| 5: Our Message Isn't Stopping 'Til You Drag Us All Away The very elements seemed to whip and crackle under the intense arcane powers of Chronos and an entire squadron of Columnian mages. Gusts of wind knocked Virgil and Alice into a building, which was then torn in two by a massive earthquake. Lightning, thunder and raindrops of blood were the only gifts of the blackened skies. All through the fight, Chronic's hazel eyes glowed in bright colors. Energy surrounded him, and he floated in the sky, Angel's arms around him as she gave what arcane power she had to his control. But the mages were too much to bear. Under the sheer brunt of their weaker magics, Chronic faltered and finally succumbed. He fell to the broken city street, and in his fallen state Angel ministered to his wounds as the mages closed in. *** The first thing that greeted his eyes was the dim vision of grey that was the cell. A familiar face came quickly into focus-it was Alice. In chains. "Oi," whispered Chronos. She didn't stir, though-her long black hair was draped down the front of her face as she hung forward, the manacled hands raised above her head keeping her head from hitting the ground. "Oi, wake up," Chronos tried again. He reached his leg over and gently kicked her sleeping form. "Huh? Oh-you," Alice recognized. "What's going on?" "We're evidently imprisoned," noted Chronos. "The freest of all people are we in prison." "What are you talking about?" she asked. "It's a Thoreau quote-wait you wouldn't-no, maybe you would. You're from Earth. America, too, if I recognize the accent-that's where he was from." "Thoreau... sounds familiar," she noted. "How do you know about my world?" He smiled. "One day I'll tell you." A guard came up to the cell. "You-the Corruptor," he barked. "You're to be questioned by a soldier of the Four. Get up." As he stepped aside, Chronos saw the soldier-he bore a smug, self-satisfied smile-he knew he was right, and he knew had a measure of power to ensure that smugness. A soul as shallow as his could be read like a book. "Come with me, Chronos," he ordered. His manacles were unattached from the wall, and the guard prodded him along with a few well-placed smacks borne of powerlust and glee. "Bless you, my child," quipped Chronos caustically after a billy club to the back of the head. "May God bring the blessings you bestow upon others back to you a hundredfold." "All glory to the Four, heathen!" shouted the guard. Finally, Chronos was shoved into a small, poorly-ventilated concrete block of a room. There were no one-sided mirrors, no bright lights, no chair. The soldier took the butt of his rifle and slugged Chronos with it, knocking him onto the floor. "See that position?" he asked. "That's where you are compared to me, and that's where you always WILL be. The Four has WAYS of dealing with servants of the Ancient Evil." Chronos started mouthing the beginning of a spell. Before he could finish, though, he found the soldier's foot stamping his face. He felt a tooth come loose, and weakly managed to spit it out. "I wouldn't try any of your sick Kyrian witchcraft, scum-there's an anti-magic field around all of this compound. I wouldn't try escape either-this is an Army prison over three hundred feet underground." Chronos scowled. "You can take your underground Army prison and shove it up your as-" A boot to the gut. "We don't appreciate that sort of speech around here. You see, Columnia belongs to the FOUR, in case you couldn't tell-and they don't like swearing. It's rude, and frankly it doesn't show the love of the Four." "How do you get off lecturing me on love?" asked Chronos. His only answer was the sound of one leg breaking. "Understand that I am the MASTER around here, you vile Corruptor swine." "I thought the Four owned Columnia?" pondered Chronos. This time, it was the other leg. "I don't have to take no talkback from YOU!" he shouted. "You filthy, swearing, Four-damned piece of crap!" Chronos then, without his magic or his health, was helpless to prevent the beating of his life. "Eterniu!" came a shrill voice. "Cease this at once!" The interrogator turned around to see a blond-haired woman in the priestly vestments of the state step forward. "You were not instructed to maim the Corruptor!" she declared. "But, since you have, what sort of information have you extracted from him?" "Ah... nothing yet," he conceded. "I was breaking him in to the rules, you see." Vanana stepped forward and backhanded him with her scepter. "You worthless little grunt-words fail me. Get out of my sight, I'll interrogate him myself." Eterniu gulped and ran out of the room, closing the door behind him. "If I lift this part of the anti-magic field to treat your injuries, will you try anything stupid?" she asked. Chronos managed to shake his head. She then magically cured his injuries and tossed him a granola bar. "This is breakfast. Now, who do you work for?" Chronos sat up, back against the cold concrete, and started to undo the plastic wrapper. "I work for Kyrios." "Kyrios... is this the leader of that crucifixion cult on Earth?" "Yes." "A gruesome business. The Four do not approve." "No offense, but I don't care what the Four think." She shook her head. "Perhaps you should. One like you could be a powerful ally in days to come, Chronos." "I thought I was the all-hated Corruptor or somesuch," he replied. "There are... issues to be ironed out, but they are not insurmountable," Vanana informed. "We are preparing to invade the Tota Regues Leiv, and one such as you could do wonders for our cause." "I cannot consent," Chronos replied. The interrogation under Vanana was no less intense, though it was markedly non-violent. Chronos dodged her important questions, though, answering only when he saw fit to do so. Finally, Vanana had had enough for one day and stalked off. As she did, however, an earring of hers fell to the ground. Right before the guard came in to drag Chronos back to his cell, he dived on the earring and swallowed it. He knew not why-perhaps he could trade it, or perhaps it had a magic strong enough to break the field that kept him bound. *** She was alone. Not even a rabbit to lick her face or amuse her. The chains cut into her wrists, and she mourned the lack of circulation. The hunger ate away at her, and the cold nibbled at her consciousness. Just then, she thought she saw the glimmer of something familiar. It was a watch-a Rolex digital, remarkably similar to the one she had bought for her father last Christmas. Her eyes wandered up the arm attached to the watch-it was her father! "Dad!" she cried out. "It's me, Alice!" Her father was walking along the cell block, talking with an important-looking woman about a contract to build a permanent portal to Earth or something like that. "Dad! Please!" Her father heard the sound and his eyes darted towards her, and his speech faltered. When the important woman turned to look at him to find out what was the matter, he guiltily averted his eyes and continued with his speech. "Dad! Dad!" she called. A door opened and shut in the distance. "Dad..." *** "I brought half a granola bar for you," offered Chronos after coming back to the cell. He noticed her sleeping in the same position. The guard was in something of a hurry, though, and hadn't bothered chaining him to the wall-closing the cell door had been enough. He noticed that the front of her shirt was moist, and that her face was red. He put his hand to her face, and decided that she had been crying. That act woke her up again. "Chronos?" she asked. "Hello?" "Hey, eat this," he offered, breaking off a piece of granola. Her hands were chained behind her, so he spent five minutes feeding her the granola bar. "And tell me... do you know what this is?" Alice looked at the earring. "That-that looks like something you'd see on a headset," she realized. "A microphone or a radio, but really really small." He tried talking into it. "Hello?" A crackly voice answered back "Hello?" "Who is this?" "Who are you?" "Chronos of Augusta." A gasp of disbelief came at the other end. "Holy crap! This is Angel!" came the static. "The waiter at this one restaurant came by and gave me this thing, told me ima s'posed to talk into it or something." "A guard...?" wondered Chronic. "His nametag said 'Malcolm'," replied Angel. "Friend of yours?" Chronic pondered. "Malcolm... Malcolm... Michael?" "Huh?" "I have a theory but it's hard to explain," related Chronic. "Let's just say it's charitable to speak in the tongues of seraphim." |