Torture

The Agore wasn't just about physical strength, it was also about mental fortitude. Moloch quickly learned this the hard way during his time in the agore. The punishments for disobedience or even just speaking out of turn were severe and ruthless. Moloch had watched as his fellow prisoners were beaten, starved, and even taken away to the section of the training ground aptly named as hell. But none of that compared to what he was about to experience. He had been tied to a wooden post, his wrists and ankles bound so tightly that he could barely move. The trainers had taken turns beating him, their fists raining down on his body like a hailstorm. Moloch had screamed and cried out in pain, but they had not stopped. They had continued to beat him until he had passed out from the pain. When he had woken up, he had been lying on the ground, his body covered in bruises and cuts. The trainers had stood over him, their faces twisted in sadistic pleasure. Moloch had wanted to scream and lash out at them, but he knew that it would only make things worse. So he had gritted his teeth and endured the pain, determined not to give them the satisfaction of seeing him break.

The torture sessions had continued for days, each one worse than the last. Moloch's body was pushed to its limits as the trainers found new ways to break him. They would burn him with hot irons, watch him bleed with holes in his body, and force him to endure freezing temperatures without any clothing. Moloch felt like he was living in a nightmare, each day worse than the last. He could feel his body weakening, his mind slipping away into darkness. But he refused to give up. He knew that he had to remain strong if he ever hoped to escape this place and seek his revenge. Eventually, the torture sessions stopped, and Moloch was left alone in his cell to recover from his injuries. He spent days lying on his bunk, his body too weak to move. But even in his weakened state, he could feel the burning desire for vengeance inside of him. He knew that he could not let this experience break him. He had to find a way to come out stronger on the other side. So Moloch began to train again, this time, he acted as if possessed, his only focus being training. He pushed himself harder than ever before, determined to never let himself be in a vulnerable position like that again. His muscles burned with each movement, but he refused to stop, to give up. Moloch trained until his body could take no more, until his mind was filled with nothing but the desire for revenge. He would spend hours each day pushing himself to his limits, determined to become stronger than ever before. The pain from his injuries was still there, but Moloch refused to let it hold him back. He pushed himself harder than ever before, using the pain as fuel to become even stronger. As he trained, Moloch began to notice a change in himself. He was becoming more focused, more determined, and more ruthless. He could feel the anger and hatred inside of him growing stronger with each passing day. The voices which were normally quiet encouraged him. His mother, father and even sister all spoke to him. They believed in him, and as long as they spoke to him he would not give up. Those weren't the only voices though. No, no, no. The voice of the one he had tripped. It haunted him. Taunting him. Yet, at the same time, that voice drove him. It drove him to train until he bled. He knew that he was becoming something different, something dangerous. But he didn't care. He knew that he needed to become stronger if he ever hoped to take down the empires. He could feel his body and mind becoming one, a machine fueled by his desire for vengeance.

However, physical training wasn't the only thing that benefitted from this. Moloch became sparse. He began to excel and willingly taking in the learnings of Maztica. He no longer spoke colourfully and flowery words. He was not of the west and so would not speak like the cowardly scholars, living in towers. No. Moloch spoke like a true warrior. He wasted no time. All his actions had a purpose and his speech became compressed, with maximum meaning and power in the fewest words possible. Of course, no one is perfect. Although moloch excelled in all matters physical, the matters of the mind still befuddled him. Moloch although successfully grasping all things to make him a strong warrior, failed to sharpen his mind. Whetstones are essential to blades. And a blade, essential to a warrior. Yet, more important is books, for books are the whetstone of the mind. Moloch, although focused and determined was only that way to physical matters, his arrogance telling him he had no need of books and meditation. The erephors, of course needed to punish him...

