201 Year
Flames and gray smoke suffused the once-bright towers and icy scaffolding blanketed in aquamarine sheen. The Kingdom of Crystal was literally being melted, though rather gradual, to the ground, leaving crystal-encrusted road surfaces to be flooded in moisture and water. Its citizens, once delightful and bright people, sheltered and huddled in their houses, miserable in their terror, pain, and weakness. The Crystal Military worked without rest to beat off the brutal heat that surrounded their numerous cities, but the roaring fires had engulfed too many acres for too many hours. It didn't seem to be abating, despite much power of crystallizing efforts by soldiers. More water-manipulation soldiers were needed, but they were spread thin in the Kingdom’s population. The power was overwhelmed by the number of other powers.
“Soldier Caudry, come in! Report your status! You’re needed to form a def barrier at Tower 21! Spreading is happening rapidly, which will bring down the tower in 10 minutes!” General Soldier Mino yelled into his communicator over the deafening sounds of crumbling and burning around him. From where he stood atop the tower, he continued to shoot at the highest flames as they rose in height.
He did not see an end to the fires. Good God, where is Third Prince Caspian when we need him? If the corner towers that guard these three cities are breached, the buildings will be in trouble. We called him in ages ago, but he must still be at Tower 19, if I’m estimating right. Unless he’s being his usual mighty self and taking care of both the cities and towers...
Soldier Caudry rasped, “General Soldier, I am on my way! Tower 20’s two city fires out and five double crystal barriers erected in the weakest locations. Repeat, I am on my way.”
Mino sighed in relief at the update. “Roger.”
He had no idea how they had managed to control Tower 20 that quickly, but that was one less worry. Caudry was one of the best in the military at crystallizing defense barriers, making up for the power of at least three soldiers and he was well up next in line for a promotion to general soldier in the Barrier Unit. The military would be overjoyed at receiving more powerful generals, or commanders even should anyone work hard enough, opening up much-needed soldier slots for more recruits.
Mino, other generals, and the commanders had tried their hardest in their proposal for the royal government to create more military forces to fight in the War against the Island of Volcano’s terrorists, their fire-wielding enemy. However, they were denied each time, given reasons such as having abundant military power and numbers, but the true reasons were likely that Third Prince Caspian did not want to recruit more people into the military, as well as objections from the Island of Volcano itself. Utterly ridiculous, to have their proposal for more combat forces be influenced by their own enemy nation. Will that change one day? Will they be the devil that caused the demolition and doom of the Kingdom of Crystal because the royal family was not harsh enough? Or will the War against the Island’s terrorists finally end with peace between the two nations?
Along with his four present troops, he continued to crystallize ice shapes against the flow of fire and smoke, but he was losing energy and grew more exhausted by the minute. At this rate his consciousness would fail him and he’d be burned alive. My allies, my people, I’m sorry if I fail to defend this tower.
A barely audible whoosh sound came from a few feet in front of him. He knew that sound from anywhere. A crystal barrier! And from the fact that he could see a thick shimmer instead of simple transparency, it was clearly a double crystal barrier.
“Soldier Caudry!” he called down below, but turned as he picked up the sound of footsteps behind him. To be able to form such a barrier from that far a distance, Soldier Caudry was certainly deserving of his Barrier MVP award and title only months ago. Incredible. His power grows with every month that he uses it. I can only envy his talent.
“General Soldier Mino, I’m glad we made it in time. Amazing job holding the fort thus far, sir,” Caudry said, violet eyes hazy, back straight, thin arms raised in salute.
We? he thought, puzzled, until a sound like a clink of an enormous crystal appeared in the sky above the large body of fire and he, again, turned to look. A loud waterfall emerged from the crystal, putting out the flames as if it had not even been raging moments before. He marveled at the changed sight, breath in his throat. Only one man could have crystallized such an enormous crystal and used that same crystal to create a green-tinged rain shower. “Third Prince Caspian.”
The named man stood watching his work before him, gaze straight ahead, regal shoulders set, tall physique as empowering in its form and stillness as his crystallizing power. His hair, normally a shade of turquoise, turned a deep indigo by the evening shadows. It fluttered in the mild wind, and he lifted his face to catch what he was expecting to be a pleasant chill, but received only a warm smokey scent. Unwanted in the midst of a frozen ice kingdom such as his.
