Chapter Ten

Opening your eyes you tried to figure out where you are. “Where...am I?” You wondered. Confusion marred your thoughts. You turn your head to the side, more like lolling to the side as it’s too much effort to hold your head up. You felt so tired, so numb…

You try once more to move but a sudden pain shoots through your ribs. Gritting your teeth you ride the wave of pain that came like a torrent to settle into a subtle weight that throbbed it’s knowing presence. “Shit that hurts!” You curse your injuries, maybe the forcefulness of your voice would place fear into your wounds and they’d mend themselves.

Closing your eyes once more, taking a deep breath, fillings your lungs with the stale oxygen. After a few moments you tried again to get your body functioning. Primary focus is to get out of this room, wherever that may be.

Slowly, feeling seeped back into your body with tingling prickles as the weighted fog that convoluted your mind dissipated like a forgotten dream. “Shit. My armour is gone...that would also mean my weapons. Crap”

On second thought, you reached down and started patting your legs until you felt a familiar shape. Round shape attached to a stem that disappeared into your boot. Quickly, almost panic stricken, you pulled the hem of your pant leg up out of your boot pulling out the sheath that lay hidden, strapped to your ankle. It’s the sheath with the knife, Helena, gave you.

“Helena...I hope you and Sorn made it out ok. Honestly, surprised I’m still alive.” Checking your body for any more injuries. Firstly, you checked how severe the damage to your ribs was, the source of the flaring pain. Slowly through gritted teeth, you pulled your shirt up revealing a nasty purple and black bruise that pulsed with radiating pain. The ugly splotch covered the majority of your left side, “Shit. That’s not good. Hopefully it’s just bruising but with this sort of pain, I wouldn't be surprised if I had some broken bones. Hopefully that’s all it is and not internal bleeding because I’ll be dead soon without medical aid.” Looking around the room you chuckled, “And I doubt my friendly captors would be willing to lend some medical aid.”

Gritting your teeth, a hiss and a couple of warbled expletives leave your lips as you sluggishly rise to your feet. The metal rusted wall scraping against your back as you pushed against it for support. Your feet still feel like jelly but at last you can wiggle your toes...somewhat.

Once fully stood your eyes scanned the room. First thing that your senses picked up was the rotting stench that invaded your nostrils, “God it stinks in here!” Throwing your forearm up to block the acrid, repugnant odor, you take in your surroundings with clarity.

A bed stood off to the side, bolted to the rusting floor and wall. A single steel door with a small barred window preventing my escape. Pretty basic for most cells, you mused. The air had a permeating layer of death that cloaked the room, some chains hung loosely on the wall, jingling softly as they tap against the wall.

“Least I’m not chained up in those. Nothing could be worse. Nope, I take that back, being chained up without my knife, that would be worse than death.” Your hand comfortingly traces the hilt of the blade you have now nestled in your belt.

“Hmmm, let’s see.” You move closer to the door and hear a faint hum. “If I was some old, dingy looking door in a ram shod jail cell, where would my power box be…” Gently tapping your upper lip as you stood staring at the cold, less than steril walls. Narrowing your eyes at the door, willing it to give you an answer, some sort of clue.

Heavy booted footsteps approached your cell door. Quickly, you move back to your original spot on the floor and pretend you’re still unconscious. Grabbing the knife from your belt you place it back into it’s hidden sheath under your pant leg, it's a comforting weight against your ankle. “Let’s see what we're dealing with.” You mumble to yourself and your blade. Right now in this moment the only friend you have is the blade, an extension of Helena, herself. It’s the only thing that’s making this situation somewhere bearable. It feels like having her with you and that is a comfort you’d sell your limbs for.

The cell door opened with an agonizing groan. Under heavy lashes the shapes came into the room. Sandarians. Shit, you curse internally. That makes things twice as hard now, but even so, you will find a way back to Helena. Poor, Helena, she’s probably running hell back on, Titanus. She’ll run herself ragged if someone doesn’t calm her. That alone isn’t an easy feat. When she lost her Father, same as you did, she almost put her whole troop on medical leave. She was angry and sad and her only outlet was to lash out. The only thing that helps calm her down you noticed, is you. Likewise, as you also only feel at peace when she’s around. Like the world, the universe will be fine, nothing can happen, nothing can hurt you. Separated you feel the longing ache inside your chest and can only imagine what Helena is going through at this moment. Footsteps shuffled closer breaking you out of your thoughts.

Chancing a peak under your heavy lashes, you counted only two Sandarians, not ideal, but they also are unarmed. Funny how Sandarians are so full of themselves, just because we’re Human, we’re seen as pests. Your lips twitch with a hint of a smile, luckily they didn’t notice. Well…

The first Sandarian grabbed you roughly by the head pulling you completely off the ground, the tip of your boots barely scraping against the hard metal flooring. You do your best to block out the pain, your scalp was burning like it was lit on fire. Your goal is to take them by surprise, it’s your best chance at survival.

The Sandarian holding you turned to grunt something to it’s partner. You never understood their language. Always grunting and growling like some primitive beast. The minute it’s eyes moved away from you was your window. “First and last mistake.” Pulling the knife free from your pant leg you shoved it deep until it cracked the spinal cord in the Sandarians thick neck. Pulling the knife free, blood sprayed out washing over your in it’s veil of red. His grip loosened, you grabbed it’s wrist and somersaulted out of it’s hold and somewhat landed on your feet, until one leg gave out and you fell to one knee. The metal biting into your kneecap with a grimace.

Looking up at the remaining Sandarian, covered in blood. Your lashes wet, your hair matted down as blood dripped from you and made a soft splattering on the floor. An ominous sound that mirrored the gurgling of the dying jailer.

“You should never take your eyes off of me,” The second jailer swiveled his glowing eyes at you just before you knife him squarely between his bulbous eyes. That was a success and with renewed optimism you managed to fuel your waning strength to stand back up, getting yourself on your feet once again.