It was probably only a few seconds later when Solera regained consciousness. He groggily opened his eyes to see the face of Jumpy, the youth who had kicked him down the other day.

A hand clamped around his neck, squeezing it tightly like an iron vise. Solera gasped for breath, but found that no air could get past his lungs! This guy… was this guy trying to kill him?

“Ah, fuck, damn.” Jakovich groaned in the background. “I don’t want you helping me, you freak. Get the fuck out of here.”

“Shut up! I’m not a freak!” Jumpy shouted angrily as he choked Solera.

Solera flailed about wildly, his fists thrashing weakly at Jumpy. Another crackling noise. Solera’s body tensed up involuntarily. His fingers twitched as he found himself without control of his body again.

“Kkkhhaau…” The saliva in Solera’s throat hurned as he desperately tried to breathe. Jumpy’s eyes stared down at him like a ravenous tiger gazing at a helpless reindeer. Solera looked up, his panicked eyes dimming as his vision started to turn black.

Jumpy was insane! Solera could see it in his cold, sadistic gaze. He had to do something drastic now, or else he would die right here!

The verdant power stored in his Lake roared through his channels. Solera’s hand clenched into a fist again, then opened up back into a palm which slammed into Jumpy’s jaw. His fingers descended down towards Jumpy’s eyeballs.

Jumpy let go with a scream as Solera’s fingernails lightly scraped the area directly below his eyebrows. A flash of light and a roaring noise thundered out, throwing Solera to the ground like a broken rag doll.

Solera gasped for air as he laid on the ground. He could feel his consciousness fading away again. What had he been shot with? Was he dying right then and there, unable to even feel the pain of his passing?

Black. Dimly, he could feel a force smashing into the side of his body.

Solera opened his eyes some time later. The clouds overhead were blurry, split into twins overlaid atop each other. Solera’s eyes refocused for a moment before he lost consciousness yet again.

When he came to, he was standing, his arms splayed out, tightly gripped by two gray-robed channelers. Lem was not far away, his face filled with anger and his mouth moving at speed, but Solera couldn’t make out what he was saying. His ears rang with a strange buzzing noise, more high-pitched than the crackle of the gauntlets earlier, yet seemingly just as loud.

A red-hot pain shot up his back. He stared blankly at the ground, his eyes unfocusing and refocusing. His mind was fuzzy and dim, completely unable to think. What was going on?

CRACK!

Another flaming pain lanced through his body. His back felt like it was on fire, and he could taste metal in his mouth. His fellow prisoners stood in front of him, watching him with blank eyes.

CRACK!

Solera was whipped again. A boot scuffed against the ground. A rustling sound of someone wiping something with a rag.

“You are all idiots.” The flat, monotone voice of the commander, Rasmurnov. The scorching pain came in waves with every heartbeat.

“I am tired of this behavior. Of this immature exploitation of loopholes. It shows that you have no respect for the intentions behind my words.”

“Sorry, sir.” Several voices from behind Solera mumbled meekly. The voices of those rapists.

“You need to quit treating people like some sort of game. The next time this happens, not only will you die to one of them, I will also whip your corpse to make it more tasty for the hyenas.”

The words were funny, but the voice was so emotionless, so matter-of-fact, that nobody could laugh. Least of all Solera.

“Yes, boss.” The five muttered.

“Proceed.” Rasmurnov’s monotone voice rolled out, not with the power of Skadi’s voice or the subtle drifting of Leera and the Lynx, but still forceful nonetheless.

Lem ran up to Solera, hoisting him up as the crowd around them was dispersed. He had tear stains on his face, but attempted to smile when he looked at Solera.

“Are you okay?” He asked as he helped Solera along. “You didn’t get hit too hard by any of them, did you?”

Solera coughed out some blood. He tried to walk with Lem as he regained full control of his mental faculties, but his legs felt like butter and his head felt worse. The buzzing sound was still there, a faint ringing that just wouldn’t go away.

“Don’t think I did.” Solera coughed again. “I don’t understand what happened.”

“When what happened? When this all started?” Lems boyish face contorted in rage for a moment. “These five-”

“After I got knocked out,” Solera interrupted, groaning to himself.

“Oh. Sorry. I just thought you might have forgotten everything.” Lem smiled embarrassedly, then grew angry again. “It’s not fair! Rasmurnov said he would punish any permanent injuries or deaths, but when he looked at you, he said he didn’t see anything!”