Mino watched as Third Prince Caspian, known as Commander Caspian to those in the military, turned and disappeared beneath the bulk of Tower 21, climbing the stairways to collect a report of the situation from him. He breathed in, inhaling tainted smoke as he tried to calm his nerves and relieve the adrenaline still shooting through him. He had not met Commander Caspian in two weeks, and he was surprised at how much he missed having his marvelous presence around to ease the tensions of the military. Not only because of his overwhelming powers reducing the pressure of their work, but his charismatic words would no doubt be able to do just as well in quelling the cries of the suffering. For years in the military, as commander and ally, he had boosted morale, moved their icy hearts, and lifted hopes long crushed by the flames of murder and tragedy. In Mino’s darkest days, it was the third prince who returned his light of rage and injustice to him when he had all but given up. He used to dream vividly of the Volcano’s terrorists’ blood spilling through his fingers, marring his pale skin red.
Without turning, he said, “So Commander Caspian was there to assist you at Tower 20.” That was why Caudry finished in a mere 30 minutes. He somehow underestimated Commander Caspian and Caudry’s teamwork, along with the rest of the Barrier Unit team that went with him to that Tower.
“Yes, sir. He came to my aid 20 minutes ago.” He nodded. “It was good timing because my barrier placements were too scattered.”
“At this rate we’ll finish before evening tide, assuming that the third prince doesn’t run out of steam.”
Commander Caspian’s footsteps, light and agile, echoed on the deep walls of Tower 21. “Oh? Do I detect a tone of doubt, Mino?” A mild note of amusement was detectable in his quiet voice.
“No, sir. You know me, I can’t trust what I haven’t seen,” Mino replied, hiding a grin. He turned to salute his superior. “I haven’t seen you in action in two weeks, commander.”
Everyone else saluted him, to which Caspian returned in greeting. To Mino, he said, “Then I must put on a show, must I not? Oh,” he paused, pointing below, “I did that.”
Caudry and the four troops with them eyed Mino with mock disdain.
“Calm down, guys. I would never miss such a magnificent display.” Face serious, he saluted again. “Thanks for the assistance, sir. We were in deep trouble.”
“So I saw. Move on to the next tower. The other teams may be in trouble.” He cast eyes to the west behind him.
“And you, sir?”
“Right behind you.” As they descended the frozen steps, he said, “We’re a team for tonight. I will assist the other units on the way. But not for much longer; the situation has improved in our favor. Let’s end this so the Crystal Builders can get to work on repairs.”
“Yes, sir!”
Mino led them, pondering, He makes it sound so easily optimistic. Yet this is one of the toughest battles we’ve had in years. Towns, cities, and even towers have fallen. It is likely to be enough to classify as a Level Six battle of its own, but it will still not be enough to entirely exterminate our Kingdom. They sent too few terrorists for our massive fortress of an island. Not that they could send in more before our suspicions arose. What was the purpose then? A test of some sort?
A call for assistance came in Mino’s comm, so he responded and the group went to the requested location, a large house property 20 minutes out in the immediate city. Fire had broken out and consumed much of their gardens. Mino and Caudry were quick to take control of the situation, glad that the owners had implemented fire-resistant walls around the property. Wealthy land owners tended to order them, especially if they had gardens, crystalline structures, or important valuables on their various lands. It made it tougher for fire to cause damage or spread outward.
Coughing into their masks, they made their way around the perimeter to the front patio, where a distressed maid and tall woman stood waiting for them.
The woman, supposedly the landlady by her garb, stepped forward. “My garden’s a goner, isn’t it?”
Mino bowed his head. “Unfortunately. Just you two tonight? Any animals?”
“Yes. No. My husband is working. I hope he’s alright. He hasn’t called.” She stared at her house. “To hell with those Volcanoes! They turned our breathtaking scenery into a battlefield. An atrocious, morbid, appalling bloodbath of red and black. I should have gotten those expensive fire traps and automatic extinguishers I was thinking of...Now it’s too late.”
“Where does he work? What is his name and occupation?”
