The Silent Stage of Despair (2)

As Brock's massive hand came down with brutal force, a momentary flicker of clarity flashed in his eyes. Silence, observing this shift, raised an eyebrow. "Interesting," he thought, his analytical mind immediately springing into action. "His brain is trying to fight back, even under my command."

For a brief moment, Brock seemed to hesitate—just a fraction of a second—but it was enough for Silence to recognize something new. "He's struggling against me... This is something I didn't account for."

Without missing a beat, Silence focused his cursed energy, pouring more of it into Brock's mind, reinforcing the control. "Not so fast," he mused silently. "Let's turn that rebellion back off."

In an instant, Brock's fleeting defiance was snuffed out, his actions once again completely dictated by Silence's command. All of this transpired in less than a heartbeat, but to Silence, it was an intriguing revelation. A twisted grin played beneath his mask as he noted this discovery, already filing it away for future use.

"Seems even the strongest minds have their limits... but so do I."

As Brock regained his 'controlled' state, Silence took in the battlefield and his eyes scanned the chaos that lay before him. The eerie silence was only cut by the ragged breathing of injured soldiers that lay across the field, bruised and broken. Some slumped against the wreckage, barely holding on to life, while others just stared on in wide-eyed terror as they watched the carnage unfold before them.

"Wh-who the hell is he?" one soldier stammered to his buddy, shaking, his hand clutched to his bleeding side.

"I don't know. but he's not one of us," the other replied, eyes fixed on Silence. "We're as good as dead if we stay here."

A little further away, the other four mobile mutants stood in a state of utter shock and confusion at the unfolding scenario. The glint in their eyes, once so sure, had now dulled with misunderstanding and terror as they exchanged nervous glances.

"What...what is happening? Why can't we do anything?" one mutant muttered to himself fisting his hands tightly as if to wrap his mind around it.

"I don't know. but we need to act! We have to stop him!" another replied; his voice was low, almost a whisper, as if trying to appear brave. Even so, their movements were slow, indecisive, as the air seemed to thicken from the weight of Silence's control around them.

Pyro stood a little off to one side with Azazel and watched in growing frustration. Anger blazed brighter and hotter in his eyes as he turned to his comrades helpless against this threat they knew nothing about.

"This is madness!" Pyro snarled, his hands immediately bursting into columns of flame. "How did we lose control so fast? What is this freak doing to us?"

Azazel, composed but equally worried in his own right, spoke in a hushed tone, "It's not just brute force. He's controlling them—like puppets on strings."

"We can't let this go on," Pyro growled, attempting to restart his flames. "I'll burn him down myself if I have to!

The voice was even, yet strained as Azazel's eyes narrowed. "Careful, Pyro. We don't know of all his capabilities. He's already stripped most of us of our powers. And if we go in like bulls, we'll be like them, too."

Pyro seethed, his flames sputtering in indecision as he turned toward the battlefield. "So, what? We just stand here and watch while he turns us into his playthings?"

Azazel said nothing for a moment, then spoke. "No. But we need a plan. Something that doesn't involve charging blindly into whatever nightmare he's creating."

The remaining mutants-those still capable of movement-continued in their awkward shuffle, compelled by Silence's warped command. They moved uncertainly, as if confused about the reasons, their minds foggy and unable to discern friend from foe.

"Brock. What are you doing?" one of them called out weakly, watching in horror as the rock-armored mutant continued his assault on their own comrades. But silence greeted this.

"Snap out of it!" another shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. "We're on the same side!"

But the confusion persisted. Silence's command had taken root deep within them, and their own perceptions betrayed them.

However, as he observed the battlefield, Silence thought something: the others still had a use. He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over the remaining mutants. "Alive" he muttered under his breath. "I need them breathing, at least." A darker thought crept into his mind, the twisted logic settling in. He needed the negative emotions they produced—fear, anger, desperation—all fueling his power. Those emotions were most potent in the living, even if they were hanging by a thread.

Brock, now wholly back under Silence's command, began to plod across the space separating him from the other mutants, no hang-up whatsoever reflected in his eyes. The other still ambulant mutants viewed his approach with growing alarm. There was an exchange of glances between two, their unspoken agreement silently forged.

They needed to act, or they would be just like their fallen comrade. Silent, the decision was made to run away from the situation. The two mutants catapulted toward the edge of the battlefield, out across the barrier that confined them. Breathing accelerated, paces quickened as they approached what they hoped to be an escape.

But just before they could get to the edge, a cold voice echoed from behind, cutting through the air with as much menace as a sharp blade.

"Shatter."

Suddenly, they felt an excruciating, sharp pain in their legs, their bodies suddenly betraying them. The searing agony sent one of the mutants into a gasp as he looked down in horror. His right leg had splintered into several jagged pieces right from the thigh down. His torn pants were saturated with blood as the very bones beneath his skin began to disintegrate. The other mutant, unable to push himself further, felt unimaginable pain in his left leg. His leg buckled grotesquely, bending at impossible angles to a side, as if someone had crushed it with incredible force.

Both fell to the ground, their screams muffled out by the uncanny barrier; a gruesome picture was painted in their helplessness as they lay there.

As the two mutants lay there, writhing in their agony as their shattered legs were useless beneath them, Silence's cold, amused voice cut through the silence once more.

"Actors cannot leave the stage before the act is over," he repeated wryly, with an indolent leap of dark amusement in his voice, "or they are punished."

