with iron and blood // Semper
Dec 10, 2013 11:56:44 GMT -5
Post by Python on Dec 10, 2013 11:56:44 GMT -5
[/justify][/blockquote]Iron shackles anchored them to their eternal prison. With wrists bound, the children marched into the dimly-lit room, where yellow lights pierced eyes that were accustomed to the shadows. In the front of this line of withering bodies was Sonnet, chains clinking together as his captors led him to the other end of the room and pressed every child against the wall to keep their souls fearful of escape. One soul among them was not so afraid; as a key freed him of his restraints, Sonnet felt the flames rising in his chest, ready to burn this place into the dirt for all it was worth. Today was the day to hatch his escape plan – the day he would face his best friend in the makeshift arena. The day he would save a life rather than send it to the grave. The day he would let the sunlight blind him if it meant freedom for the rest of his life.
His plan was not elaborate, but it required dedication and careful manipulation. While this would be a day gone down in history for him, to the rest of the children it would seem like any other fight; they expected to lose a friend and gain more hatred for the sunshine boy. More importantly, to Altair today’s fight should appear to begin like all of Sonnet’s past experiences. Should he act in any way different or suspicious, Altair might catch wind of his ideas. That was a risk he could not take, so to make his act believable he would have to play the role of the robotic killer and harm his own best friend. It would be difficult and painful, but not impossible. And this was why Sonnet seemed to stare ahead with not a shred of soul left in his eyes as his shackles were unlocked and his body was led to the entrance of the arena. Even as they shoved him inside, he did not flinch. He knew better.
As he stood beneath blinding lights on display, alone in the ring with his eyes trained ahead, they removed Pepper’s chains and dragged him to the edge. Sonnet refused to look at him – just as he would avoid the gaze of all this opponents - as he was tossed ungracefully into the bloodstained matt. In his peripheral vision he caught the glint in Altair’s eyes and the twitch of his lips into a hint of a sadistic smile. He knew what he was doing, trying to destroy Pepper like this. He wasn’t sure how he discovered their close friendship (spies, perhaps), but by violently severing their bond with bloodshed he was wrecking Sonnet’s barriers and putting him to the ultimate test. Could Sonnet prove to be his greatest asset? Without distractions, would he be invincible? All he had to do was kill one kid. His best friend. His only remaining friend.
He wouldn’t have it.
The echo of metal against solid ground made him blink. A gold glisten drew him toward the floor, as did a second echo – but this time it wasn’t metal. It was something less sturdy. Further inspection showed him that there was a candleholder at his feet and a wooden club at Pepper’s. Weapons, he presumed. He had seen them before, scratched and stained with the blood of the dead. They had been cleaned of crimson, but the scars still remained. Of course Altair would demand the bloodiest battle of them all by granting him this weapon. The last time he held it a girl’s brains had dripped from its edges. The memory produced a shudder, but it did not translate properly. Instead, he swallowed the guilt and nausea and gripped his golden weapon firmly in hand.
Gong!
The signal to begin.
He didn’t want to hurt a single hair on Pepper’s head, but hesitation would induce suspicion. As the children watched miserably, Sonnet circled his opponent like a predatory lion on the hunt. He would have to pretend that this was a true fight before he sprang into action, and therefore attack Pepper with all of his might to seduce his unknowing audience. The first thing he always did was disarm his opponent as swiftly as possible. With a single lunge he thrust his candleholder into Pepper’s shoulder, hoping to weaken his wielding arm. When metal struck skin, he knew they would both feel its aftershock. Pepper would feel the sting of the injury, and Sonnet would feel the sin marking his soul.