Helpless, paralyzed, and half-conscious, Bane lay on the ground staring through bleary eyes at the young man who knelt before him.
By Bane's estimate, he seemed to be in his late twenties or early thirties. Though, it was hard to tell because of the scruffy brown beard that obscured his more prominent features.
He wore loose leather pants that were riddled with patchwork, and a long-sleeved shirt that might have been white somewhere under the dirt and grime. Over the shirt, he wore a polished copper breastplate that was oddly ornate and clean when compared to the rest of his garb.
His brown leather boots were scuffed beyond belief and the bronze-framed goggles that kept his moppy hair pinned in place had a cracked lens.
“Ev sea’re hav du.” The man said, speaking in a language Bane had never heard before.
Bane tried to raise a hand in protest, but, his ailing body refused to respond. All he could do was watch through dim eyes as the man leaned over him and began to rifled through his belongings. Patting at his sides and reaching into his pockets.
Bane felt a tug at his side when the man reached and unhooked a two-pronged weapon from his belt. Turning it over in his hand, he squinted at it for several seconds. Examining the serial number and admiring the small details that were etched into the handle’s surface. Then, clearly impressed by what he’d seen, he thrust the weapon into the air like a toy sword!
“Shekari darnull et!” he hollered as the stun baton sent 65,000 volts racing down his thin arm!
The weapon let out an electric hiss as it flew from his hand and buried itself, barb-first, into the soft soil.
Shaking out his arm, the man practice the enunciation of his favorite curse words before staring at the weapon for several embarrassed moments.
Weary and still rearing from the shock, the man pinched the grip of the weapon between the tips of his fingers and gingerly dropped it into the leather bag strapped to his waist.
Looting complete, he turned away to face a man that stood just outside of Bane’s narrow field of vision, “Hend stella ofeala!” He called out, gesturing toward Bane
“Brough hen hea!” Another lower-toned voice replied.
Bane tried to keep his eyes open for a moment longer but his body wouldn't cooperate. His body needed rest. Bane’s vision blurred and his eyes dimmed until the darkness claimed him once again.
***
“Awake—Awake—Awake!” The voice echoed through Bame’s mind. “This is no time for resting—There is much for you to accomplish—Go to Alavast—Seek the citadel—Find the companion.”
***
Hours later, Bane opened his eyes only to find himself stripped of his armor and equipment as he lay shackled and bound in the back of a large, horse-drawn carriage.
More ropes. He thought to himself.
The low rumble of wooden wheels rolling over uneven terrain mixed with the subtle squeaks of metal fittings rubbing against themselves as the carriages lulled over a bump in the dirt path.
The rising sun in the east cast gentle shadows across the beautiful landscape. Grand mountain ranges rolled into the distance, stretching out for rugged kilometers. Sprawling meadows decorated with ferns, flowers, and small lakes streamed along one side of the dirt road while dense forestry replete with larger-than-life trees flowed on the other.
The only thing that somewhat soured the experience were the thick metal bars that obscured some of the otherwise picturesque view.
Still, The scene was like nothing Bane had seen before. There were no neon signs or holographic advertisements, no towering concrete skyscrapers or litter-filled alleyways.
Instead of the buzz of security drones flying overhead, or the wail of PD sirens echoing off the catacomb of walls, he heard the gentle songs of birds floating in the wind and the gentle thuds of horse hooves digging into the dirt.
For an ordinary man, this might have been relaxing, peaceful even. But for Bane it was horrifying.
He was surrounded by an ungodly amount of novel stimuli and greenery, the likes of which he had only seen in holographic reproductions. Tricks of light and color that served as the backdrop for training simulations.
Seeing the real thing in life and color seemed so... unnatural to him. it felt wrong.
The only thing that gave him a hint of comfort was the cold steel of the shackles that bound his wrists and the metal bars of the cage that restricted his movement. In a strange way, those were the only two things he understood. Or at least, they were the only thing he was familiar with.
A jolt of pain ran down his spine when he sat up and brushed his already aching head against the top of the large wooden cage.
