The room had its light shut, covering its corners, its floor and its furniture with a blacker shade of their texture. The windows were closed, the lamps were turned off, not even the small fire of a candle was brightening the motionless Friture.

Quick! Bring him to the white chamber!

The sole source of lightness came from the slightly opened door. Barely enough to let nobody see him, lazily laying on his desk, locking himself behind a barrier of thoughts and regrets.

We can still save him! Help me!

It was strange. Truly. Every day, they are reminisced of how fragile, how petite they are in this gigantesque, bloodthirsty world they keep walking on. Every day, they woke up, ate, worked until the sun set, enjoyed the remaining hours, and then went to sleep.

Medics, stabilize him! And wait for my signal!

Of course it was always there. But because it was always there, we kept forgetting about this simple fact. It was like we were made to easily break on anything. A gust of wind, a ridiculous pebble thrown at us, and suddenly, it was gone. We were gone.

Okay! Three, two, one… Go!

…

It didn’t work.

…

The divine energy. It didn’t do its work. It didn’t magically healed its injuries, turned him into a small furry ball and all. It didn’t save him at all. It couldn’t save him any longer.

It was evident that Friture wasn’t responsible for this failure, yet he couldn’t help but feel responsible for what happened. He was so proud of what his researches made possible, he was so glad he finally found some concrete answers on his road across the abyssal world of science. But it was like it was all for naught, the moment he had to accept that he couldn’t save him anymore, that he had to let it go forever.

Burdened by those regrets, this blaming sensation, he lazily laid on his desk, not even having the impulse to close his eyes and call it a dream. His cup of coffee was already cold. Someone must have brought it to him to ease his heartache, yet he either not noticed, or didn’t have the spirit to sip it.

With a hint of deception, Friture looked at his notes, the ones he so gleefully wrote during the first and fortuitous experiment. Maybe his flattened hopes made him too pessimist to smile at them, however, for some reasons he decided to not elude, those words he wrote down somehow sounded like fat lies. It resembled a kid’s prank, an utopic joke from a romantic poet.

His scientific mind argued with this idea. His reasonable self-made him reminisced of everything he had discovered and proved about this peculiar essence. Actually, he already knew this would happen, but his sentimental part ceased to listen to anything else, and blindly believed this stupid plan of using divine energy on a corpse.

Divine energy could only prevent death, after all.

He already knew, yet… Yeah, he was dumb to listen to his heart, and follow some nonsensical theory from his maddening panic. And now, he felt sad, disheartened, betrayed, but still couldn’t find the strength to shed a single tear.

“Was I so focused on my studies that I unconsciously modelled my own self…? To not overreact in those kind of situations? I say that, but I couldn’t stop myself from shaking in fear when the spy tried to kill me.

It’s cruel of me. I am feeling melancholic, however I am not feeling like crying. It’s like… It’s like I was already prepared for this. Or so I fear… Did I really, without me noticing a thing, prepared my soul and mind for this event, or was I just not attached that much to him? I feel like dying…”

“Is someone there? Mr. Elmar, is it you?”

The well-maintained doors of the research center wouldn’t make a creak whenever someone pushed them, even intentionally in a slow motion. It wasn’t any sound that woke up Friture from his semi-slumber, but the slightly rising brightness of the room, and the small and worried voice of Dragee.

The military man noticed the frail presence of the young researcher, half-hidden behind the stack of scrolls and little devices. Sighing in relief, he entered the room, but without knowing how to turn on the light, he could only fully open the door to lighten the place.

“Sorry to intrude. I’ve received a notification. The First General still hasn’t come back, so I thought I should tell you that… That we’ll have a longer break than anticipated, so I thought we could maybe… Share some time together?”

Why was he hesitating? Because the scene Dragee was confronted to was different from what he expected. He was told by the others that Friture felt down since the incident, that’s why he decided to pass by and cheer up on the little guy. No matter how generous his intentions were, the apprentice kind of completely discarded the step of planning his moves. Fighting a resolute assassin was way easier than consoling a compatriot.

On Friture’s side, he didn’t know how to respond to this man’s approach. He knew it was impolite to hear a question, and not answering it, but, at the same time, his brain was still in the process of analysing and acknowledging the situation. He was looking directly at Dragee, so he couldn’t pretend to be asleep anymore. Should he… Shouldn’t he… He concluded he wasn’t in the mood for a friendly chat, burying himself even more behind his studies’ results.