Solera looked up ahead, where the five guards were walking. An intense feeling of hatred shot through him. If his injuries didn’t count as permanent, then why was he getting whipped? He had hurt them far less than they hurt him!

“Rasmurnov said none of their injuries were permanent, either. But then the one with the broken nose said it was technically permanent!” Lem stomped on the ground, his eyes bitter. “I said it was bullshit, but he didn’t even listen to me. Helga said he was a cool guy, too.”

Solera’s hatred slowly subsided, supplanted by a feeling of resignation. Of course it would turn out this way. What had he expected? Those soldiers were Rasmurnov’s subordinates and he was just a prisoner. Why would Rasmurnov punish his own men in favor of him?

The exhilaration of delivering justice had dissipated. It wasn’t fair, Lem had said. Of course it wasn’t fair. This world wasn’t fair. Otherwise, Guinness would still be alive and Solera would be back at the Grove learning about sunflowers and daisies.

Land was inherently unjust. If the top dog of this group, Rasmurnov, said red was blue, then red would be blue. It wasn’t up to someone like Solera who wielded no power at all to decide.

His half-hearted slapping was just that; a slap on the wrist. It was the closest thing to justice a piece of powerless trash like him could do. If Solera wanted to deliver true justice, then he needed to have the power to do it.

Power! Power was the cure for everything. Every problem in his life could have been solved with more power. At Fortress Hickory, when the Airborne attacked. Against the Genbu, when Fischer died. Countless wounded died everyday because the medics didn’t have the healforce to spare. And above all, when Guinness had been killed by the immortal, Ogura.

The ultimate solution to everything was power. Power was what Solera needed. If he wanted to exact justice, if he wanted to protect his friends and family, then he would have to be powerful.

He would not become powerful today, nor would he be powerful tomorrow. But what he had inside the very core of his body was a power crystal! With it, he could become powerful, not today, not tomorrow, but ten years from now! Ten years from now, he would be powerful enough to make a difference. A century from now, nobody would dare touch his friends.

But for that to happen, he had to live.

The wounds on his back stung like bee stings, but like all his other wounds, they healed quickly as he drained the verdant power stored in his Lake. Again, he would have to put off his escape. Perhaps he would abandon all thought of escape altogether. It was too risky. He didn’t know how to get food, he didn’t know how to make his way back, he might get caught. The chances of death were too high, and his goal, above all, was to live.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

That night, he lay on the ground, focusing again on his channeling. He had the verdant power make additional revolutions in his back before returning to his Lake. The power leakage from his channels would be greater there, and he would heal faster that way.

“Hey, kid.”

Solera opened his eyes. Next to him was a middle-aged man, the one who had fought the punks off with him. Solera looked at him blankly.

“You did good.” With that, the man closed his eyes. After a few seconds, Solera bemusedly closed his own, and went back to channeling.

The night passed quietly. Apart from people getting up to be escorted somewhere to relieve themselves, there were no disturbances. Even the ringing noise which had plagued him for the whole day disappeared as he slipped off into dreamland.

Solera trudged along the mountain path the next day. Lem walked alongside him, talking cheerily about some other prisoners. Yesterday’s incident seemed to have vanished entirely from his mind, as if it had never happened. Or maybe he was trying to get Solera’s mind off of yesterday.

“The girl you saved, her name is Letva. She told me to tell you that you were really badass last night.” Lem winked slyly at Solera. “She’s hot, so you know what to do.”

No, she wasn’t. And Solera wasn’t in the mood for this kind of talk. “You forgot about the guards, Lem.”

“The guards are a lot less anal than they were two days ago.” Lem grinned. “I guess you can’t see that, but the proof is right in front of you. We’re walking together, see? They don’t care about single file anymore. And now that we’re in the mountains, there’s no open spaces anymore. They’ll have to split us up. What do you think, hm?”

A little flustered, Solera shook his head. “No.” Breakfast every day was a stale piece of bread, the guards were clearly douchebags, and yet Lem actually had the energy to think about sex. Besides, there was only one girl he liked.

“Hey, guys. What’s up?” The cheery voice of that girl, Helga, again. Solera silently wished she would fuck off.

“Not too much.” Lem chirped back. “Is it going to rain soon? Those clouds are really, really dark.”

