(Colin) Continuing the Apocalypse

It wasn’t a bad dungeon, as dungeons went. Shackled to the wall, Ulic found that the floor was pleasantly warm, in sharp contrast to the wall, which felt like it was driving a billion icy needles into his ribs. Not that it really mattered, anyway. There were a dozen other places on his body which hurt far more. His left eye was swollen shut, he was bleeding from at least six small wounds, and the only reason he was still in an upright position was the shackles themselves. His wrists felt unbearably stiff. But at least there was light, and the place was blessedly free of noise, which is more than could be said for most other dungeons.

Ulic was also reasonably certain that he was going insane, because he found himself both surprised and not surprised to see his old teacher suddenly appear in the flickering torchlight, barely four feet away.

Jaden…

Ulic was unsure he could meet his old teacher’s gaze without flinching.

“Well?” the old man finally said. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

“I believe the appropriate phrase would be, ‘How the mighty have fallen.’”

“Doubtful,” Jaden replied. He scratched his beard absentmindedly.

“Why?”

“You were never particularly mighty.”

Ulic was about to snap out a retort, but he found himself unable to. He was…tired.

There was silence for a time.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Ulic said. He coughed. “I mean…I’m in prison now. Again. We…met in a prison, remember? In Serpentis…”

“Of course. How could I forget?”

“And now…” Ulic coughed again. This time something vile came up. He spat it into the shadows, not bothering to identify it. “And now, I’m going to die.”

Jaden cocked his head in that manner which suggested he was examining something with deep interest. “Oh really? What makes you so sure?”

“For the love of God, Jaden!” Cough. “Not even I’m sure about how many of the Praetorian Guard I killed. And as for breaking into the treasury…letting an enemy of the Order escape…I’ll be lucky if my head’s the first part of my body they’re going to cut off.”

“Oh, they won’t do that.”

Ulic looked up at Jaden. “Wha…?”

“The preferred method of execution is the death by cremation, if I recall correctly.”

“Oh.” A shuddering sigh. “I have accomplished…nothing.”

“Are you truly without hope?”

“‘Those born in sorrow shall die in sorrow’, as the old proverb goes.”

“How maudlin.”

“Perhaps. Nevertheless, it’s still how I…feel.”

Silence.

“You know,” Ulic said conversationally. “You could really drive a man to drink.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Why? Why!?” Ulic’s voice took on an edge. “You really tick me off, Jaden! You preach about how good and just it is to perform these great deeds in the name of honour…and when the time comes to act, you step away and let others handle the situation, instead of doing it yourself.”

“If that’s true, then I’m still glad I didn’t end up like you.”

“I was serving no one with inaction.”

“Then what were you hoping to accomplish by charging out there and making a royal screw-up of things?”

“I did not intend to—”

Jaden shook his head disapprovingly. “Ruin yourself with your actions if you must, but when you ruin others…has it not ever occurred to you to step back and let events sort themselves out?”

“If I did that, then—”

“—yes, things would have turned ugly. But now, things have turned uglier still thanks to you.”

Ulic hissed. “You do not know—”

“Indeed. I do not know. And neither do you.”

Ulic would have strangled Jaden then, but for the shackles holding him in place. Then, he realized…why should he blame for Jaden for being right?

You ain’t got nobody to blame but yourself, buddy.

It was then the booted footsteps came. The heavy iron door to the cell swung ponderously open.

The fearsome visage of one of the famed Praetorian guards was standing in the doorway. Dressed in green armour, from head to toe, head covered in the swept back helmet, carrying a force pike…

It was amazing that Ulic brought down as many as he did.

“Have you come for more answers?” he asked weakly. “There is…little more left to give…”

Strange. His voice hadn't quite sounded so hoarse when he was talking with Jaden...

“Who were you talking to?” the guard said without preamble.

“Huh?”

“Don’t. Who were you talking to?”

Ulic looked and saw that Jaden was…gone.

“Myself,” he said. “I was talking to…myself.”

“You were talking to…yourself?” The Praetorian said, unbelieving.

“Do you see anyone else here?”

Ulic couldn’t see his eyes, but he was fairly certain that the Praetorian was glaring at him.

When he comes to unshackle me, I can punch him in the throat…no armour there…then, using his body as a shield, I can use his weapon to take out any other guards nearby, hoof it to the stable, grab a horse, and flee this forsaken little hole…

“What are you thinking about?” The guard asked suspiciously.

“A daring escape plan.”

“You’re not going to put it into action?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Too tired…”

Ulic slumped and promptly fell unconscious.

The Preacher, leader of the Order, watched as two guards dragged the limp form of the prisoner into the throne room. His clothes were little more than rags, and there was more black and blue than any other color visible on his skin.

It was difficult to believe that such a pathetic thing had taken out more than twenty of the Praetorian Guard.

The Preacher stood up from his seat, his black and red robes presenting a fearsome image.

“Wake him.”

One of the guards seized the prisoner by the collar and backhanded him across the face. Not a pleasant thing, considering the fact that the guard was wearing studded gloves.

Ulic came to consciousness slowly. When he was fully aware, the guard stepped away, and returned with his companion to the entrance.

Though wavering slightly, Ulic didn’t seem inclined to fall. His eyes focused on The Preacher.

“What do you want?” he asked sharply.

Much defiance in this one. “You are brave to so eagerly march up to our gates," The Preacher began. "Brave…and foolish. What were you trying to do?”

“I was testing to see how many of your Praetorian Guard it would take to bring me down. Wasn’t it obvious?”

Defiance, indeed…

“Perhaps. Your purposes in coming are, at this point, irrelevant...even after all you have done. The fact that you were so easily able to take out that many of my elite guard is the sole reason you are still alive. How is it that you learned to fight so…effectively?”

“I see no reason to tell you.”

“No?” The Preacher drew a weapon from the folds of his robe. It was a projectile weapon of positively ancient make, from before even pre-Blackening times.

Ulic found strength from reserves he didn’t know he had and laughed. "That's a rather impressive weapon. do you use it to compensate for shortcomings in other areas?"

"You walk a dangerous line, prisoner," the Preacher warned.

“You think I fear death, Preacher? I’ve walked the razor’s edge. I knew that, sooner or later, my end would come. And you know what? Putting a bullet in me…doesn’t sound so bad right now.”

“You risk more than you know,” The Preacher countered. “As I’m sure you're aware, we have very effective…information gatherers. If, by the time this meeting is over, you are still alive, I swear to you that you will not be executed. You’ll be put back in your cell, and my interrogators will continue to try and crack You—day, after day, after day. Two things can happen in that event: your mind is destroyed, and your body is left to waste away. Life as a vegetable is hardly life at all, small one. If the body goes, then the mind is obviously moot.”

The Preacher’s eyes narrowed. “Therefore, I will be generous with you this time only: tell me what I wish to know, or rest assured that the treatment of my interrogators will make you beg for the death that has long hounded you.”

Ulic snorted.

“There are fates worse than death, Preacher…and I’ve been through them all. Pain and I…are not strangers. You know…nothing of suffering.”

“Perhaps. But my interrogators can be very inventive.”

“So I’m told, but”—a cough—“my choice still stands.”

The Preacher nodded, almost imperceptibly. Fool. “I see. Very well, prisoner—you’ve chosen your fate. Stupid though you may be, I cannot help but admire your gall. I see now that interrogating you further…would be a waste of time. A pity, really.”

The gunshot echoed off the throne room’s walls.