“Chaselynn Bank in the west branch. He’s the manager. His name is Odesse Lam.”
Mino spoke into his comm, “On behalf of his wife, General Soldier Mino requesting an LS1[1] Life Status: The present status of an individual identity being alive, deceased, severely or mildly injured, missing, or unknown. This is a report from a militant or law enforcement agency, including fire control agencies. on a bank manager, Odesse Lam, Chaselynn Bank west branch.”
After a few beats of worrisome silence to his request and many other conversations that had nothing to do with them, there was a reply. “Commanding Officer Bale speaking. General Soldier Mino, do you hear?”
“Yes, commanding officer. Status?”
“He’s safe. Bank guests and staff were detained and moved to the local secure bunker by my officers. Emergency procedures effectively issued and executed in the area.”
He and the wife breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you for your work, officer.”
“And thank you for your service, general.”
Taking stock of the deescalating circumstances, Mino asked, “Smoke in your lungs? I would like you to go with Soldier Doneli, ma’am. Both of you.” He gestured to the soldier standing beside them, who saluted. “He will escort you to the nearest safe bunker in the deep forest, where you should lie low until the city is back on its feet.”
She hesitated, rubbing her chin. “Wait, sir, how is your...work...going?” She waved her hand, indicating their surroundings. “When can we come back out?”
A common question. Civilians always wanted to know how soon they could go home, return to civil life. That was how commonplace violence and arson had become on their island. Bunkers weren’t as luxurious or comfortable as peoples’ homes.
Just as he started to answer, she gasped, her eyes going wide.
He already knew why. He turned to find Commander Caspian had joined them, who nodded and spoke, “Evening, madam. Fret not. The situation is under control. I estimate repairs will begin in two days. I am deeply apologetic that this travesty has happened to you. Please know that I do my absolute best to rectify for every bit of suffering that’s been afflicted, for every day that I breathe. A counseling center, after the ordeal, is available for use should you need it.”
The soft but resolute reassurances from his calm voice left no room for doubt.
She smiled, fidgeting with her rose hair clip and folding her hands together. “I see. Right, right. Thank you, Your Highness. Thank you, gentlemen, for your esteemed service. Let them get to work now, Lorna,” she said to her maid before they followed Soldier Doneli.
Mino was not at all surprised at her shock and rise in respect in the commander’s presence. Besides his birthright and social standing, he made a fetching sight by appearance alone. After so many public appearances and reputable rumors, the majority of average citizens, even those of esteemed households and upper echelon, were so clearly dazzled to be near him.
“Are you sure you didn’t cast magic on her, so smitten she was with you?” he joked, the barest of a smile tugging his lips.
Without blinking or pausing, Caspian said, “She needn’t be.”
They marched on to their next destination, or much as it even was anyway, given their need to divide attention to sporadic emergencies. A general soldier repeatedly called the comm for assistance at their tower, and Mino answered.
He looked at Caudry. “Coming with us? Your team will have to do without you.”
“Yes, sir. I was already separated from them.”
They followed on the heels of Commander Caspian, who nearly left them in the dust.
“Where is Cedric? I thought he’d have you glued to his side during all this, if you weren’t with your team. He’s always worrying about you.”
“He shouldn’t. My leader leaves me well enough alone most times. It’s usually only if I do something in his sight that there’s need for concern.” Caudry grimaced, no doubt at some painful memory.
“That man is a sore loser. A sore, insecure loser. He wasn’t like that before, you know. You bring out the worst in him. You got to transfer out. I’d say my team, but you already denied it.”
The problem they were speaking of was Caudry’s team leader, General Soldier Reynard. Specifically, his utter jealousy that a low-ranked member of his team was more powerful than him.
Caudry said, “I would prefer not to make waves. I will ride it out.”
If he wanted to serve their country and use his magic inefficiently, well, Mino would have to let him. Commander Caspian likely observed his situation with his own eyes as well—it was difficult not to, and he was perceptive—but maintained a bystander’s stance of doing and saying nothing. He did admirable work, but sometimes he wondered if the prince was ever concerned for other people, despite his public service and compassionate words. Hollow words. He seemed to have a switch that kept his emotions turned off. Permanently. In that way, at least, he resembled his father, their former king. Frigid and unmoving. Popular out of the royal princes with the common people, but friendless.
