grunted and followed; Corven tried to relax his body in those arms.

"So, who is this intruder?"

"I don't know. It was my first time seeing her. But she can fight," Vustelli was almost too excited. Ximet's face turned suspicious. "Hey, seeing a woman fight like that, you'd be scared, man. Ghara didn’t last five seconds—"

"What!?" The news shocked Ximet. "Ghara!? Is she okay? What happened?"

"I'm sure she is. The intruder used a crystaphere to paralyze her with electricity. Right after, I left in a hurry; the others were preparing to fight. I can tell you that person was no assassin. Ghara is still alive."

"I hope you're right. We're partners," Ximet calmed down.

Vustelli hadn’t expected that.

"She took a beating, but nothing too severe," she said, knowing it was better to be blunt than to lie and create false hopes. "There was nothing else Ghara could've done. I'm sure the electric shock didn’t cause lasting harm—"

"Enough," Ximet interrupted. "I believe you. It wasn’t fatal. We'll take this guy to his cell and figure out what’s happening. If you say the other Umbras evacuated Gorbat, they must be arriving soon. They'll have answers."

The rest of their journey was silent. Vustelli felt she had been too forthright, while Ximet was lost in his thoughts, filled with concern for the love of his life.

They left him on the ground of a cell; it wasn't an actual raft. No farewells were exchanged. It was freezing there, but Corven's body was not; his mind conjured images of a river of blood unleashed within him, a likely reality. His body had been brutalized five times in one day; Yistel's torture had been more severe than Meida's. He had lost an eye, and half of his limbs were numb, while the rest endured excruciating pain.

The cell was devoid of light. The only parts of his body that didn't hurt were his buttocks and hips, which Corven used to propel himself towards the nearest wall. After a few minutes of agonizing struggle, he reached it, crawled, and leaned his body against the wall. With his remaining eye, he searched for anything that might aid him, but his weakened sight revealed only an empty and dark cell.

Nausea overwhelmed him again, and this time, the uncontrollable urge took over, leading him to vomit. He stared at the pool of liquid—a red mass. Blood. He knew it—internal bleeding. "Furka, I'm dizzy." There was nothing to do but wait. Corven turned and lay back on the cold floor, fighting a strong desire to sleep, but his mind was racing. The iron taste of his blood had become a normalcy.

There, with his face pressed against the concrete, he had an epiphany. It's my fault. I started this. If I hadn't been so greedy, maybe I'd be building Stagnums as a Binah. But no, he had prioritized his comfort over everything else. He never acknowledged living within a community, always a loner. Only after committing a crime did he recognize his errors: Corven had stolen from other Oportunians waiting for supplies—materials they were entitled to, items they had worked to gain access to—and he exploited them.

Marble, titanium, crystals, ingravitas technology, stabilizers, solar nanites—the list went on. Instead of allowing them to achieve their goals, he, the new neighbor, exploited what he perceived as a flawed system for his own benefit. It was gut-wrenching to realize it. Corven's one poor decision led to many others.

It took him a long time understand the damage his ego had caused.

Had he not been fixated on the alters, he could have served his sentence as intended; instead, he opted for the quickest escape. Now, on what felt like his deathbed, it all seemed like a doomed plan from the start. He had not calculated the odds, blindly hoping for the best possible outcome and failing, of course.

The former binah had once thought the perception of Sectum exaggerated. "Ignorance is wonderland," his father used to say. Who knew? Maybe he was never meant to live as a Malkuthian in aequiteism. Some theorized that extarri were a lower class of humans, with recessive genes harking back to a more primitive version of their species—a DNA legacy from the times when Malkuth was known as Earth. Yet, there was no proof too back it up.

There, on the cold ground, close to death, Corven pondered everything he could have done differently. He planned to spend his final agonizing moments dreaming about how things might have been. After a while, he lost consciousness again, drifted to a place beyond his physical pain.

****

That's it for Chapter XXXI!

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