Chapter 29: Face to Face with Inquisitors

Uzman shot to his feet, dropping the food reflexively. He quickly picked up his glaive and moved to stand between Kenzo and the approaching soldiers.

“I said run, they are after you,” Kenzo screamed at Uzman.

Before Uzman could make a decision, the ground beneath his feet softened. He sank to his waist and then the ground solidified trapping him. He dropped the glaive and started struggling against the earth that encased his body.

“So this is where the imps have been hiding. How inconsiderate of you, we have been looking everywhere for you,” A pale well-built man stepped into the training camp. He had cross-cropped hair and brown eyes. His thick licks curled upwards in a supercilious smile that looked more like a grimace.

Behind the man, soldiers appeared dragging Fatima and Jurdur with them. The Northerners were all bleeding from various gashes on their bodies. It looked as if someone had worked them over systematically and maliciously.

Uzman was struggling to extricate himself from the earth binding. He was angry and scared of being helpless. He had been pushing himself to become stronger aware of what befell weak people in Tanga. And yet, here he was, helpless. This was the first time he had seen elemental manipulation of at least Rank 3. He would have admired or even tried to understand how the earth technique was cast were he not on the receiving end.

“Why are you doing this, I have not wronged you in any way, and yet you have bound me and harmed my friends,” Uzman shouted, his voice rising in anger.

“Pardon my manners, I am Centurion Praximus. I am holding you under the imperial authority granted to me by Prince Zaibatsu. Your friends are traitors to the Crown and are only alive due to my benevolence.”

Uzman was shocked into silence. Many a night he had fantasized about what he would do if he ever came across Centurion Praximus. The name was associated with the picture of Zimri crucified upside down on the gate of Kolcita village. He had wondered what a person capable of such brutality and violence would look like. Faced with the man standing grinning across from him, the experience was underwhelming.

At that moment, if Uzman could move, he would have thrown himself bodily at Centurion Praximus and damn the consequences. He stared at him with such hatred that Praximus flinched instinctively.

“Here I am being reasonable, and yet you look like you would rather murder me than answer a few questions,” Praximus said as he casually stepped forward and punched Uzman savagely on the jaw.

The move was so unexpected that Uzman was thrown backward and would have been sent flying had he not been anchored in the ground. His mouth filled with blood as his teeth clamped on his lips.

“Courtesy would demand that after a person introduces themselves you reciprocate. What is your name and affinity?” Praximus asked, maintaining his grinning but terrifying visage.

Uzman remained silent. He rationally recognized that his stubbornness would only make matters worse. However, complying with the person who had murdered his grandfather and killed an entire village; Never.

“I can see you have a spine. Ha! Let me thank you in advance for making this more interesting. Do you know what Inquisitors do hmm?” Praximus asked while drawing a thin sharp knife from one of the pockets of his attire. “We extract information that helps us to eliminate any threats to the Imperialty. I have been doing this for a long time. So, I would hope you resist and allow us to have some fun.”

The soldiers who were now packed within the training camp snickered. Uzman searched their faces seeking any clue that would help him understand their actions and motivations. Most of their faces held gleeful anticipation, like small children watching a jongleur in a circus. Some held a resigned expression; one of duty, as if waiting for the show to be over so that they can go on with their hopeless existence.

Praximus ran the knife lightly across Uzman’s face drawing blood. The cut was shallow and only served to infuriate him further. Uzman looked at the face of Praximus grinning in front of him and saw red. He snapped forward, empowering himself with earth for power, and head-butted him on the nose. A satisfying ‘crunch’ echoed in the clearing as blood gushed from the nose of Centurion Praximus who had been caught off guard. Uzman grinned, baring his bloody teeth, he would face the consequences happily just for the satisfaction of the shocked and painful expression on the face of the Centurion.

“You should not have done that,” Praximus stated. His voice was flat, emotionless. His eyes, however, betrayed his cold fury. He motioned with his hands and Uzman started sinking until he was fully buried in the ground.

His struggles only made him sink faster and then the earth solidified. He could not breathe. The weight of the dirt was constricting his chest pushing the little air out. His lungs were on fire craving air. Uzman chanced to open his mouth and soil rushed in clogging his mouth and airway. He started asphyxiating. Uzman tried to impose his will on the earth.

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As a wizard, Uzman could theoretically channel all elements. However, when he tried to change the constricting soil to air or loosen it, he failed. Just before he passed out from the lack of air, Uzman focused his will to create an air shield around his body. Unfortunately, he could only conjure a small filament of air on his skin. He could not push away the constricting earth. The air shied only lasted for a few moments before Uzman passed out from the lack of air.

Something hard thumped into his back. Uzman spat out a clod of mud and started coughing painfully. His lungs, airways, and body were in excruciating pain. The few moments of peace where Uzman had resigned himself to death had been cut short by the Centurion who had dragged him back to the surface. Uzman continued wheezing and taking painful gulps of air as he stabilized his breathing and ejected the muddy earth that had been lodged in his airways.

