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Recipe for Disaterous Mystery:

2 cups of unlikely friends

2 and a half cups of unlikely, very dangerous adventures

A pinch of drama and death

A tad of sadness

And a flood of fear and...

What'll we get? Let's find out.

Prologue 1 - The PunishmentEdit

She sighed, gazing out the window, forlorn.

I bit my lip nervously; the princess didn't like people to intrude on her when thinking.

"Princess?"

She looked over her shoulder and smiled sadly.

"Yes?"

Her soft, lilac-colored hair fell about to her knees, and it was out of its usual braid. Her eyes were a dark purple-black, and they scared me a bit, the extreme intensity of her gaze. Her skin was a smooth olive, a common feature of royalty in these parts, and she was tall, willowy and graceful, having spent all those years dancing.

"The king is ready to see you."

Her eyes snapped open and began to burn with anger. I winced, almost as if dealt a physical blow and looked away, and the princess immediately relaxed.

"Oh my. Forgive me, please, I meant not to hurt you." The princess' voice was lucid, liquid and hypnotizing, and I almost crumpled to my knees on the spot.

"I f-forgive you," I whispered, wishing only to be free of Her Highness, even though it wasn't her fautl. "P-please, follow me."

The princess sighed, obviously sad. She looked back out the high, tiny window of the small room. "Give me a moment, will you?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, Your Majesty. But only a moment, I'm afraid."

The princess sighed. "Ah, a poor, fleeting moment. How tiny a moment can seem, yet how...significant..." She gazed at the tiny farmers and farmland below the high tower. "Why does Father punish me?" she murmured, most likely talking to herself. "My only crime was ever love."

"I know not, Your Highness," I cut in, startling her out of her thoughts. "But the king must see you today."

I still haven't lifted my head.

"Yes, yes," the princess sighed, "I come."

I took out the key and unlocked the door, leading the princess to the stairs. We climbed down, down, down, down the winding staircase, the princess never tiring, and I led her through the Great Hall to the Throne Room. There, her father sat on his throne, gazing down at his daughter angrily.

"You are dismissed, servant," he growled, and I fled the room.

I stayed in the Great Hall, though, and as I paced in front of the grand doors to the Throne Room I heard shouts and screams from inside.

"Fallen in love! With one such as him!" The king's voice was quite shrill.

"I will NOT lose my precious, Father," the princess objected, "no matter what your wish may be."

"You WILL lose the child! I command it!"

"Father, you are not a god. You cannot command a woman's body." The princess' voice stayed lucid and calm, while her father became quite shrill.

"Summer, you know not what you go against!"

"I do, Father," she protested, "and I am willing to fight all of the Eirlanth army for my baby. And for my love."

"Stupid girl!" he screeched. "A man such as Prince Zander will never stand by your side! You are wasting your heart, your time, and you blood and tears! You could die giving birth to the retched prince's child!"

"And I am willing to die for love," she said quietly, "unlike YOU, dear Father."

"You have tried my patience for the last time!!" he screamed. "I lock you in the castle's highest tower and keep you in isolation for weeks and still you do not bend! It is time for greater punishment!"

"Father, you've already killed--"

I gasped as I heard the crack of a whip. Oh, please gods no. Oh no.

"THIS is your PUNISHMENT!" Crack. "For betraying the royal line!" Crack. "For conceiving with a man of another line!" Crack. "For falling in love!" Crack.

"Father, please--" the princess sobbed.

"You knew what was coming that night!" Crack. "You asked for it, and now you receive it!"

Crack.

Chapter 1.1 - Continue On, Please.Edit

A bell rang and I stepped back into the Throne Room.

I said nothing, but I must've had all my emotions on my face.

There, Princess Summer's crumpled, bloody body was underneath the king. Her dress, the same lilac hue as her hair, was once elegant and beautiful, but now it was torn, grimy, and bloodied from the past few days. Princess Summer was unconscious, and the king sneered at me, walking back to his wide array of weaponry that he kept in the Throne Room.

"Anya."

"Yes?"

"Take the princess to her keep. Tend to her wounds, and you have permission to call upon the help of two other servants. And tell the others to continue on, please." His voice was hard and cold, and I was horrified; King Gavin simply didn't care for his children.

