Erica was there, too, only she was in spirit form, so Ten couldn't see her. Erica leaned over to whisper into the human's ear, His towering height is a very good thing, there's nothing to be afraid of, and maybe you should hold on to his shirt. For balance.
An effort to influence her. While Ten's ears failed to hear the words, her spirit picked up everything. That's how Flankers--a subdivision of Messengers--worked.
"Are you ready for me?" Ten asked me.
"Can anyone ever be ready for you, lass?" I replied, and even then, I'd been scared of the truth. I wasn't ready for her. "But don't worry. I won't let you get hurt. You have my word."
Finally she trusted me enough to fall into my arms. When I caught her, I spun her around. If Erica hadn't been there, I would have kissed Ten then and there. Even then, I wanted her. Craved her like a drug.
I might have kept my word that day, but I have broken it many times since.
I made a terrible mistake today. I trusted the wrong people, betrayed the wrong girl. An innocent girl.
Once, she saw something great in me. She looked at me with adoration and admiration, even hope. When Javier carried her out of the small room, she cast me a final glance, one laced with wariness and suspicion. That glance hurt in ways I never imagined possible.
The electricity might have burned my body, but Ten's look burned my soul.
I've lost something precious: her trust. And for what? Imprisonment, degradation and pain, all of which I deserve. But she does not.
My hands fist. Determination rises inside me, an undeniable tide. Those who hurt her will pay. I will make sure of it. And I will do whatever proves necessary to win back her trust.
First, I will escape. Then I will save her.
Firstking help Myriad then. I will torch the realm and never look back.
"Let's get you more comfortable, shall we." Victor Prince clutches the edge of my cage--a cage tangible to both spirits and Shells--and drags me through the door.
Despite the injuries his spirit sustained, his Shell is strong. The outer casing is meant to shield us through the worst of times. Like a type of armor.
Revenge might not be Ten's thing, but it is mine.
Forgive. Let the Light illuminate your path and order your steps.
The other side of me. A side I ignore.
As I'm hauled through a hallway, down an elevator, outside the building and through a Stairwell, my rage continues to blaze. Every step he takes only serves as kindling. I want to maim and kill him. I will maim and kill him. I will also maim and kill Zhi, Javier and even Ambrosine--after I save Ten.
In the town square, she'll be used as an example. Love Troika and suffer.
As if she hasn't suffered enough.
While Javier did his best to invade her Grid, she remained strong as a rock, astounding me. No wonder I once fell in love with her. She is the only ten in a world of ones. She endured excruciating pain in order to protect her people, and despite her distress--distress I, too, experienced firsthand, certain I would die at any moment--she fought, a warrior to her core, and she won.
Now I will win, or I will die trying.
Victor drags me through a crowded section of the City of Carnal Delights. The carnival. More dragons fly overhead, streams of fire like fireworks. There's a kissing booth, and even an orgasm booth. Come one, come all. Every game involves stripping. Lose the severed hand toss and you have to remove an article of clothing. Lose Whack-a-Prisoner, and you have to remove an article of clothing. So really, everyone wins.
Except the spirits in the Kennels, of course. They provide the severed hands, and they are the ones who get beaten with a barbed-wire-covered baseball bat.
There are rides: the carousel showcases Shell versions of Troikan Generals on their hands and knees, bumper cars fly around an arena smashing into replicas of famous Troikan landmarks and a zip line offers a tour of the entire realm.
Snacks are sold: cotton ambrosia, fried ambrosia, ambrosia corn and ambrosia cakes. Even ambrosia bacon.
As a child, I often snuck out of the Center of Learning to play here. No one paid me any attention then, and no one pays me any attention now. I don't bother shouting for help. I know these people; I won't be aided--I'll be mocked.
Victor takes me through another Stairwell, then a Gate, and we enter the Capital of Bliss. Also known as the Cob. The air smells of chocolate, champagne and sex. The most basic indulgences. Skyscrapers, cottages and pyramids are scattered throughout. For our poorer citizens--those who refuse to fight in the war--there are warehouses or communal living spaces.