Looking up he noticed the disparate group of five children sitting opposite side him in the enclosed back of the carriage. They were all huddled together, arranged in a tight semi-circle as far away from Bane as they could have been.
“Vørdfor et hende?” One of them said. By the tone of their voice, Bane could tell they had just asked a question but nothing more.
“En klæt eller mæstrtu!” Another replied.
Bane rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was fluent in fifteen languages, and he could get by in half a dozen more. But, he didn't have the slightest clue what they were saying. More than that, he didn’t have the foggiest idea of what they were.
If there was anything he was certain of, it was that they were not human.
The smallest and presumably youngest of the group raised its head and furrowed its brow at Bane. When Bane returned her gaze, she snapped her head away, whispered something in her friend's ear, and laughed.
The girl couldn’t have been more than ten years old, Bane guessed. But that was largely a stab in the dark.
She had dark skin with reddish undertones, long, inky, wild hair that was filled with tangles and mats, and amber almost gem-like eyes that seemed to glow as they sparkled in the morning sun.
Her most peculiar features however had to be the two hair-covered protrusions that rose from either side of her scraggly head. They looked like the long pointed ears of a wolf or jackal.
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What is she? A splicer? Bane wondered.
The oldest-looking creature was even more novel to look at. By Bane’s estimate, he was no older than sixteen. Though, admittedly, Bane wasn't quite sure how he came to that conclusion.
His features were unusual—almost alien. A strange cross between human and reptile physiology. He had greyish-blue skin, a wide almost skeletal face that protruded forward into a prominent jaw and snout, and a pair of white backward-facing horns that bent downwards at their ends.
His eyes were a reflective light yellow with tall thin and dark pupils, his hands were tipped with long talon-like claws, and he had a long scaly tail that protruded from under his long shirt and coiled around his waist.
Ignoring the odd shape of their ears, the other three children looked remarkably human in comparison. Two ruddy boys and a red-headed girl who seemed to be the oldest of the three.
Despite their differences, however, Bane sensed a connection between the children. Something about their posture and the way they interacted exuded a sense of community.
Their worn, ragged, and stained shirts suggested a shared history. The tattered clothes and the worn soles of their shoes told tales of a long thankless journey, and their forlorn faces expressed just a hint of the sadness and despair that hung like a thick veil in the air.
Reaching out empathically, Bane tried to gather more information.
But as soon as his mind was open, a horrible searing pain gripped his skull! He tried to maintain his composure, to hide his suffering, as a massive wave of fear and loathing radiating off the children assaulted his senses.
His head ached like it was being splitting open and his brain throbbed like a thousand tiny daggers were stabbing at the darkest recesses of his mind!
Instinctively, Bane put up a mental barrier, trying desperately to force his psychic wounds closed. But, he couldn't focus. Every time he made the slightest move the children's fear would grow, and with it, the pain that sliced through his mind.
The children were understandably terrified of Bane.
Even as he slumped with his back against the metal grade of the cage, his nearly two-meter tall muscular frame intimidatingly filled up the space.
There was an air of menace about him. Something unnerving about the way his fierce blue eyes contrasted with his dark skin and hair.
Something imposing about the rugged features of his face and the collection of scars across his body marked him a man of fearsome ability.
Part of this was a consequence of Bane’s training. He had been taught to tap into his emotions and externalize them as waves of empathic energy. In effect, creating a kind of protective bubble of fear around himself at all times.
Under normal circumstances, it would be just that, a harmless empathic deterrent. Nothing strong enough to draw undue attention or give his location away to any nearby psychs.
Just a gentle empathic nudge in the opposite direction, a cloud of negative emotions that barely registered on a subconscious level and warned everyone around him to think twice before crossing his path.
The tactic had served him well in the past, it had even saved his life on occasion. But now, in this confined space, he was suffocating.
Unable to bear the pain any longer he closed his eyes, withdrew within himself, and tried to block out the world.
But it wasn't enough. He could feel something wrong deep within himself. He could feel their intrusive thoughts and emotions scratching and clawing at the battered walls of his mind.
If he didn’t do something fast, the psychic dissonance would continue to build! Reverberating again and again until it was powerful enough to smash through his defenses and shattered his mind to pieces!