He didn’t speak much in the public government discourse meetings either. If he was more outspoken about his ideas or votes towards the peace of the island or an end to the war in such meetings, the public would be even more in love with him than they already were. Though already skewed in his favor without it, less civilians would be sided with the first prince. It was definitely his personality, or lack thereof, that hurt his image. Then again, they were only the public meetings, of which there were few throughout the year. He seemed to be more of a participant in private ones, though whether it was the truth or exaggeration by his supporters—or fans—in the media was a real puzzle.
Military intelligence was more his strength, whereas public politics and government procedures were more the speed of Prince Hallen, the second prince. Prince Caspian knew how to battle smarter; Prince Hallen knew what government systems to change or improve. Often there was equal division between who of the two to support publicly and politically, and who of the two was more charismatic. Prince Caspian was logical and responsible, as proven by his history in the military, while Prince Hallen was bright and kind. The first prince, on the other hand…
Well, it wasn’t Mino’s place to judge. Not yet at any rate. When one was made king and began to rule, then he would judge.
The tower they were destined for was in rough shape. Most of it had melted, black smoke creating a thick filter from one end to the other, while the rest of the high structure continued to crumble and smolder. In the wreckage on the ground, a crystalline block moved to reveal a human arm, dark blood stained against some of the ruins. Mino knelt by it, grabbing his shoulder gently. He didn’t hear the weak groan he was hoping for. He moved on to check the next body whose status was unclear.
One soldier showed a pulse, so he called for a medic through his comm, who, when they arrived, would examine the wounded, of which there were a few, in the area and render first aid. His team medic rushed over to disinfect and bandage wrap a bleeding leg. Mino assisted him by using his personal kit’s bandage as a tourniquet on a damaged arm.
Noises of pain, weeping, and complaints came from the rubbish, but they may as well have fallen on deaf ears.
Caspian had already gone up what was left of the tower to gain higher ground and put out the rest of the fire. Laurence Roze, Mino’s friend and comrade of three years, worked to do his usual, to provide cool water relief and burn salve on some of the wounded allies’ severe burns. He also injected some of them with analgesic medicine and sedatives.
Mino knelt by one man begging his attention. “What happened? Was no one paying attention to the tower?” he asked.
The man shook his head, then winced at the pain it caused, and rasped, “I don’t...remember much. Think I heard a loud noise from the far end, so loud it disrupted my concentration. Next thing I knew…”
A collapse? That would explain why no one had time to run, other than the length of the tower itself. If it was crumbling, then that may have been another story.
Mino furrowed his brows as he handed him a tranquilizer that would induce sleep. “It’s probably shock and adrenaline keeping you awake. Take this if you want. Medic’s on the way.”
Though he said that, the medic teams, far outnumbered by soldiers, were always busy in active war and would take ages to get there. The more medics and first aid that were needed, the more average soldiers were trained to treat the wounded—and that meant a lot of them. The medical field wasn’t for everyone, however, least of all crystal soldiers. It was more nuanced, scientific, and technical compared to the natural physical talents honed in crystallizing.
It was an area of weakness for Mino, but he did as he was trained for his weeping comrades. Some had lost a limb or two, invoking a sense of pity from deep within his heart. He had yet to experience losing parts of him large or small, and he could never imagine doing so. If it ever happened, he would rather die than be forced to live disabled.
“Medic’s on the way,” he whispered to each soldier that was awake. He caught Laurence’s eye, who looked just as sad as he felt.
At the top of the tower, an alert rang from Caspian’s comm through the military’s emergency line. He answered the call.
“Commander, did you read my text?” Captain Ried asked in lieu of greeting. “Minutes ago, the AF found and safely captured a single terrorist, and took him to the underground prison near Tower 15. We won’t start on him until you say so.”
Great news for the military. Capturing a live terrorist meant information about the present battle was in reach; more specifically, about the reason for it. It was not impossible to capture an enemy, but it was quite difficult even for the specially trained Armed Forces. He presumed that they had gotten to him before he could eliminate himself.
“Good work,” he said, and rang off. He descended the tower alongside General Soldier Denno, Team 0-11’s leader.
