----------------------------------------
Chapter LXXIX : Cruelty
Premorn of Somnus, Twenty-Ninth Day of Autumnmoon
----------------------------------------
The moment Cedric left the threshold of his cell, he was an escapee on the run, and his life depended on fleeing before his captors knew he was gone. He estimated he had at least an hour before the jailor returned for the morning ritual. Yet a barrier stood between him and freedom: the large, iron door that led back to the Substratum. He had no idea what awaited him on the other side, but his only chance of survival was to sneak down to the hangar and fly one of the airships to the surface. It was a long shot, but better than no hope at all.
As for the door, its lock was heavy and robust. Far too rigid for his tiny metal spine. He needed more. He needed to improvise. There had to be something, nearby. He scoured the area, looking for anything he could dismantle and fit inside the lock.
Meanwhile, his candleflame dwindled. It had already burned to the end of the wick. All that remained was a fat, waxy base and a tiny flame that flickered on its way out. It hardly cast enough light to search, much less provide enough heat to mold metal. He was running out of options and out of time.
He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. Panicking wasn’t going to help. He was smarter than his captors. He just needed to think. Meanwhile, the frosty air chilled his bones, and the dark stone beneath his feet siphoned his remaining warmth. He shivered while he hunted for answers.
He had fallen far, since his days as Grand Craftsman. Less than a month ago, he served as Richard’s loyal subject, blinded with contentment and complacency. He never questioned the amorality of his kingdom, even when its evil stared him in the face. He was ashamed he hadn’t put more faith in Rosa or Bram. He only hoped they had reached Kitezh safely. If he ever made it to the surface, he would seek them there.
He opened his eyes, ready to make progress. He gazed down the hall, to the rooms used for torture and interrogation. He figured there might still be old equipment with parts he could reuse. As much as he loathed sleuthing in a place where human beings were maimed, mutilated, and dismembered, he couldn’t afford to be selective.
So he made his way there, hands trembling as he carried his failing candle. The room was vast, full of rusted, old devices. The smell was like an old waste pipe, carrying hints of blood and mold amid strong scents of decay. He almost heard the moans and screams of enemy prisoners, as if the dead still haunted it.
His spine tingled when he caught sight of a shape in the corner. He tightened his grip on his candle and forced his parched throat to swallow. It wasn’t his imagination. A body was crumpled on the ground, barely detectable in the dim light.
He approached with shallow breaths, but as he neared, his heart rose and caught in his chest, and his eyes welled up with tears. He reached out, grabbed the corpse by the shoulder, and pulled the body onto its back. The flesh had a creamy consistency and was covered with small insects, but he couldn’t mistake the boy’s identity. The corpse belonged to Adam Eckard.
He sobbed immediately. For weeks, he held himself responsible for being slow to accept Virgil’s demands, while the poor boy was whipped until his skin was nearly flayed off his back. Even so, he held onto hope that Adam would recover, and his captors would honor their deal to spare him. Sadly, it was clear, now, they had no intention. They merely took him down the hall and disposed of his body in an empty corner to bleed to death. Cedric only hoped that Adam’s death was painless. That he never woke and never had to experience the agony of dying alone.
Cedric didn’t cry for long. His sadness turned to anger. The depths of evil had no bounds, and Virgil’s wickedness had no limit. He was a vile man, and he needed to be stopped. Cedric changed his mind about the lockpick. What he needed was a weapon. He needed to hide and wait for the jailor to return.
He scanned the room and found the perfect instrument. A large sledgehammer lay atop a table at the far edge of the room. He set the candle down and grasped it in his hands. It had a solid, wooden handle and a head made of steel. It was sturdy, well-balanced, and had held up rather well over the years. It felt comfortable to hold, and with the right technique, it would do serious damage.
In the distance, he heard a loud clank. Someone had just unlocked the large, iron door. He took the sledgehammer with him and backed against the wall. For a moment, he wondered if he should extinguish his candle, but he figured he might need it later.
He listened, intently, hoping to catch the jailor by surprise. He waited, but he was only met with silence. Utter, complete silence. He had listened to the jailor enter dozens of times. The large man was distinctively clumsy as he waddled through the corridor. But not this time.
He held his breath and crept slowly to the main hall to get a better view. Usually, the jailor carried a lantern, or brought an extra candle to replace Cedric’s when it ran out. But this time, there was only pitch black. A subtle breeze blew past his ear, raising goosebumps on his skin. He held the sledgehammer tightly and tiptoed closer.
Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
From his rear, he heard the sound of clapping hands. It was so striking and unexpected that he nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun around, back toward his candle, but all he saw was the silhouette of a man, whose face was fully hidden.
“Congratulations, Mister Curtis.” The voice, laced with sarcasm, was unmistakable. Virgil taunted him. “I was wondering if you’d ever attempt to leave your cell. I gave it even odds, since I took you for a coward. I’m glad you proved me wrong.”
Cedric bared his teeth. He had nothing but hatred and contempt. “You bastard! You let him die. He could have lived, but you tossed him in a filthy corner … like a piece of trash!”
Virgil’s head swiveled in the direction of the corpse. His profile almost caught enough light for Cedric to see a gaunter man than he remembered, whose skin was stretched and leathery.