The remaining two mutants saw that there would be no escape. In their eyes, desperation was growing and they quickly realized it. One of them, in a spasm of fear and as a final flicker of defiance, tried to lunge at Brock, hoping to find the behemoth off his step. But Brock, even this massive frame armored with rock, moved with terrifying speed. His fist, encased in rough stone-like features, shot forward with brutal precision.

In that instant, the punch of Brock connected with the midsection of the mutant. The well-placed blow was nothing but catastrophic; it broke ribs and drove deep into the torso of the mutant, compressing internal organs with relenting power, just like a landslide. The mutant's eyes bulged in shock and pain, coughing up blood as the life drained out of his face while his body crumpled around Brock's unforgiving fist.

When he saw what had happened to his friends, the last mutant just gave up. He simply stood there and waited for whatever it was that Brock had in store for him. Brock came forward towards him almost robotically. He hit with enough strength to send the mutant sprawling but not enough to make it fatal. The mutant tumbled to the ground, helpless.

And the violence went down, and down upon them, and there was something quite unexpected at that climactic moment. On Brock's face, the silent tears fell, running along pathways drawn through the dirt and dust of his skin.

As the body did what it was trained and primed to do, with deadly competence, that other self within him fought on, trying to deny the horror of what he was engaged in. The only outward sign of the turmoil that lay behind was the sign that his human soul was trapped inside this monstrous puppet.

A sharp clap rang out, cutting through the battlefield's chaos, drawing every eye back to the true source of the destruction. Silence stood, his gaze calm but amused, surveying the aftermath with a mischievous grin. "Well, wasn't that the perfect act?" he declared, voice laced with mockery. "Now, it's time for Act 1's climax."

With a simple command, "Move," Brock—who had been frozen in place by Silence's control—suddenly regained movement. His body, still under the influence of cursed energy, felt free for the first time since being manipulated, but something was horribly wrong. Deep within, Brock's mind churned with a storm of emotions: guilt, rage, shame, and overwhelming pain. His subconscious had felt everything—the brutal violence, the destruction of his fellow mutants—and it all weighed on him, pulling him further into despair.

"Why? Why can't I stop this?!" Brock's thoughts raced in frantic confusion. He knew what he had done, yet he couldn't reconcile with the monstrous actions that were forced upon him. His mind screamed for release, but his body wouldn't listen. Each tear that had fallen earlier was like a small fracture in his soul, breaking apart what little control he had left over his emotions.

Then he saw Silence—calm, collected, and utterly entertained by the carnage he had orchestrated. Rage surged through Brock like a fire ignited by gasoline. All rational thought disappeared, replaced by pure, animalistic fury. With a roar, he rushed toward Silence, his heavy footsteps cracking the ground beneath him. He didn't care about the odds, didn't care if he was still under Silence's control. All that mattered was making this monster pay.

Silence, feeling the thrill of the moment, welcomed Brock's rage with open arms. His cursed energy flared up, swirling around him like a dark aura. He grinned, excitement coursing through his veins as he, too, charged toward Brock. The anticipation of the impact sent a shiver of adrenaline through his body. This was the type of clash he had been waiting for.

Just as they were about to collide, Silence moved first, throwing a punch aimed directly at Brock's chest. But Brock, driven by his fury, saw the attack coming. For a brief second, his instincts took over. He brought his arms up, preparing to block the incoming blow. His rock-hard limbs braced for impact.

But Silence had other plans.

"Air Impact," he whispered, almost too calmly.

A powerful gust of wind, infused with cursed energy, suddenly rushed out from Silence's fist, striking Brock squarely on the arms before the actual punch could even connect. The force was enough to blast through Brock's defense, sending a shockwave of pain up his arms. He stumbled back, his massive frame momentarily shaken as the wind knocked the air out of him. The power behind the invisible strike left him stunned, his vision swimming as he struggled to regain balance.

Yet, Brock's fury remained undiminished, his eyes burning with rage as he glared at Silence, knowing full well this was far from over.

As Brock struggled to regain his footing, Silence's voice cut through the air with chilling precision. "Bones break," he declared, his tone as calm as if he were discussing the weather.

In an instant, Brock felt a searing pain radiate from within his body. His eyes widened in agony as the bones supporting his rock-like armor shattered into countless splinters. The once impenetrable structure that had shielded him from harm was now causing unbearable internal suffering. Each movement sent jolts of pain through his shattered skeletal framework, and the once-steady rhythm of his breathing became ragged gasps of distress.

"No... no, it can't be. I can't move... My bones..." Brock's thoughts were a chaotic mess of confusion and torment. His entire body seemed to rebel against him, each attempt to move exacerbating the sharp, gnawing pain. His face contorted in silent screams, tears of pain rolling down his cheeks as the agony continued to ravage him from the inside.

Silence, observing Brock's suffering with a detached fascination, added, "Since your armor is exterior, I've shattered the bones within that structure. You can still move, but the constant pain will ensure that you're incapacitated. Your body can't support itself any longer, though you won't die from it. It's a delicate balance of agony and endurance."

The realization of his predicament settled heavily on Brock. His rock armor, once his greatest strength, now felt like a prison of torment. Each time he tried to move, the agony intensified, and his legs buckled under him, unable to bear the weight of his shattered bones. His once formidable presence was now reduced to a pitiful figure wracked with pain, a silent testament to the dark artistry of Silence's cruel design.