Denno approached Mino from behind, and examined the state of his friends. “How are they?”
Mino glanced at their fallen comrades. “Most are deceased. We’re trying to save the rest. I’m sorry, Denno.”
Caspian said, “I have business to take care of. I will return to the battlefield when I am done.”
He saluted the commander’s retreating back. “Yes, sir.”
At the age of 13, Caspian had formed several theories about the cause and initiation of the Ignited Volcano War with the elusive terrorist group. He worked to connect the theories together, a culmination of several causes for the eventuality of war: the hoarding of economic and environmental resources of eastern islands and countries during the Trading Period of Years 143-146, the steady exploitation of the Volcalan’s labor forces and merchants, the civil dispute of who was a higher social class between the Crystal and Volcano people that existed since their beginning, and the degrading magic torture event by an underground organization that most questioned even existed.
Their monopoly of economic and environmental resources of eastern lands caused an excessive spike in economic success for the Kingdom of Crystal, which in turn put many of the middle and lower class of the Volcano into deep poverty for many years afterward. People in general did not have a great impression of the Volcano people for their aggressive and messy behavior caused by poverty. The western lands were not interested in war with the east, so the Island of Volcano could not garner their cooperation or assistance. As a result of the hard economic situation, they were forced to give the KoC permission to use their labor force, businesses, and merchants. The Volcalans, as Volcano people were called, used to follow a longstanding tradition: make business only with products that benefited the Island of Volcano, among its people and close allies. However, with KoC controlling a portion of their marketplace, they resorted to making and selling Crystal items, which broke tradition and violated Island law. When factories and companies got reported for it, the government and political parties looked the other way.
Once upon a time, rumors spread like volcanic wildfire about a secret organization that held physical and magical battle royales inside a crystalline room, making it more likely that Crystallians were involved, or had at least built it. Details about each battle varied, especially in regards to what kinds of magic were used to torture participants. It was not always or even often crystallizing magic. One detail was prominent: participants were only Volcalans. Once participants eliminated three quarters of their opponents until only three stood, they were meticulously tortured by powerful magic torturers out of spite against Volcalans. Or so the rumor mill went, at any rate. It did not matter if it was true; the fact that such an awful bloodsport of a rumor existed to further smear the Island’s name in mud was more reason for the terrorists’ murderous resentment to coalesce into the hellhole that permeated both nations.
Caspian’s theory of a culmination based on historical facts nabbed the attention of reputable historians and academic professionals. From there, he collected all of his information about the current events of the war that he had sat listening to in the government’s main council room for three years, and brainstormed ideas and plots that repaired devastating damages to their land and economy caused by the war, and changed the course of war. Many experts figured he had inherited this thorough and competent aspect of him from his mother. After a year of developing strategies to the point where he felt a high probability of success, and pitching what he could to anyone who listened—anyone of political significance at any rate—the governing council approved real life experimentation.
When he enlisted in the military at the age of 15, he was already well known for his disciplinary training drills and efficient magic battle formations, used months before his enlistment. The training drills were clean, rigorous, and effective without being severe, providing troops with sufficient time to comprehend and practice their regimen, while his simple magic battle formations slowed down draining of magic usage in a soldier’s core, but showed continuing progress against enemies, destruction, and low morale. He attended training drills, lecture courses, and campus events like the rest of the soldiers, working his way up the rank through diligent and efficient combat effort. However, it was his aptitude and penchant for creative tactical intelligence that he was rewarded for in compliments, trophies, and promotions.
While envy and petulance swirled among the troops in his time, no one could argue against the evidence and eyewitness accounts. Caspian did not show a hint of acknowledgment or observance of hostility. It was these inspiring times that people with the proper frame of mind took to following in his footsteps.
His aloof personality, however, showed to many his lack of character. It did not create a positive impression on those around him, aside from his existing supporters, fan base, and superiors. When one immature man deigned to steal his book, he made no fuss and got himself a new one without even questioning a single peer. That spoke of one thing: that he would not involve himself. That he was above them all.