Moloch had lost track of time, his body aching and his mind filled with terror. He had seen things that he could never unsee, felt pain that was beyond anything he had ever imagined. And yet, he had not broken. He had refused to let them break him. He had remained strong, his willpower unbreakable. But even the strongest of wills have their limits. And Moloch had reached his. The torture he had endured had left him broken, both physically and mentally. He had lost count of the number of times he had passed out from the pain, the number of times he had woken up to find himself covered in blood and bruises. He had begged for it to stop, pleaded with the trainers to spare him. But they had only laughed at him, their eyes filled with sadistic pleasure. Moloch had lost all sense of time, his days and nights blurring together in a never-ending cycle of pain and torture. And then, one day, the erephors had come for him. They had dragged him from his cell, his body barely able to stand. Moloch had tried to fight back, but his body had failed him. He had been thrown into a white room. Everything was now white. They had shaved his head fully, leaving him bald. Instead of wearing the normal clothes, the erephors had prepared for him white clothes. They were the shame shade of white as the room. The shirt was long sleeved, covering his entire arm. The trousers, covered his entire legs, leaving him barefoot. The erephors had left him there, alone with his thoughts. Moloch had tried to remember why he was there, what his ultimate goal was, but his mind was hazy. He could feel himself slipping away into darkness, his body and mind too weak to fight anymore. 

  It was the voice of an angel, its texture grained and smooth, like chocolate ganache, while its tone, rich and commanding, like a king's robe, yet she was firm and soft at the same time, but also as faint as a memory, a memory that mattered, that linked him to his past. He heard it, whispering in his head, crafty and spontaneous, filling his head with visions. Unfortunately, all good things have to come to an end, and although the voice filled him with hope, it too brought terrible memories. Memories of all the people he had loved. People he had lost. He had loved them so much. And the empire cruelly took them from him, using a 'heavenly' decree. Although they were poor, they were happy. It was after all, their family. Moloch's mind was consumed by the memories of his family, of the life he had before the empire took it all away, his mind racing, his thoughts jumbled and confused. He tried to push the memories away, to focus on the present, but the voice in his head wouldn't let him. It pulled him deeper and deeper into his past, showing him images of his childhood, of his family, of the times when he had been happy. And then, just as suddenly as they had come, the memories were gone. The voice faded, leaving Moloch alone in the white room once more. For a moment, he simply sat there, his mind blank. And then the door opened, and the erephors entered the room. Moloch tried to stand, but his legs failed him. He fell to the ground, his body wracked with pain. The erephors simply looked down at him, their faces expressionless. They didn't offer to help him up, didn't offer him any words of comfort. They simply stood there, watching him struggle. And then, as suddenly as they came, they left.

Moloch lay on the ground, his body shaking with pain and exhaustion. He was alone again, with the white walls as his only company. He knew that he needed to keep fighting, to find a way to break free from this cycle of pain and torture. But he didn't know how. His mind was clouded, his body weak. He closed his eyes, willing himself to find the strength to go on. And then, he heard it again. The voice. It was stronger this time, more insistent, filling his mind with images of his family, his home, his past. But this time, there was something else too. A sense of purpose, of determination. Moloch felt the anger and hatred inside of him growing stronger once more, his desire for vengeance reignited. He would not let the erephors break him. He would not let the empires win. He would come out of this stronger than ever before. 