Here, crowds stop and stare at us, everyone dressed in the era of their death. Be you, be free. Some people laugh at me, others look at me with pity. Once, both reactions would have sent me over the edge. I would have ranted and raved. Having been raised in the Learning Center, abandoned by my father, overlooked by other families, I craved the good opinion of others, desperate for acceptance. Now I see the truth.
I wanted to be admired, but I also wanted to make everyone who'd ever overlooked me sorry for doing so. Another type of revenge.
At this moment? The opinions of others--of strangers--mean nothing to me. These people have no bearing on who I am or what I'm worth. With my actions and words, I decide my worth. And after everything I've done to Ten, I'm not worth much. But I'm going to change that.
Escape. Save Ten, kill our enemies. Rescue the survivors in Many Ends, including my mother.
It's time to face facts. Myriadians lie. The end justifies the means, Ambrosine said. What he meant: Sometimes, for the greater good, evil is necessary. But he's wrong. Evil is never necessary. It will never help the masses, will only ever hurt. And lies are evil; the very language of malevolence.
If the Secondking will lie about little things, he will most assuredly lie about big things. Like Fate and Fusion.
Again and again, Ten has proven herself trustworthy. That is why I will follow her wherever she leads. That is why I will trust her, no matter what the circumstance might be.
If I had a team, I would ask others for help. Might even beg. Anything for Ten. But there's no one here willing to offer aid or watch my back. My fault. Like Ambrosine, I lied to the people closest to me to advance my own agenda.
Never again.
I will be the man Ten wants. The man she needs. The man she deserves.
Victor enters another Stairwell. In order to pass through this one, however, he must endure an ID test. He places his hand on a data pad, and a machine reads the chip embedded in his Shell's wrist. As soon as he's cleared, we enter the most coveted neighborhood in Myriad, hence its name: The Coveted.
All of the Secondking's children live here. This is where all Generals live, as well, and where all Abrogates will live, when they arrive. This is where I have wanted to live my entire life. Mansions, castles and palaces abound. There isn't a hut or a shack in the bunch.
Victor lives in a palace that makes the most exquisite building in the Land of the Harvest look like a hovel. A bridge leads to a towering golden statue of his likeness. On either side is a wild, rushing waterfall that flows into a rocky moat. Ambrosia trees fill the courtyard and sweeten the air. Myriad's emblem is carved in walls made of crystal.
Servants stand outside, opening the doors as he approaches.
"Leave us," he barks.
The pitter-patter of rushing footsteps sounds as guards and maids rush to obey, dodging opulent furnishings framed by a plethora of precious gems. A Florentine ebony chest inlaid with rubies. A table made entirely of sapphires. A diamond encrusted sofa with a solid gold frame. But the prince's most prized possession? An alabaster display case with a man-pelt inside.
I've heard the story about the pelt a million times. Everyone has. Over the eons, Ambrosine and his brother Eron have met twice to discuss a peace treaty. At least, Eron the Prince of Doves believed peace was the goal. The first time, Ambrosine betrayed and skinned his brother. The second time, after Eron's skin had grown back, Ambro
sine rinsed and repeated.
He would have killed Eron if he could have, but Eron survived.
One pelt hangs in the Temple of Unholies as a display of Ambrosine's "strength." He must have given the other pelt to Victor as a thank you for bombing Troika.
Once, I bought into the hype, believing true strength came from a willingness to do whatever proved necessary to achieve victory. No longer. If the means is unjust, nothing justifies it.
However, I'm not looking for justification right now.
Victor sets my cage in the center of the room, a loud clang assaulting my overly sensitive ears. I'm not yet healed from all those volts of electricity.
I search my surroundings and find one of my Shells stands next to the display case. On the coffee table rests a remote and a large metal tong--no question, it's for my neck. Like the cage, the tong is made for both spirit and Shell.
He prepared for this, I realize. He planned to take over my "care" all along.
With a smile, he lifts the remote and flips a switch. Suddenly the cage is electrified, one volt after another spearing me in place. Even when the volts die down, I'm unable to move. Tremors continue to rack me, and I know Ten is enduring the same.