The king looked nothing like Princess Summer or his other children. He was a tall, foreboding man, towering over most but a bit chubby in the cheeks. His face flushed bright red when he was angered, making his face look something like a tomato. He had golden brown hair, closely cropped to his head, and icy, dark blue eyes. He was a fearful man, imposing and ominous. And cold, oh so cold. It was difficult being in his castle. He beat not only the servants, but his children, too. Many of his children were in the infirmary, being healed from wounds that everyone knows came from the king but no one dares to say so. One of the princes, Prince Carter, had been found dead a few months back...

I picked up the unconscious princess and carried her up the winding stairs and to her keep. I set her down on the small bed in the room and flopped down beside her. Good gods, that was a long climb...I wiped off some sweat trickling into my eyes and twisted the small ring on my pinkie finger. It was something like a walkie talkie, and I spoke into the tiny little gray gem all servants in the castle received.

"Hello?"

"Who's--oh, Anya!"

I smiled at the voice on the other end. "Yeah, Philippe, it's me. I was wondering if you could come up to Princess Summer's keep?"

There was a pause on the other end and I frowned. I knew Philippe worked in Security, and Master Terrvin could be a bit unforgiving. Security included prison duty, and I knew that Philippe hated going down into the dungeons and torturing info out of prisoners. Or killing them. But he did it, because he had to.

Each servant was assigned to two duties; Philippe had "Babysitting," as the servants called it, and Security, while I had Nursing and Babysitting. I'm a Nurse-in-training, and one day I'll be one of the Royal Nurses to the king's children and I'll have my own pupils. But right now I'm under Mistress Elaana's wing, and she can be kind but stern.

"Okay," Philippe said on the other end, his voice low and quiet. "But I...I need to talk to you about something."

"I haven't asked anyone else up here. Unless you'd like me to call Princess Ivory up."

I heard the beginning of his protest on the other end, but I was already clicking the small gray stone back into place. I smiled; Princess Ivory was one of the middle children of King Gavin and twin to Princess Amber. She's currently recovering in the infirmary, but most of her "mysterious" scars have faded and she's back to her gorgeous self. She's about my age, and me, Princess Amber, and her have been friends for a while. Then Philippe, whom I've been friends with for much longer, started acting strange around Ivory and I asked him what was wrong. He confided in me that he had a "thing" for Ivory; and I've been teasing him ever since. It's not like a servant boy and a princess could actually ever be in a relationship, so I'm not really doing him much harm.

I set my hand on my lap and gaze at the unconscious princess for what seems like a long time until there's a knock at the door.

"Come in," I shout, and the door opens.

Philippe steps inside, and once again I marvel at him. We were taken as infants from the same Tuunest village, but we couldn't look any different. Most of the Tuunest race have dark, chocolate skin, like me, but his is fair and he has peachy freckles running all around his upper cheeks and nose that turn red when his cheeks go pink.

His eyes were a vivid green, like the growth in the forest out of castle grounds. I’ve only heard stories, as servants aren’t allowed to leave the grounds (especially servants like me) but I know what it’s like out there, from my Tuunest blood. It’s always calling me, my home and my heart. Now how cheesy does that sound?

His hair is a shaggy mixture of orange and gold, like someone had a gold tablecloth and sprinkled orange juice all over it, and the juice stained it. He has the most wonderful smile that makes me laugh, even when I’m so depressed. His shoulders are broad from swimming, as the two of us spent our free time with the children teaching them how to swim in the castle’s moat.

He sits down next to me and gazes at Princess Summer, who’s twenty-two, while I’m fifteen and he’s sixteen. He frowns, clearly upset. He always wears his heart on his sleeve, when he can and he won’t be killed or beaten for it.

It’s bad,” is all he says, and I nod.

"I listened to their fight. The king seems to think that he not only has control of the land and the people but also their bodies,” I say with a grim laugh. “He commanded the princess to let go of the baby, but she refused. And then…”

I don’t need to tell him the rest; we all know. I get up and walk to the small sink in the room, pulling out the small first-aid kit that Nurses are always supposed to keep handy. I wash my hands in the sink, then wet a towel to clean the princess’ wounds.

I hear Philippe grimace behind me. “Oh, good gods. Gavin might’ve hurt the child.”

Before I can say anything, I hear a gasp and I see the princess bolting upright and instantly regretting it. Her face contorts in pain, and her hand slowly moves so it’s over the swell in her abdomen. Her face is grimy with blood, and a deep lash above her right eye is still bleeding and trickling into her dark purple eyes.