With a newfound determination, Moloch began focusing on his flaws. Although, those who were uneducated would call moloch the perfect soldier, he knew they were wrong. Moloch was brash, impulsive and hot-headed. His blood boiled in anger and his competitiveness drove him further and further. But now, as he lay in that white room, he realized that these flaws could be used against him. The erephors had been able to break him because of his impulsiveness, his inability to control his emotions. Moloch knew that he needed to change if he ever hoped to succeed in his mission. He needed to learn to control his anger, to think before he acted. And so, he began to meditate, his mind bringing up lessons thought to be long forgotten. It was hard at first, his mind prone to wander, often thinking about his family, his past and wondering how his friends were doing. Yet, he persevered. Slowly but surely. Yet, with each passing day, he found it easier to focus. He learned to control his breathing, to clear his mind of all distractions. He practiced every day, using the whetstone of the mind (one called meditation) to sharpen his thoughts and his emotions. As time passed, he found himself becoming more serene, more at peace with himself. He would've liked to think that his anger no longer controlled him, but rather, he controlled it. Yet, he knew it was not true. Although meditation had helped and made a true difference, making his mind was sharper than ever before and his thoughts clearer, it had ultimately failed in allowing him to control his emotions. Moloch, deep down knew what was wrong. He knew he would never be able to rest and control his emotions until he achieved his goal. He would not and could not rest until the empires were abolished. Until the heads of all the emperors, we're rolling, moloch would not rest. Yes, moloch freely admitted that his emotions drove him. It made him powerful and yet in itself, his emotions were still a weakness. Moloch. He was fine with it. His emotions, was a weakness that moloch was willing to bear. And it was in this small white room that moloch came to be at peace with himself. He believed he had reached 'ZEN'. Enlightenment. And then, one day, the erephors came for him again. This time, however, he was prepared. He stood up, his body strong and his mind clear. He looked the erephors directly in the eyes, his gaze calculative, unflinching and cold. And yet, they didn't say anything, simply leading him out of the room and down a long, white hallway. Moloch was surprised at how much he had changed during his time in the white room. His new-found sense of calm and control had given him a renewed sense of strength and purpose. He no longer felt like a prisoner, but rather, a man. He felt like a warrior ready to take on whatever challenge lay ahead. As they walked, Moloch began to take in his surroundings, noting the stark white walls and floors, the lack of windows or any kind of decoration. It was clear that this was not a place meant for comfort or relaxation. They finally reached a door at the end of the hallway. The erephors opened it and Moloch stepped inside. The room was small and empty, with a single chair in the middle. Moloch approached the chair cautiously, wondering what was going to happen next. He sat down, waiting for the erephors to begin their interrogation or torture. But instead, they simply stood there, watching him. Minutes passed, and then hours. Moloch felt his mind ripple, wanting to wander into thought, yet he guided his mind back into a state of peace.  He stared at the erephors and they stared back at him. Their gaze was much like his own, their eyes holding an unfathomable amount of experience. These old men were like foxes, their eyes reflecting this, belying their normally hidden calculative, scheming and wily look. All erephors had this gaze, appearing as if they were all thousand year old monsters, able to easily outwit, outthink and manoeuvre moloch into any position they wanted, as if moloch was simply a piece on a game of shogi. But Moloch was no longer the same man they had left in the white room. He had grown and changed, his mind and body honed through meditation and self-reflection. He knew that the erephors were trying to break him, but he refused to let them. Instead, he met their gaze with his own, unflinching and unwavering. He could feel their eyes boring into him, trying to find a weakness, a crack in his armor. But Moloch appeared to have none. He had learned to control his thoughts, to channel his anger and use it as a weapon. he was not to be underestimated. And so, he sat there, his mind clear and focused, waiting for the erephors to make their move. And then, one of them spoke. "Moloch," his voice was low and gravely, "it is time for you to leave this place" Moloch was surprised, he had expected to be interrogated, to be tortured. But instead, they were letting him go, going as far as to give him a nod of encouragement. He stood up, his body tense, ready for any kind of attack. But none came. The erephors simply stood there, watching him as he walked towards the door. Moloch stepped out into the hallway, his eyes scanning his surroundings. And yet moloch was lost. He felt as if his very being had no purpose. And so, instead of leaving, he simply made his way back to the quarters. As he walked down the hallway, Moloch couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. It was too easy, too simple. The erephors had just let him go, without any kind of resistance or fight. Moloch knew that their intentions were never pure, that they always had some kind of plan or agenda. He needed to be careful, to watch his back. Moloch's bare toes touched the marble floor lightly, leaving no trace of dirt or sweat. His muscles were tense, and his mouth was set in a straight, hard line. His frame was still slender, and his skin lighter, from a lack of sun, his muscles lean and firm. Moloch's eyes scanned the empty hallway, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were watching him. The marble was smooth, but cold and made of a porous stone that was easy to grip. The cold marble contrasted with Moloch's skin which was warm to the touch, soft and smooth as if it were made of silk. Moloch felt the grip and texture of the marble, the sharp edges of the stone, the cold temperature against his skin like the chill of winter's breath. Moloch took slow, purposeful strides to the chamber, even as a feeling of anticipation came upon him. If one were to observe him, he would appear to be extremely calm and collected. But inside, Moloch's mind was racing. He couldn't shake the feeling that the erephors were playing a game with him, that they had some ulterior motive for letting him go. As he approached the chamber, his heart began to beat faster. He was on high alert, ready for anything. Moloch stepped inside the chamber, his eyes quickly scanning around. The room looked perfect, as if it was a still painted picture. Of course, there were people here. Some he could recognised, being Ikki and Zeck as he had close contact with them, but most others he had not met, or if he had, he did not remember them. Moloch's eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of the people in the chamber. They all seemed to be waiting for him, their eyes trained on him as if they were expecting something. Moloch stood tall, his body poised and ready for action. He could feel the tension in the air, and he knew that whatever was about to happen, it would be significant. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves as he made his way towards the center of the chamber. As he approached, the people parted, creating a path for him to walk through. Moloch could feel their eyes on him, scrutinizing his every move. He knew that he needed to stay alert, to be ready for anything. The weight of expectations was heavy upon him, but he knew he could handle it. Moloch's feet moved like they were made of lead as he approached the center of the chamber. The air was thick with tension, the silence overwhelming. The people in the room were all looking at him with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. Moloch could feel his heart thumping in his chest, a sense of unease stirring within him. He tried to keep his expression neutral and his body language confident, but it was difficult. He walked. None dared talk to him and none dared get near him, in fear of the erephors retaliation. Soon, moloch arrived at his bed. Or atleast, what was supposed to be his bed. A Paidiskoi was there, stood by it, as if he owned moloch's bed. Moloch's eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of the Paidiskoi standing beside his bed. He knew that this was no coincidence, that the erephors had arranged this meeting. He approached the Paidiskoi, his eyes never leaving the man's face. The Paidiskoi looked up at Moloch, his eyes cold and calculating. Moloch could feel the tension in the air, and he knew that this was not going to be a friendly conversation. "What are you doing here?" Moloch asked, his voice low and menacing. The Paidiskoi remained silent for a moment, studying Moloch with his cold, calculating eyes. "This is my bed…" the Paidiskoi lay claim to moloch's bed. Moloch appeared to be the weakest out them all, and he had heard that even though he was strong, his skills had rusted and dulled due to the time in the white room.