“I’m sorry… For the Chief Researcher. Everyone told me how zealous you were back there. What you did was brave.”

Brave? He furiously ordered a group of busy people to carry a corpse across the whole center, drop it in the center of a bizarre white chamber, and wait for it until they could finally zip it and take it away because he miserably attempted to resurrect a dead man. How was it even remotely brave? How would any one qualify his actions as brave? No. He was only stupid, from beginning to end.

“You know. Thanks to your thing, I was able to survive the aftermath of the fight. According to the doctor, my stomach and my… How did he call it again… There was a muscle over there, he said, and… Ah, I forgot…”

That’s right. Just after the Chief Researcher was cleared from the chamber, it was Dragee’s turn to enter and undergo the machinery-guided application of divine energy on his body, restoring his body back to normal after a little transition to furry ball mode. Once more, the spectators called it a miracle, but the medics wouldn’t see it this way, and still bandaged the belly of the injured hero.

It was kind of silly to wear lots of bandages under his shirt while his wound clearly disappeared under the beneficial influence of the divine energy, however they wouldn’t have let him go without many examinations and this pack of rolls around him.

“… Nevermind that, I wanted to let you know that I… You saved me. Thank you for saving me, Mr. Elmar.”

“Shut up… You’re only making it worse…”

Dragee had no way to see the reaction of Friture. Was he pleased, surprised, happy to hear this? Whatever was the right answer, the apprentice felt that he needed to say those words since he got out of bed after his rest. So he came, and said them. He told Friture how grateful he was that he invented such a miraculous method to save people.

“It doesn’t save people, it only prevents death…”

They were silent for a moment now. Dragee emptied his heart, and Friture was still motionless on his desk. In the end, Dragee warmly smiled, leaving some last words before departing.

“You really created something amazing. I hope more people will be able to benefit from it.”

He walked past the door and looked one last time at the young researcher who never spoke a word since then. He pondered if he should close the door before returning to his duty. Yeah, maybe he should, leaving the door half-open as it was before his arrival.

His footsteps echoed lesser and lesser, until everything went silent again, as if his passage never happened at all. Silence in the room, with a tinge of repressed cries coming from its depths.

“… But thank you, for telling me this…”

 

***

Peche suddenly received the content of a bucket full of water, forcibly pulling him out of his knocked out state. Confused by this abrupt method to interrupt someone’s peaceful sleep, his narrowed eyes scanned his surrounding, requiring some time to adapt to the dim light of the room.

How long was he unconscious? Probably long enough for his enemies to carry him from the research center to some basements of the castle. Certainly the prison, after ascertaining the heavy and dark bricks surrounding him, and the eye-hurting lack of luminosity.

He tried to move his legs, but was prevented to by a singular metallic clatter. A rapid check made him learn that he was tightly chained to his chair by some cumbersome links, shackled to his place with no option out. Peche could only wait and let his sight get accustomed to the piece, yet he wasn’t even allowed to enjoy this simple break.

“Throw another bucket. He doesn’t seem to feel well to me.”

A few seconds after the order was given, Peche was once more showered. He was still drowsy, but now all his senses were at full throttle, every nerves of his body sending alarms to his brain, informing him of the hopeless situation he was threw in.

“That will be all, you can leave it to me.”

From around him, he could hear the weighty steps of many persons. Probably soldiers, who were ordered to exit the place and return to their legitimate duty. In all honesty, Peche knew that he was screwed. It was part of the job’s description, so he was always more or less ready for the day it would happen. Mentally prepared, but not physically.

He opened his eyes to see who was the man who was facing him… And discarded every chance of survival when he crossed eyes with the First General, Paladron d’Arquien. A faint smile flowered on his face, one of desperation, but also one of amusement.

“… So I’m honoured with a chat face-to-face with the First General… Today must be my lucky day…”

“Or it could be your last day.”

Paladron wasn’t amused at all. He lost an important character from the National Research Institute, a good and old friend, and caught the culprit of this murder, the galettean spy, on the same day.

“How did you manage to infiltrate the research center?”

“… How did I…?”

He merely covered his cat-like ears with a hat and added fur to his tail to make it more dog-like. Learning the different habits of the biscotteans, to melt in the mass of people, was only a matter of time and implication.

“… Everyone can become anyone with a little bit of volition… It’s not that hard…”

Frowning at his answer, Paladron was on the verge of killing him with his gaze, before turning its back and walking toward a corner of the room.