"Princess Summer,” I say in as calm a voice as I can, “you’re not in the Throne Room and away from the king. You’re safe.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but then leans back and sighs in relief. I glance at Philippe, unsure; he hasn’t said much since he arrived and he’s a talkative man.

"Thank the gods,” she moans, leaning her head back and letting a few tears run down her olive-skinned face. “My father truly is a madman, isn’t he?”

I say nothing, but surprisingly Philippe does.

"You just noticed now?” he hisses. “He’s been a madman since he killed his father and brothers.”

Summer’s eyes turn to him slowly, wide and horrified. “You know?” she whispers.

Philippe suddenly looks like he made a huge mistake, like he shouldn’t have said anything at all. I gaze at him, curious; how does he know this information…?

"I-I heard gossip from Prince Carter before he was killed—I mean died,” Philippe says quickly. “He was talking about King Gavin’s past.”

Summer shakes her head. “I was the last with him before he died,” she insists. “This knowledge—it can kill you, boy. Never speak of my father’s past again.” Her tone is deadly serious.

"Y-yes, Your Majesty,” he manages.

She waves a weak hand dismissively. “Oh, enough with the ‘Your Majesty’ ‘Your Highness’ talk. Call me Summer, please.”

I’m shocked. What did King Gavin whip into her? The princess has never asked anyone to call her just Summer. At least, not that I know of.

Philippe seems to be in the same state of shock. “Y-yes, Your—Summer.”

I make my feet move again and bring the washcloth to Summer’s head. “Princess, it’s Anya. I’m a Nurse-in-training, and King Gavin ordered me to help clean your wounds.”

She shifts her gaze to me and I feel the same searing pain from her dark purple eyes. “Oh, yes. You were the one Father sent to call me to the Throne Room.

"Y-yes. And this is--”

“Philippe,” he answers for himself. “Anya asked me to help.”

The princess leans her head back against the wall, closing her eyes and sighing sadly. “Fine. Can you just…is my baby okay?”

I keep one of my hands on Summer’s forehead and I use the other to gently move her fingers off the swell and replace her touch with mine. I bite my lip, unsure. “I know not yet, Princess. The baby may not have survived the lashes—er, the strange beating. From the angle and the placing, the baby could’ve been--”

"Just save my baby,” she whispers. “I only want my precious.” And she falls silent.

I wash the blood and grime off her face, and Philippe and I stay silent. Finally, he asks, “Is she dead?”

I put a hand on her chest. “No. But barely alive, too. She could cross into Yivyl at any moment.”

Yivyl was the land where the dead reside, watch over the living and where the best live an eternal paradise. I’m sure Princess Summer would pass onto Yivyl; she’s a good soul. But right now her heart’s beating, and it’s my job to keep it that way. It’s very possible the baby could kill her.

"Since you DID come to help, would you mind getting me another towel?” Summer’s face is pretty much clean, and her neck, but the towel’s gory and red; it would be unsanitary to keep on using it.

"Yes, of course,” he says immediately, leaping up and rushing to the sink.

He’s been acting odd. Not like the Princess Ivory odd; like, odd-odd, like he’s hiding something…I toss the dirtied towel into a bucket and take out a small, folded up napkin-like towel. I unfold it and wrinkle my nose at the smell. It’s for cleaning wounds, and it’s soaked in a special formula that smells horrible but cleans and wipes away any evils or illness that might be lurking by the wound. As I clean the wounds of the lash, I hear I sigh and I look up. Philippe sits down at the foot of the bed, looking suddenly tired and stressed. I lean back from the princess and reach out a hand to him.

"Are you okay?" I ask gently as he puts his head in his hands.

"I..." he begins, lifting his face up but not looking at me directly. He looks pained for a second. Then he whispers, "I want to tell you."

"You can tell me anything. Is it something about Ivory?"

He laughs, but I can tell it's strained. I can almost read Philippe's mind, I know him so well; and I can see something's on his mind.

"No," he says quietly. "Not about Ivory. I...I don't think I would get in trouble...you seem reliable enough.

"Can you keep a secret?" he asks suddenly, looking me straight in the eye with such intensity my hands begins to quaver on his knee.

"Yes..." I answer, unsure what he means by this.

"Can I trust you?!" he asks, his voice rising to almost that of a shout.

"Quiet--!" I begin to hiss, but he cuts me off.

"There is...a group. I am part of it. We wish to--"

Clang.His green eyes roll up into his head and he slumps to the side, falling into my lap.