Caspian was not unaware of civilians, soldiers, or their reactions to his actions, personality, and behavior. In fact, he understood them. Unlike others, he just did not feel the same, nor did he know how to show it. That was the kicker. And what could he even do about any of it? Nothing, in his mind. He remained calm and shut himself off. Easy to do when that was how he operated most of his life.
Inside his temporary safehouse right outside of Mear District, he detached his drenched, bloody, and smoky royal cloak from his shoulder pauldron and swapped it with a new one. Blazing battles often ruined his cloaks, both from soaring flames and flying dirt, so he kept a stash of fresh ones at every temporary residence and base he stayed at. Undesirable, but necessary.
It was time to meet Formal Punisher Turslo and their new prime candidate at interrogation cell one. He made his way down a long corridor, then turned a winding corner. He noticed Captain Ried of the Special Armed Forces, from outside, watching Turslo inside the illuminated eight-by-eight cell. Turslo was entertaining himself with the inspecting and touching of his seven instruments, set out on the table before him. When Caspian approached, Captain Ried was staring at their prisoner seated inside the cell.
“Commander,” Captain Ried said in greeting, turning to salute. “We waited for you.”
He nodded. “Anything yet?”
“No,” Ried answered, eyebrows drawing together. “Looks like we got another tough battle ahead.”
He nodded again, hand on the door. “Don’t be so somber.”
Caspian went inside, drawing Turslo’s attention. And, he noticed, the prisoner’s, based on his posture and ear twitch. His body hair had risen, no doubt, in expectant fear. He was broad shouldered, of average height, with dark brown hair and a slightly muscular frame. Bruises and scars littered his tan skin, and his clothes were torn in some spots all around. He looked meek and weak, especially with the tight cuff restraints around his neck and wrists, which warded against all fire magic.
The room was frosted, which was a delight for Crystallians. Not so much Volcalans. A form of torture for them.
When Caspian glanced at Turslo, his enlarged pupils were already dark with excitement and menace. He was a pure sadist, if ever there was one. It was not usually a pleasant ordeal to be in his company, for anyone.
He queried, “Turslo, you didn’t start yet?”
“No, commander, I know my orders,” Turslo said, drawing himself up. “He was beaten like this during his capture.”
Caspian nodded and turned to the prisoner. In the Volcanic language, he spoke, “Gentleman, I’m sorry for how they treated you. I’m the commander here. What is the name you go by?”
The prisoner looked up, eyes wide with surprise and confusion. Crystallians did not speak the Volcanic language, as far as the terrorists and Volcalans were concerned. That Caspian could speak it was always a shock for many who heard. Still, he gave him no response, and turned his head instead.
“Perhaps you know me. Perhaps I don’t need to withhold my name. I am Third Prince Caspian.”
No reaction.
“I think you recognize me. I think you know what it is I seek,” he started, his voice even, “and what we will do to achieve it. Will you make it easier on yourself and tell me what I want to know?”
The prisoner hacked out a pile of spit in return. Turslo strode over and backhanded him across the face.
Caspian pulled out the empty chair across from the other man, putting distance, and sat. “What is your name, stranger? Let’s start small.”
The white table received a glare. Based on the reactions so far, Caspian could see where the game was going. He calculated and articulated his next words, “We’re not unreasonable. Much of what you think is falsehoods, gossip, deceit. Your comrades and leaders misled you. Everything you know is an illusion, and in time, we will make you agree. Have you heard of what happens to our prisoners? Of him?”
He remained silent, as if he was trying to keep his mind elsewhere. Caspian glanced at Turslo, who grabbed the prisoner by the neck and chin and forced his head up. As he did so, Caspian leaned in, blue gaze icy, staring him dead in the eye. “You know how many innocent lives you have stolen, all for your petty vendetta? Of course you do.”
The slightly warm table between them turned to ice, little by little, leg to surface. It encroached on the unwilling captive, sweat dripping off his face. A haughty look shone in his dark eyes. “Petty vendetta, diarana2[2] A swear word. A profane word.? That’s what you think!” he scoffed. “Thought you crystal people were clever, but your prince is a dumbass.”
He had won. The more he talked, the more he revealed, and that was all Caspian needed. “It’s not just a vendetta. But those innocent civilians aren’t to blame.”
“Casualty.” He shrugged. “They’re the message. Our message.”