Moloch felt a surge of rage building up inside of him. How dare this Paidiskoi claim his bed? He had worked hard to earn the privilege of having his own bed, and now this man was trying to take it away from him. Moloch's eyes flashed with anger as he took a step closer to the Paidiskoi. "You have no right to claim my bed," he growled, his voice low and menacing. The Paidiskoi simply smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh, but I do," he said, his voice taunting. "The erephors have given me permission to claim any bed I want, and I have chosen this one." Moloch felt a surge of anger rising within him. He knew that the erephors were playing a game with him, that they were purposely trying to provoke him. But he refused to let them win. Instead, he took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. 

He could feel his muscles tensing, his body preparing for a fight. But he knew that he needed to be smart, to think before he acted. "I see," Moloch said through gritted teeth. "Well, I suggest you find another bed. This one is taken." The Paidiskoi chuckled, clearly amused by Moloch's display of bravado. "And what if I refuse?" he asked, his voice laced with mockery. Moloch's eyes narrowed, his body coiled like a spring. He knew that he needed to remain calm, to think before he acted. "Then I'll make you regret it," he replied, his voice low and menacing. The Paidiskoi's smirk faded, replaced by a look of uncertainty. He could sense the danger in Moloch's voice, the quiet rage that simmered just beneath the surface. For a moment, the two men stood there, locked in a tense standoff. And then, without warning, the Paidiskoi lunged at Moloch, his fists flying towards him. Moloch reacted quickly, dodging the first blow and countering with a punch of his own. The impact landed solidly on the Paidiskoi's face, sending him reeling backwards. The Paidiskoi stumbled, but quickly recovered, launching another attack on Moloch. Moloch was ready, and he met the attack head-on, blocking the Paidiskoi's punches with ease. The two men circled each other, both looking for an opening. Moloch could feel his heart racing, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He knew that this was a dangerous situation, but he refused to back down. He would not let the erephors win. The Paidiskoi suddenly lunged again, this time with a kick aimed at Moloch's stomach. Moloch blocked the kick with his arms, then countered with a swift punch to the Paidiskoi's jaw. The Paidiskoi stumbled backwards, his eyes wide with shock. Moloch saw his opening and took it, launching a series of rapid punches at the Paidiskoi's face. The man tried to block them, but Moloch was too fast, too skilled. Each punch landed with a sickening thud, until finally the Paidiskoi fell to the ground, unconscious. Moloch stood there for a moment, catching his breath and surveying the scene. The room was silent, all eyes on him. Moloch knew that he had just made a powerful statement, one that would not be forgotten anytime soon. He turned and walked towards his bed, reclaiming what was rightfully his.