Payback will hurt--him.
His smile grows ever wider as he opens the cage and uses the tong to drag me out. He forces my spirit to slip inside the Shell and there's nothing I can do to stop him. Some force greater than myself acts as a magnet, holding me inside.
When he releases the tong, a metal collar remains around my neck, and the magnetic charge intensifies, ensuring I'm stuck inside my new prison--a prison bound to the wall with the same kind of shadows Javier used on Ten. The dark bands wrap around the wrists and ankles.
"I'm having fun already." He unsheathes a knife--and stabs me in the stomach. "Are you?"
My lips part on a grunt of pain. While a Shell usually mutes the sensations a spirit feels, negative or positive, I'm overly sensitized. I. Feel. Everything. Which means Ten feels everything, my poor, sweet lass.
Revenge...
"I will make yer brain leak through yer eyes until you cry your thoughts," I tell him calmly.
As Lifeblood pours from my wound, weakening me further, he steps back to survey his handiwork. "You look good with extra holes. Let's add a few more, shall we?"
"Go ahead. Do it. Just know I'll repay you a hundredfold for every slice."
"Brave talk for a prisoner." He sinks the blade into my other side, and as I hiss, Victor wipes my Lifeblood on his leather pants. "You should lighten up. This isn't personal. I have a lot of anger issues with your girl, and not a lot of time to exorcise them."
"Poor baby. Are you angry because she kicked your ass? Twice?"
Rage flares in his eyes--a reflection of my own? He punches me in the chest, right over my heart, warping the next beat. Then, deceptively calm, he asks, "What do you see in her? You can find a pretty girl anywhere, any time, and really, they all look the same in the dark. So what turns you and Archer into fools whenever this one steps into a room?"
Easy. "She has proven loyal, selfless and kind." Three things I never knew I admired, until now. "Things you'll never be."
He laughs a little. "You make her sound like a dog."
"Which is why dogs are often better than people."
Another flare of rage. Another punch in the chest.
Forgive. Win with Light.
Again the other side of me speaks up. This time, as I fight for breath, I actually listen. I want to win. Obviously, fighting fire with fire doesn't work. You must fight fire with water. Only Light can chase away darkness.
Right now, there's only one person who might share her Light with me.
Hating myself, I push my voice along the bridge that's connecting me to Ten. --I need your Light, lass. Archer's, too. Actually, any Light anyone in Troika can spare. Please. I doona deserve it. I know this. But I'm askin' anyway. It's the only way I know tae save you.--
Seconds tick by without a response, and I fear she's given up on me.
One more chance. I need one more chance. I won't mess up, not again. I'll pour everything I've got, everything I am, into this.
Finally her soft voice whispers over the Grid. --Or you hope to weaken me further, and do what Javier failed to do: destroy Troika through me.--
The accusation cuts deeper than Victor's blows. But just like Victor's blows, it is deserved. --Please, lass. I know I've done you wrong, but I need the chance tae do you right. This is the only way.--
--Only Killian Flynn can be pervy and apologetic at the same time.--
--It's a gift.--She's going to trust me? At least in this? I wait, hopeful, ready to be flooded with Light, but one minute ticks into another and the darkness remains as thick as ever.
Too weak?
Decided not to trust me, after all?
--I'm not currently connected to Archer. I got my Light from--never mind. Ready?--A moment passes in silence. --Argh! This must be how Archer felt when he tried to send me Light. You're shielded. Drop the shield, Killian.--
Shielded?
A fist slams into my jaw, my head whipping to the side. "Are you paying attention?" Victor demands. "Or are you going to tell me I'm hitting like a girl?"
"I would never lie so outrageously. I mean, you'll need to hit a lot harder if you want to be compared to a girl."
My words prick his pride, and once again rage explodes inside his eyes. Shouting obscenities, spittle spraying from the corners of his mouth, he whales on me, slamming his fist into my face again and again. With every new blow, my pain magnifies, more Lifeblood leaking from me, my skin shredding inside and out.