Helga brushed her hair as she looked up at the sky. “It’s always raining in the Tornado sect. So yep.”

Lem adjusted his blue robes uncomfortably. “That’s not okay. How is this clothing going to hold up against the rain?”

“It won’t.” Helga smiled brightly at Lem. “Sorry about that, but the higher-ups are cheapskates.”

Helga looked at Solera. “Why’s your friend always down in the dumps?”

Lem stared in shock, while Solera’s eyes narrowed slightly. “He got whipped by your asshole boss, that’s why.”

Helga blinked, a flash of amusement on her face. “Oh, was he the one? When I heard about that, I thought it was really funny.”

Lem’s face had a tinge of anger now. “It wasn’t funny. He got whipped three times for breaking somebody’s nose! Didn’t you say Rasmurnov was a great guy?”

Helga looked mad now as well. “Yes, yes I did. What’s the problem?”

Solera grabbed Lem’s shoulder. “Lem, quiet.”

If they got into another altercation, the consequences might even be heavier than last time. Solera would not risk another whipping over a stupid argument.

Helga glared at Lem. “It’s just a few lashes. He didn’t kill any of you, which is what the Thundercloud sect would’ve done if you even touched their troops. Get over it.”

Lem slowly turned his eyes away to look directly ahead. His lips were tightly pursed, although his eyes for flaming with rage. As for Solera, all he felt was mild disgust for this girl. She was completely out of touch. Not worth his anger. None of these guards were worth it.

“Well, I didn’t mean for it to go like this. My bad, I guess.” Helga shrugged and walked up ahead to speak with some of her friends.

Nothing else happened that day, other than that Solera saw a man chopping at a tree far away. He looked at the man for a while, but he soon fell out of sight.

Just as Lem said, they were split up that night, camping amongst a number of different rocky outcroppings. Only three tired-looking guards watched over the twenty prisoners Solera was grouped with. Solera could hear the yipping of a pack of hyenas as they hunted who knows what all night, but once again the night was peaceful. By now, they had traveled around two hundred kilometers, and were far, far away from the border.

Early morning rain woke everyone up several hours earlier than usual. Solera sat with his legs crossed as the raindrops pitter-pattered on his robes, soaking straight into his skin. He was circulating again, much faster and with higher volume than when he had first learned the mantra.

Power flowed from the Lake in his soul with a deep, powerful thrumming sound which he only he could hear. It had become much more purer than before, Solera was certain of it. His channels had grown in size as well. Even though he was not and would never be a channeler, the fact that he had larger, stronger channels meant that the strength and duration of his overpowering state was increased. From all the battles and fights he had been in, he had learned just how critical that was.

Of course, if he was just simply better at fighting, he would never have to overpower in many of the situations he had been in. Solera began thinking about the four major factors which he had identified as being important to his combat capabilities.

Cultivation saturated the body with power, increasing strength and longevity. Meditation expanded the rift which supplied the Lake with power while also condensing power to become more pure, further enhancing the overpowering state. Technique and expertise with weapons allowed Solera to use his body to its fullest potential. And now, circulation, which increased the size and health of the channels.

Of the four, the only two he could do was meditate and circulate. But circulation was, for a cultivator, just simply more useful than meditation, so that’s what he would continue doing.

“Solera.” Lem tapped him on the shoulder. “Quit your whatever, they’re handing out breakfast.”

“Oh. Right.” Solera opened his eyes and shook the beads of water off his face. He got up to walk to the guards, who were handing out yet more pieces of stale bread. When was the last time he had meat? Did that rice ball count?

“The hyenas are really loud.” Lem said as he took a piece of bread from the guard. “I wonder what they look like.”

“They probably look like dogs.” Solera muttered as he tried to squeeze his own piece. Some crumbs fell off as the bread cracked. Gardener damn it all. If he didn’t have his power crystal, all his injuries would have rendered him completely unable to even move. Maybe Rasmurnov would have just left him to die when they were still in the forests of Eden.

A channeler suddenly came barreling over from one of the other groups, waving his hands like a madman. Solera looked over, his eyes uninterested. Seems like another dispute had occurred.

The channeler stopped, panting for breath. He pointed off towards where he came, waving his hands. The other guards stared at him, their eyebrows raised.

After a few seconds, he mustered up his breath. “Plo, get these guys to the center, now! The hyenas are coming!”

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