He felt nothing, saw nothing. The roman reached out, his fingers trembling. A cool, crusty surface met his fingertips. The centurion called out but no sound escaped his body, not the slightest noise. His senses were mute, and so was his voice. Panic, sensing weakness, broke out from its mental confines, stretching its invisible black tendrils over the victim's entire body. But there was nothing, just emptiness. The caress of skin or clothing was missing. Tentacles grasped at nothingness, unable to command the bodily hairs to attention, nor cause the muscle and skin to tremble in fright. Unable to find a target, the deadly sin of man drifted back to its starting place, the mind. Panic pulled and twisted the various electric signals and endocrine glands in the brain in convoluted ways, trapping the victim in a circle of questions and what-ifs like a never-ending corridor. The centurion's mind raced. Have I been captured by the Gauls? Perhaps this is a new torturing program that they have adopted? These thoughts were whisked away, replaced by have I been buried alive?! A light bulb coated in hallucinogens flickered up. Am I being punished by the gods? Have I displeased Mars by losing the battle? His brain raced on, barely coherent thoughts and theories flew by like a man racing down an art gallery. But like everything that exists, there was a beginning and an end. Bottled in by the cold and calculated mind of the roman commander, Panic was once again banished into its cell, a small holding in some unknown part of the brain. Like a tide going out, anxiety receded, revealing the hardened warrior beneath.
The centurion felt strange yet comfortable, as if he was being held by a gentle river. One after another, the mirror and smoke conjured up by panic were batted down. He addressed them with ease. Having felt the biting pain of the axe in his neck, death was a certainty. Capture and torture wasn't an option for the barbarians for they weren't known for their intellect. On a good day, their intelligence is fleeting at best. Extracting information from prisoners is out of the question for them. Now, the final boss. Doubts began corroding his mental shield. What if he truly is being punished by the gods... He pondered.
His 7th sense tripped off, born from decades of fighting and near-death encounters. He felt rather than saw a little human in front of him. A small voice filtered through the darkness, "Greetings dungeon core, I'll be your assistant." Yet the words were hollow, like a snake rearing its head from the long grass. They were nothing but words. The centurion reminiscenced the times his tutor taught him politics and legislation before his family fell. He knew the being was spewing lies, a foolish attempt at manipulating him. Sneering, he directed his arms to grasp the little thing. He squeezed.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
The "assistant" gasped. Spluttering, she yelled "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I AM HERE TO HELP YOU!"
If the centurion possessed facial features at that point, he would've snorted in amusement. His "fingers" tightened like a sadistic constrictor savouring its prey.
Shaking, the fairy yelled "PLEASE DON'T KILL ME! I WILL GIVE YOU EVERYTHING I HAVE IF YOU LET ME LEAVE IN PEACE!" He smirked, progress at last.
The roman was puzzled over what and how she was going to give him the ransom. Pushing his senses towards her minuscule figure, all he saw was a pair of wings, an unknown style of dress and a ring on her finger. There were no signal flags or smoke signalling equipment. He snorted, how delusional was this woman? Loosening his grip slightly, the fairy pulled off a little small, circular piece of metal from her finger.
An assortment of items, books, scrolls and other miscellaneous and unrecognisable things fell out. He was utterly stunned. The centurion's mind stuttered, no prediction or calculation remotely matched what had happened. Shocked, he directed his thoughts outwards, "black magic". "What," the fairy asked, "did you say?" He heard himself for the first time in this strange place. His gruff voice had been rinsed, scrubbed and shined. No longer did he sound like a man hoarse from constant shouting, but a younger, more musical voice from before his forced military conscription. A large cloud of melancholy formed a pit in his heart but was shoved down instantly.
"Gazing" at the woman, or whatever inferior substitute sense he was utilising, the centurion said, "You have held up your side of the bargain...I will too." His "muscles" tensed and crushed the fairy with a steel grip. *Crack* The fragile phylactery that held her soul broke.
As life left her mangled body, she gasped out "What?! Why? What are you cruel beast?!"
Chuckling, the roman said, "I gave you what you asked...you have found peace in death and have left this realm." He tilted his palm and the corpse rolled off on its final journey into the darkness. He raised his "hand" 45 degrees and did the roman salute. An honourable sendoff to the dead.
Sighing, the roman restated the rules in his head. Rule number 1, never take something at face value. Rule number 2, never trust anyone. How she survived in this world without those mental notes, he didn't know. Rubbing his mental hands together eagerly, his eyes latched onto the books like a dragon on gold. He was going to get some answers.