Ordinarily, Bane could have simply reached into his pocket and taken a Psych Pill to weaken his powers and dull his pain.
But his medication had been taken with the rest of his things.
Desperate for relief and unable to block the torrent of thoughts and emotions out of his mind, Bane changed tactics. Choosing to channel their thought instead of resisting them. Gently directing the flood of thoughts he focused them into a single stream of consciousness, allowing his mind to amplify it.
lowering his head, Bane lulled himself into a deep meditative state, beginning the slow process of repairing his damaged psyche.
“Where am I?” the echoes of a young boy's voice called out.
“Father, is that you?”
“I don't know what to do now that I’m alone!”
Brief flashes of the boy's memories rushed through Bane's mind revealing glimpses of his past. He saw the faces of people, heard the whispers of conversations, and felt the boy's emotions as he lived through some of the happiest and saddest moments of his life.
Typically the images seen through surface-level empathic connections were little more than a chaotic jumble of thoughts, memories, and images dominated by traumatic and emotionally impactful experiences.
But over the years Bane had learned to sift through the noise and make sense of the static.
Sliding through a memory, Bane watched through the boy's eyes, as men and women, wearing flowing garb and golden rings, danced around a roaring bonfire, singing the dirges of old men.
An older man, wise and tall, dressed in a bright patterned cloak, bent down and rubbed a fine red paste on the boy's cheeks before handing him a primitive bow.
Pulling back, the boy felt the tension of the string resisting him as the bow bent back. With fierce determination, the small boy took aim at a small wooden symbol that was mounted in the center of the fire.
With the slightest twitch of his fingers, the young boy loosed an arrow that cut through the air and hit its mark squarely in the center of the flaming target.
Bane felt glee rise In the boy’s heart with the boisterous cheers of the surrounding crowd that shook the sky as fire consumed the arrow.
The old wise man bend down and placed a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder. “Well done Drexel. Through your skill, you prove that you are more than a Karuvad by birthright. You are my son! An honorable member of the house of Khan’Bek!
I trust you will honor our traditions and one day lead the next generation through the horizon and to the sun!”
The Images distorted as Bane slipped sideways into another memory.
There was the wretched stench of fire in the air and the reek of fear floating on the wind. Women shouted and men raised their voices as the war drums cracked the sky
“Evacuate!” the old man shouted. “Prioritize the women and children! And send reinforcements to the west gate!
Turning aside he pointed a clawed hand and shouted “You There! gather a crew to put out these fires! We will save our homes yet!”
A small boy ran up and grabbed the old man by the fringe of his long brown coat “Please, father!” The boy cried “Let me stay and help! Let me join in the fight! We need all our warriors if we are to win this battle!”
The old man took a knee and looked the boy in the eyes.
“Little one, this is not your battle. One day you shall be a worrier, but that day has not come. Until then, your duty is to your mother! Protect her with all your might—live with honor!
And if this battle is to be my last... Know that you have always and will forever be-” The memory began to distort as a rush of emotions flooded the boy’s mind. Brief flashes of intense fighting mixed the blood-curling cries as Bane, overwhelmed, stumbled into a more recent memory.
“What do we have here!?” A tall thin man asked. Bane recognized him as the man who at taken his things.
“Looks like we got ourselves a little warrior in training!”—He tilted his head and pointed a sword in the boy's face—“A little snap-jawed runt with nowhere to go...”—The man made a show of looking side to side—“Where’s your mommy little toad? Are you lost out here? All alone?”
Young Drexel didn’t respond, he just looked up despondent at the robed man
Bane recognized the cocktail of emotions and misery that swirled in the boy's heart. They reminded him of the day and nights he lived alone on the street of Light City.
So many years ago. So many... Like the others, before it, the memory distorted and warped until it devolved into a meaningless series of images with no rhyme or reason.
Pulling himself out of the trance Bane opened his eyes and felt like a new man. His thoughts were his own and his psychic defenses were strong enough to keep any unwanted guest out of his mind.
Now all he had to do was break free of his chains.