What's worse, I can feel Ten's pain. Almost my undoing.
"You want this to stop?" Victor runs his tongue over his teeth. "Beg me, then. Beg me, and I'll stop."
I...can't. He's read my file; I know he has. Even the parts Archer deleted. There's always a backup. Victor knows the General made me beg, then never followed through. He won't follow through, either.
Would Ten beg for my life, just for the chance to save me pain?
"You picked the wrong team, Killian. In Myriad, you could have become someone of means, who makes a difference. In Troika, you will never be accepted. You'll always be the Butcher."
Maybe, but maybe not. How will I know unless I give everyone a chance?
How will I know if I don't fight for better?
The truth is, people who are hurt oftentimes choose to hurt others, whether wittingly or unwittingly. Either way, it's a vicious cycle. By maiming and killing him, I will perpetuate the problem.
Perhaps Ten did manage to share her Light with me. Perhaps I possess a reservoir of Light and just didn't realize it. Miracle of miracles, my desire for vengeance has begun to fade. But then, darkness is never a match for Light. The two do not tangle up. As soon as Light comes, darkness cannot remain the sole focus.
My shields drop. Suddenly a beam of Light zooms across the Grid, followed by another and another.
Ten's voice fills my head. --Thank the Firstking! I've opened the link with Archer. We're giving you all we've got.--
Victor lands his next blow--and bellows with pain. He stumbles away from me. At the same time, the shadows in my head scramble, desperate to hide. The shadows around my wrists and ankles loosen, fall away. The collar around my neck clinks open and thuds on the floor.
For a moment, only a moment, I'm bathed in pure Light. Not just Light, but a rainbow of Light. More real than the Shell I'm housed in or the air I'm breathing. It is brilliant. Luminous. Glorious. Hope and beauty in vibrant Technicolor. Everything my life has been missing. Everything I never knew I needed.
The Light heals my wounds, strengthens my body and fades. Like one of my memories, it vanishes, all used up. I mourn the loss. Light is like food, I realize. One meal will never be enough to truly live.
My eyes narrow as I focus on Victor. Another gift of the Light--the magnetic charge is gone. I can move in and out of the S
hell at will. I can move, period.
Before he can puzzle through what's happened, I yank the blade from his grip.
The old me would have smiled at him, the same cold smile he's leveled on me so many times. I would have stabbed him, gifting him with wounds similar to my own. But I'm not the old me. Because of Ten, I've been made new.
1 + 10 = 11
1 + 1 = 2
2 is better than 1. We are better together.
In a single, fluid movement, I pick up the metal collar and dive for Victor. As our Shells crash together, he's ready for me and throws a punch. A split second after I block, we land. He takes the brunt of impact, his skull knocking into the marble tiles, disorienting him.
Wasting no time, I throw a punch. Or four. My rings rip through his skin, Lifeblood seeping from him. I have forgiven him, yes, but that doesn't mean I have to let him go free. He must be stopped.
When he is sufficiently disoriented, I scramble up, my knees pinning his shoulders. Once again I hammer my fist into his face. With my actions, my rage attempts to resurface and overtake me, but I fight it off with the same fierceness I fight Victor, maintaining a clear head. Ten was right. Emotion clouds judgment. Alive, Victor can be used...
Now I grin, a plan beginning to form.
The change in my expression frightens him. Good.
"Please," he croaks.
Well, well. Look at him beg.
"You mean I should show you mercy when you showed none to me?" Teeth bite into my skin, cutting into my knuckles, but I never pause. He bats at my arms--at first. "Apparently you have no' heard of sowin' and reapin'."
And what are you sowing right now?
You chose to forgive him. Now act like it.
A curse spills from my lips, but I raise my arms in the air, ending the assault.
His body goes lax as his head lolls to the side.
Taking no chances, I hurriedly step out of my Shell, pull his spirit out of his, and switch places with him. That done, I snap the collar around his neck.
It's odd, enslaving a Shell with my face.
Next I wrap a cloth around his eyes to hide the color of his irises, hook a muzzle over his mouth to keep him quiet, and anchor his hands behind his back.