“Now that we are past the pissing contest, we can continue with more important matters,” Praximus grinned looking at Uzman who was lying on the floor coated in his vomit, mud, and soil.

He then beckoned to one of the soldiers and Fatima was brought forth.

Fatima was trembling with fear and pain. Her body was covered in small wounds and she stood putting her weight on her left leg. Her ankle looked twisted as if someone had brutally stepped on it.

“I am going to ask you once, and only once. What is your name and what are your affinities?” Praximus inquired coldly while holding Fatima by the neck using his left hand. The right hand held the thin-bladed knife poised over her eyes.

Uzman looked at Fatima who was eyeing the knife mesmerized, whimpering with fear.

“My name is Uzman bin Vitara bin Sulmani al Faysal. I am an air and earth practitioner.”

“They always talk; see, that was not very hard now, was it?” Centurion Praximus said nonchalantly. As if as an afterthought, he plunged the knife into Fatima’s stomach.

Fatima screamed in pain trying to escape or remove the knife. Praximus had quickly snagged both of her hands and twisted them around her back and was holding them casually using his left hand.

At Fatima’s scream, Kenzo launched herself at Praximus. She had been standing around transfixed and ignored by everybody. Before she could reach him, one of the soldiers moved blindingly fast and kicked her in the ribs. She fell down and spit out blood.

“You only have yourself to blame. Lying to me by omission is not a good idea. We already have all the information we need about you. Your job is to confirm a few details. If you lie I will hurt your friends," Centurion Praximus started twisting the knife in Fatima’s gut eliciting more pitiful screams.

“Stop, stop. I will answer all of your questions,” Uzman cried out.

He could not see how they could escape from the current situation. He had used his energy sense to evaluate the strength of the soldiers. Praximus had the strongest aura and 6 of the soldiers were all in the elemental manipulation realm. The rest were in various stages of Rank 2. Uzman and Fatima had faced a Rank 3 beast and nearly lost the fight. Any of the Rank 3 cultivators in the group before them could potentially kill Uzman and all his Northern friends without breaking a sweat.

“I have three affinities. I can channel fire, air, and earth. Anything else you want to know? Just let my friends go,” Uzman pleaded.

If hate could be embodied, Uzman could have been a perfect specimen. Hate festered in his heart taking primal form and becoming entrenched in his soul. At that moment he understood why people would become killers; why entire generations could pursue a blood vendetta. Given a chance, he could kill Centurion Praximus at a moment’s notice. Silently he swore to hunt him to the Deep itself and kill him in this life or any other reincarnation.

“Bring him, kill the rest. Make it painful, slow, and loud,” the Centurion ordered.

Two soldiers at the elemental manipulation level picked Uzman from the ground while ten soldiers were left at the training camp surrounding Jurdur, Kenzo, and Fatima.

“Wait! You promised to spare my friends if I cooperated,” Uzman shouted, his voice trembling in fear and anger.

“Well, I have changed my mind. You seem to be under the mistaken assumption that you had any impact on my decisions. You are a worm; only your potential use to the empire is keeping you alive,” Praximus smirked. “Now, I will give you another choice. You either join us willingly or you join us unwillingly.”

Uzman looked at Praximus who was grinning, relishing the chance to hurt him further. He had moved beyond fear, his hate had developed a focus. In his anger, his thinking clarified. He remembered that he had a portal stone in his pendant that he could activate and escape. He only needed the stone to touch his blood and then transport him to the dragon realm. This would not be a problem as his body was bleeding in different places. He had to take his chance quickly before he was divested of the pendant and turned into a soul-bound slave.

Uzman turned his awareness inwards. His left hand surreptitiously touched his pendant to facilitate the interaction. He located the portal stone and concealed it in his hand. In addition, he selected a small dagger and palmed it.

In the distance, they could hear the screams of the Northerners. Uzman returned his consciousness to the present and eyed the soldiers around him. Eyeing him wolfishly, reveling in his pain. His body was coated in a mix of dirt and blood.

“This would not do,” Uzman sighed inwardly. He surveyed his surrounding before making a plan. He was being pushed between two burly soldiers while Praximus was walking a few meters ahead, walking regally while describing in detail how he would torture Uzman. They were moving rapidly away from the camp towards an unknown destination.

Uzman channeled air to increase his speed. The soldiers guarding and escorting him were elemental cultivators and could respond faster than Uzman could act if he tipped his hand. He quickly slit his left forearm and pressed the blood that gushed out on the portal stone. Pivoting smoothly, he buried the dagger in the throat of the soldier to his left.

The soldier on his right reacted quickly to the attack, stepping back and kicking Uzman.

At that moment time seemed to slow down; the portal stone started glowing white and bathed Uzman and the two soldiers in its light. Centurion Praximus turned quickly and stared uncomprehendingly as a rift in space opened engulfing Uzman and the two soldiers. He threw himself at the rift hoping to join them but passed through harmlessly as the rift closed and faded from existence.