“You’ve put your dirty paws on highly confidential documents. You surely understand that, because you now know too much, you will not see the daylight anymore. Starting today, you disappeared from the surface of this world. You. Don’t. Exist. Anymore.”

“Eh… That’s also part of the job… I can’t complain here, I guess…”

Peche was trying to play it cool, however he wasn’t able to stop this shiver crawling on his back since he woke up. Of course that was part of the job to be captured and tortured, yet he had to tumble on this so important project. In another less difficult scenario, he would be able to stay barely alive if he endured all the pain they would inflict to him, until the kingdom of Galette would pay for his liberation.

Discovering this unique document pushed him to his edges. He had to take action as fast as possible, and rushed a little too fast in his moves, resulting in a bad ending inside the dungeon of Biscotti.

“I don’t know how, but I have to create a mess, so that it will eventually open an escape route for me.”

A small rolling resounded inside the room, accompanied by the footsteps of the returning Paladron and the rusty smell of miscellaneous tools and substances. Peche didn’t gulp at the sight, his imagination way too busy to shape the image of his bloodying body still attached to the iron chair.

“First, I will dislocate both your arms, shatter the bones of your fingers and your hips, open up your nose with a knife, dent your rib cage in the wrong direction, and then…”

Following his words, Paladron seized Peche’s shoulder, and, with a brutal movement, gave his all to bend the articulation. Already pale from the ruthless realisation of his doom, Peche howled in pain, his chain vociferously rattling. He managed to not break in tears, however another maddening pain harassed him from his other shoulder. His arms were only hurting him even more as they were aimlessly dangling at his side, both attached and disconnected.

“AND THEN…”

With a furious roar, Paladron hammered the hands of his prisoner, fracturing more and more the phalanxes and wrists each time he brought down the unwieldy tool. Blood was scattered everywhere, splashing at him each time he landed a hit on the damned hands that took his friend’s life.

“Endure Peche… Endure…”

Torture was a slow and delicate process to make the victim feels as much pain as possible, without damaging too much the body to make him last longer. But this, this was nothing but barbarism. A burning wrath that was only seeking to hurt others. Peche never planned this ending. He never was prepared for this. He… He didn’t want to die either.

“AND THEN…!!!”

His maw suddenly was grabbed by a strong grip. His brain curiously remembered the list of tortures… Of injuries he was going to suffer through. He tried to shoot as loudly as he could, muffled by the hard gauntlet of his assailant, his eyes were big and round when they focused on the dangerously approaching bladed weapon.

It penetrated its skin, and butchered its flesh in a gruesome and disordered manner, removing tiny lumps of meat and freshly damaged cartilage. Peche reflexively attempted to put some resistance, however it only made its sentence last longer, while raising the amount of misery he was dealing with.

Once it ended, his visage became a bleeding mess, the haemorrhage airily flowing inside his windpipe, suffocating him in a bad and excruciating way.

“AND THEN!!!!!”

“How the fuck am I still alive?”

The heavy punches would have been more than enough to make a hole in his torso, yet the impact only transferred aching shockwave through his vitals. His ribs were shaking, then bent, more and more, until they couldn’t last any longer and fell to pieces. Both feared the morsels of bones would perforate the lungs. Peche feared for his life, and Paladron feared he would inconveniently fail his interrogatory.

“AND THEN YOU WILL ANSWER MY QUESTIONS, BEFORE I TEAR OPEN YOUR LEGS AND EXTRACT THE BONES THAT HELP YOU WALK, RIP OUT YOUR FAKE TAIL, MASSACRE YOUR EARS AND EYES, AND NOTCH YOUR BALLS WITH MY BOOTS!!!”

The questioning went on for almost an hour. His strength leaving his body, Peche finally collapsed, unable to stand this pain any longer. Left half satisfied from this session, Paladron still managed to squeeze as much answers as he could from the spy.

First, the body of the murdered assistant he was replacing was laying somewhere in the royal escape tunnel, which was sufficient to make the castle’s security crumble.

Second, the project his friend was working on, started and named by the young Friture Elmar as ‘Project: New World’, was a method to grant an artificial state of immortality to anyone faced with divine energy.

Translating in military term, this technology would give birth to undefeatable armies, and undying kings and generals. If it ever fell in the wrong hands, it could easily open the door for world domination, as no one could ever hope to bring them to their knees.

Paladron proclaimed the project as heresy, and ordered the immediate execution of Friture before everything turned for the worst.