A Chance To Reinvent Ourselves

"Why?" Seth sobbed.

Tears spilled from the edge of his eyes, rolling down both cheeks as pain came again, crushing his bowels with the force of a reinforced truck.

It had been three days. Three days of constant visitations from the priest. Each time the man would come morning and evening, too early and too late. Each time he would bring questions with him. Seth would never answer. Then he would bring pain.

Tonight Seth struggled as the world pressed around him, grinding against his stomach, a drill in soft tissue. At some point he'd tried to fight the pain; refuse the priest any form of satisfaction he would take in any sign of discomfort. Now, he cared for little else. A soul mage did not need to see pain to know his victim was in pain, especially one as unsouled as him. So tonight Seth screamed in a thousand voices, writhing in his prison of a bed.

The man stood to the side, watching. His face was without notable expression. He could've been enjoying it or been repulsed by it and no one would know which. Tonight he'd asked the same questions. Who sent you? What do you want? Where did you come from? How do you know my name?

Each time Seth had given the same answer. He would speak only to Dante Faust. It was a lie. He would not speak only to Dante Faust. In fact, he'd speak to the wind if he was allowed. But every time… every gods damned time, his answer was the same. His minds echoed it and his mouth obeyed. Wish all he could, Jabari had done something to him he did not understand; something that even now in the man's absence, he could not disobey.

"I… will sp… speak… only… to Dante… Faust," he mumbled through the pain.

Beside him the priest sighed. "That you haven't spoken to me implies you are lying. Did whoever sent you even tell you what I look like. I swear these spies get dumber each time." The last he added in a sigh.

Seth was barely listening through the muffle of pain that clouded his mind. He was at least pleased with the silence in his head though. The voices had screamed with him once before, but at least they fell silent after.

"You understand you are the distraction, do you not?" the man that was not Dante continued. "You're most likely the distraction, while someone else does something else somewhere else. While I must commend whatever training you've had, you must know it is for naught. What are you, twelve, eleven…"

Thirteen, you arsehole, a piece of Seth's mind snarled.

Seth couldn't help but chuckle at the thought and pain lanced through him like a spit. He'd thought his mind would stay silent longer. "You keep quiet through everything and that's the one that gets you," he mumbled, taking advantage of the strength he could feel returning.

Be quiet, another one of his minds whispered. We're making him use up strength he doesn't have. And we all know he'll need it.

"For… what?" Seth drawled, spittle dripping from the edge of his lips., pain ever present.

"This game you play will not work, child," the priest spat, his façade cracking momentarily before he schooled it. "I have done no lasting damage to you not simply because you're young. I have done it for other reasons. Considering your training, you must know that priests have ways of getting the knowledge they seek from whoever they seek, in whatever way is necessary." He stepped forward, towering over Seth's laying form. "You have not even begun to experience the precipice of what a priest is capable of… of what I am capable of. But considering you're young, you still have time. Should you tell me the truth, however, I will sponsor you, make you a seminarian under my protection. What do you say?"

We say fuck you… wait, panic laced the thought, can Barons read minds?

Don't think so, another mind answered. If not, baldie there wouldn't keep looking at us like we're crazy.

In his defense…

"Please," Seth begged them. "Please no more."

He was struggling to pay attention to the priest already, but the voices wouldn't let him. The man had made him an offer of admission. Why he had to be sponsored was a different subject, but it sounded like a good proposition. All he had to do was answer. But did he want to join the seminary this way? Hadn't Jabari already promised him? So why all this; why the need to go through this insanity? Why did he have to suffer?

He opened his mouth with the little energy he had and wasn't surprised at the words that came forth.

"I will speak only to Dante Faust."

Pain lanced through his gut, and a shriek escaped his lips. It dug in, burrowing like a spider into it, biting and scraping and chewing. Tears filled his eyes and his screams blurred his thoughts so that he heard nothing. But he felt his minds' discontent, their discomfort at his pain. It was as if they felt it too, but they did not scream today. Not as they had done on the first day. Strangely, he took some form of consolation in that. It was enough to present the delusion that they didn't feel it, even though he knew better.

"To only Dante Faust, right?" the priest mocked, though his face gave nothing away. "Or die waiting. A shame you have been chosen to be discarded. I will find your associates and bring them the same pain after you are gone."

Seth did not give an answer. He did not offer words, though he wished to. His mind was clouded in pain. His body was sore from it even without knowledge of how exactly it came so that all he did was scream.

Suddenly another voice joined the room, and it brought peace with it.

"That's quite enough of that, John."

The voice was old, quite honestly weary. When it spoke, the pain ended abruptly.