Turslo sent a short burst of crystalline ice to his hands, which was still in contact with the prisoner’s skin, causing him to jolt from the burning pain.
“Casualty? And I suppose your dead comrades are casualties as well?” Caspian dropped his tone almost as soon as it crept in. “Why continue this cycle of casualties?”
He glowered at the sadistic torturer. Caspian glanced at Turslo, who pierced the prisoner in the forearms with a razor sharp piece of crystal. Then he slowly traced down to the veins of his wrists and hands. It was sharp and painful, like the heat pumping through his veins were freezing and shriveling.
“You...You d-don’t understand. You people have never understood.” He dropped his eyes to the table, which let off chilly steam. “We need you to understand our pain. If it happens by inflicting pain, then s-s-so be it.”
Caspian looked at Turslo again. He pulled out the crystal, raised it high up in the air above his shoulders, and jabbed it straight through an arm. Even as his victim screamed, he did it again in four quick successions through both arms. Blood spurted and dripped off the table surface. There was an energy of excitement and delight in Turslo’s gleaming eyes and obvious grin as he worked. An energy that Caspian did not like. A gleam that he did not respect. An expression that he saw far too often.
He almost did not stop when Caspian tapped a finger on the table. “How about that for inflicting pain?”
“Go to hell, you damn diarana! All of you!”
“What did you intend to do here yesterday? What is this present battle for? There aren’t enough of you.”
He only clenched his jaw hard, veins pulsing in his temples and throat.
When Turslo backhanded him again and sent ice creeping in the veins of his wrists, turning its skin blue and black, and yanking tears and cries of pain out of the man, Caspian tapped another finger on the table. Then he raised his hand in the air, palm out to Turslo, who halted his efforts and moved to the back of the room.
Caspian crossed his arms and perched on the corner of the table. He drew out three smoky, crystalline bits of shrapnel, their tips as pointed as a tiny sewing needle. Their tiny size was a mask of harmlessness, but such shrapnel from crystallizing users drew many a shiver from Crystallians and Volcalans. His face betrayed nothing at all, but his eyes were hard and somehow as cold as ice. Emotion was indiscernible, dead.
He jabbed one shrapnel into the space of skin beneath a fingernail, instantly drawing a fit of cries from the hurting captive. Another fingernail. Then another. This form of punishment aimed straight at the hot sensitive nerves of untouched fingers, and caused an extreme amount of pain to the average person. The screams at this point were painful to the ears of those within earshot, but all three present soldiers remained cold and motionless.
“Name.”
In the pause that stretched for long minutes, the prisoner lay flat on his face, blubbering as he worked to recover. “J...Ji...Jillf-ford…”
“Jillford, let’s start over.” Caspian raised his head as the door slammed open, a blast of chilled air penetrating all of them. Brows raised, he said, “General Douglas.”
“Commander Caspian, I apologize for the sudden intrusion,” General Douglas said, huffing and agasp. He rested a hand on his heart. “Permit us lowly troops to continue from here, will you, commander? There isn’t a pressing need to have you do this kind of dirty work, sir. I don’t know what Captain Ried was thinking. Please leave it to us.”
Caspian showed the briefest of a smile as he rose. He put a hand on the general’s shoulder. “At ease.” He leaned in to whisper in the man’s ear, “Maybe five days. Level four.”
When he walked out, Ried stared at him in confusion. “What did you whisper to him?”
“Five days. Level four.”
Ried nodded as he gazed at Jillford. “That’s tough. He seemed to break pretty easily though. Are you sure?” He looked surprised at himself. “I apologize for the question, sir. I don’t doubt you. If you say it, you mean it.”
“Yes. Please report to me if there is anything new.”
Ried tilted his head. “You are going?”
“I wish to get to the heart of this matter, but I have a war to attend to. I trust you.”
“Will do. Have a good evening, commander. Excellent work.”
Caspian nodded and retreated down the corridor, aware that he would not have a good evening. With the war and battles raging on, he would never.
Footnotes:
[1] Life Status: The present status of an individual identity being alive, deceased, severely or mildly injured, missing, or unknown. This is a report from a militant or law enforcement agency, including fire control agencies.
[2] A swear word. A profane word.