“Oh, that.”
He said it so casually, it made Cedric’s blood boil.
“His name was Adam, you heartless swine! And he was just a boy!” He tried to contain his tears. “You said you’d give him medical attention. You promised!”
Virgil shrugged. “I suppose I could have, since you held up your end of the bargain. After all, Zounds is just about fully operational. Our artisans believe the prototype can easily take flight and serve our purposes. I should thank you.”
Cedric squeezed the shaft of the sledgehammer. He was a hair’s width away from using it. “Is that why you’re here?”
Virgil chuckled. “I don’t like leaving loose ends, you know.”
Cedric raised his weapon. “You’re a sick man, and I’ve had enough. I’m not scared, anymore.”
“Ohoho … You should be ….”
The response ended in a hiss, barely human. Virgil raised his hands, and a series of orange spheres lit the room, like balls of fire. His face was now clear, aglow in amber light. He opened his mouth, exposing rows of sharp teeth. His face bubbled and warped from beneath the skin, slowly peeling away to reveal muscle and bone.
Cedric recoiled, paralyzed with fear, unable to breathe. He managed a voiceless squeal, wondering what kind of demonic force had been unleashed. But the illusion disappeared, and Virgil’s face returned to how it had looked weeks earlier.
The Craftsman’s wits were gone, and his knees buckled. “Wh—what kind of dark magic is this? More evil from the sunstones?”
Virgil raised his hands again, and Cedric felt an invisible force pick him up. It drove him against the stone wall, hard enough to send shockwaves through his body. He lost his grip on the sledgehammer, which hit the floor with a series of clanks. He struggled, but Virgil’s magic was like steel. The maniacal wizard approached, until he stood only a span away from the Craftsman’s face.
His voice sounded human, but it was no less terrifying. “It’d be a shame to have to kill you. I enjoyed your suffering, oh, so much. It’d be like … losing a personal chef.”
Cedric squirmed, his gut clenched with fear. “Monster! If you think I’ll grovel for my life, you’re mistaken. I’ll never negotiate with you again!”
Virgil stared him down, pupils wide and dilated, a grotesque image that seared itself permanently into Cedric’s psyche.
“I agree. Negotiating would be pointless. Besides, it’s impossible to steal a man’s hope with words alone. You must take everything he values, first. Even then, with nothing but his thoughts, he’ll still cling to hope that someday he’ll find justice. You must wait … as long as it takes … until even that hope is abandoned.”
He held Cedric tightly with his magic, nearing within an inch of his face, peering straight into his soul. “You’ll never feel comfort again. You’ll never eat good food. Never see the light of day, nor solve another engineering problem. Your life will be devoid of stimulation, and you’ll wonder why you cling to life at all. Only when you’re ready to beg for death … only then will I grant it. And to ensure you won’t be tempted to stage another escape, we’re going to make things very difficult for you.”
Virgil backed away and released his spell. Cedric fell to the floor, wondering what the madman had in store. He didn’t have to wait long.
Out of nowhere, the jailor emerged from the darkness, this time wearing a black hood. He took Cedric by the wrists. The Craftsman struggled, but the grip was iron tight.
“Get your damned hands off me. What are you doing?”
His words had no effect. The jailor picked him up like a sack of grain and placed him on the table at the end of the room. He then restrained the Craftsman’s arms and legs with clamps built-in to the table, which Cedric hadn’t noticed before. It didn’t take long for him to realize his fate.
“Dear Gaia, no! Please! Don’t torture me, I beg you!”
His heartrate surged, and a warm liquid pooled around his groin.
“Please … please ….”
The jailor didn’t hesitate. He merely chanted, quietly, under his breath.
“Ah, rih, man … ah, rih, man ….”
When Cedric’s limbs were secure, he watched in horror as the jailor picked up the sledgehammer and aimed it straight at him.
“Please ….”
The jailor swung, and the hammer slammed directly into Cedric’s left foot, shattering the bones to pieces.
He screamed, something between a choke and a gurgle, as more pain than he ever imagined coursed through his body. So much, he couldn’t even verbalize it. The jailor took only a moment to ready a second swing. Cedric tried to squirm, but the hammer went down a second time. It struck his right foot, twisting tendons and ripping ligaments.
The Craftsman bellowed so hard a blood vessel burst in his eye, turning his vision red. The pain was excruciating, but his body was held by the restraints. He twisted and writhed in unbearable agony. The world seemed to disappear. There was no sights. No sounds. Just red … hot … liquid pain.
And then … it was gone.
Cedric’s sweat-drenched, urine-soaked body lay flat on the table, exhausted. Sights and sounds returned, but he felt dizzy and disoriented. The jailor approached and unfastened the restraints.
He looked to Virgil, who seemed to be admiring something. Cedric followed the man’s gaze to where his feet had once been. In their place were black, swollen masses, like blocks of tar.
He screamed. His feet were gone. Gone!
Virgil shook his head. “I’m afraid you won’t ever be walking again. But, I trust it will make you more cooperative.”
Cedric wanted to cry, but there were no more tears. His body went limp as the jailor dragged him back to his cell. The madman had truly taken everything. And a lifetime of cruelty awaited.