Seth tried to move his head but was too tired, not that it would've made any difference. It was still strapped to the bed, the harness running across his forehead to hold it down.

The man, whoever he was, walked around the room first, studying nothing in particular. He was an old man, the kind that was bent over from age, hunched so that he appeared shorter than he actually was, and moved with a walking cane.

"Are you sure about this?" the younger priest asked. "There are still—"

The old man cut him off with a raised hand. "Contrary to what the seminarians believe, Reverend John, we train the children here. We do not torture them. You will agree that I have allowed this your…" his hand made a disgusted gesture. "…experiment, go on long enough, would you not?"

John straightened where he was, expression schooled as he answered, "Yes, Monsignor."

"Good. Now leave us."

John left without question. The door's groaning hinges announced his departure as it had always done. Hidden in the relief that came from his release it still made Seth wonder how the old man had come in without making a sound.

"I swear, they really should learn how to open doors," the old man said as he turned to Seth. "Now, what would you like to say to Dante Faust, child?"

Seth's mind was quiet as he looked at the man. He was older than he had thought. The crinkles at the edge of his eyes reminded him of thoroughly rumpled clothes, and while he didn't seem to struggle, leaning on the walking cane that came up to just above his waist, his face looked as if it strained just to remain animated and was hollow at the cheeks. His hair was a polished grey, thinning severely from age and he spotted a bushy beard on his sharp features.

Seth knew what his minds would say if they weren't silent. Perhaps they would bicker about this too, he thought, looking at the man's eyes the color of blood.

"Dante Faust," he said.

The old man spread his arms out on both sides, the cane of black wood dangling from one. "In the flesh," he replied. "Now, how may I be of service to you, young one?"

Seth took in a deep breath in preparation, but exhaled it rather than speak. That breath, he had needed. And something told him he would need the next, too. So it was no surprise when he exhaled the next as well.

"Take your time," Dante chuckled. "It's not easy for an unsouled surviving a Baron's punishment, no matter how little."

Seth took his time. Each breath was sweeter than the one before it and he felt like a hungry man finally devouring his first meal. The thought reminded him of his hunger and he felt nothing but anger at the seminary. They had kept him three days with neither food nor water. How he had survived baffled him.

Even Jabari had known to feed him.

When time had elapsed significantly, Dante spoke again, his tone jovial. "I am beginning to find myself inclined to believe Reverend John. You do seem to be stalling for time. Should I be worried?"

"I was told to tell you—" Seth paused. He had uttered words of his choosing, something besides the seven words he had grown to hate, and it brought a smile to his face.

"You're an odd fellow, aren't you?" Dante mused.

Seth wasn't sure if it was amusement he heard in the man's voice. And he didn't want to know.

"I have been told to tell you that the soul arts are practiced by the dying to stay the hand of death in search for the path of the immortal," he said finally.

Seth knew the moment the man deciphered whatever meaning was hidden within the words. Dante froze like a statue, his oddly jovial façade gone. Even his amusement fell from his face like a dead thing. He was now, more than Seth had ever seen anyone, in the arms of dread.

Slowly, like paint drying that it almost seemed to take forever, his blood red irises turned to Seth. "Where did you hear those words, child?" Though calm, his voice was deep and ominous, sending a shiver through Seth's brain.

In this moment he knew with childlike certainty that he would not die. But he also knew the old man would not display the same level of restraint as Reverend John in his search for the answer.

"A priest named Jabari told me," he answered hurriedly. "He said I should ask for you and tell you that once I was here."

A sliver of the tension left the room at his words, but not all of it. The dread was gone but in its place was a curious panic.

"And what is your relationship with this man called Jabari?" Dante asked.

Seth hesitated only a moment before answering. "He… adopted me."

"Adopted you?"

"Yes… sir."

The sound of wood clacking against stone filled the room as Dante beat the butt of his cane on the floor, taking three steps closer to him. "And what, pray tell, is your name, child?"

This is our chance, a piece of his mind chimed in, interrupting him.

Our chance to what? Another asked.

Reinvent ourselves, of course. Personally, we find we've always liked the name Jackson.

Another piece disagreed with it. Our only options are Seth or Oden, dipshit. Let's do Oden. We will become the fury.

Why did they have to bicker over the unimportant things, Seth found himself wondering before he answered.

"Seth Al Jabari," he said.

"Al Jabari," Dante nodded. "Is it a sort of middle name of the new age or is it short for something?"

Seth opened his mouth to tell him it meant first son but the priest silenced him.

"Doesn't matter."

With a slow shake of his head, the old man turned and walked out of the room, terminating the conversation abruptly. He opened the door without making a sound and left the room, leaving Seth to wonder at his own fate.