"What in Gavin's name--?!" I begin to scream, panicked, when I catch a glisten of metal in the shadows of the small room. "Who's there?!" I whisper, glancing around, when I see the sharp glisten of silver.

A sword.

Clang.

Does this be the end of Anya's story? I hope not. Ha, then we'd be left with minus one heroine. But, alas, I have a different story to tell now. Do not worry, Anya and Philippe and Summer and even Ivory and Zander with all be back at one time, but not now. For now, we leave the tyrant King Gavin's land and move to the Tenyshans, the Deimosians, and the Fear...

Prologue 2 - IF YOU ARE READING THIS, THE FEAR HAS ALREADY BEGUN.Edit

Fear.

What is fear?

What a strange question.

What a strange word.

How odd.

noun 1. a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling or condition of being afraid. Synonyms: foreboding, apprehension, consternation, dismay, dread, terror, fright, panic, horror, trepidation, qualm. Antonyms: courage, security, calm, intrepidity. 2. a specific instance of or propensity for such a feeling: an abnormal fear of heights. Synonyms: phobia, aversion; bête noire, bogy, bogey, bugbear. Antonyms: liking, fondness, penchant, predilection. 3. concern or anxiety; solicitude: a fear for someone's safety. {C 4. reverential awe, especially toward God: the fear of God. Synonyms: awe, respect, reverence, veneration. {C 5. something that causes feelings of dread or apprehension; something a person is afraid of: Cancer is a common fear. {C 6. anticipation of the possibility that something unpleasant will occur: Having grown up during the Great Depression, he had a constant fear of running out of money. {C verb (used with object) {C 7. {C to regard with fear; be afraid of. Synonyms: apprehend, dread. {C 8. {C to have reverential awe of. Synonyms: revere, venerate, honor. {C 9. {C to consider or anticipate (something unpleasant) with a feeling of dread or alarm: It's about to snow again, I fear. 10. Archaic . to experience fear in (oneself): I fear me he will ne'er forgive us.

But is that what fear REALLY is?

Come along, young one, and let's find out. Ah, but you don't know me yet, do you? Unless, of course, you are a Deimosian, in which case the Rechieyem are already coming for you. And I know you fear them; it's been genetically implanted in all of you. Demisian blood means Rechieyem-fearful blood. I bet you wonder how I know all of this. Well. Why should I tell you?

Curiosity killed the cat. I'll enjoy seeing a Gershain have you drawn and quartered or a Tenyshan blasting you away, but that would be horribly fast and not agonzingly fun for me at all. So, I'll let you be killed another way. But, just to satisfy and make your hunger for information even more intense, I'll tell you this.

I am the last human on Earth.

Chapter 1.2 - I Wake Up to the Sound of SirensEdit

I wake to the sounds of sirens. OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod.

I scramble to collect what little I have and run out of the alley before the Tenyshans start searching. The second I'm outta there, I hear the sizzle of their lightblasters hitting the cold pavement I was sleeping on.

The only thing I know is Gabriel. My name. I'm not sure how I got it, who my parents are, where I came from, anything. I'm on the Tenyshans' Most Wanted List, but the weirdest thing is I don't remember how. I'm scared for my life; then again, that isn't so uncommon with the Fear. If anyone can find this, for the love of the gods help me. If you have anything beating inside your metal chest help me, please oh God please. Sometimes I just want to curl up into a ball and sob, the Fear is so intense. Imagine your worst fear: let's say it's spiders. Now imagine spiders, spiders everywhere, no matter what you do you can't get away from them, and they all hate you and hunger for your blood. Now imagine that those spiders hate you 100% more, and they go insane at the sight of you and are the size of your head. Now imagine that your phobia of them is so immense, even a small, harmless spider makes you start to sob. Now you know what a fourth of the Fear feels like.

I'm putting this on auto-record, so everything I think and say and do will be recorded in the watch. Sorry in advance if I forget to turn this off at the wrong moment. Ha. Like I would ever get the chance to see another human or humanoid without them screaming and running off or me running off.

AUTO-RECORD ON.

"GAH!" I shout as I trip over a piece of coal. Dammit, coal means a Gershain. They're the only ones who use coal anymore. Everyone else uses whatever they can find...including humans. And Gershains are trouble.

{C "IDIOTE!" I hear a voice shout, slightly slurred with an accent I don’t recognize, and hands shoot out under me as I topple forward. The hands catch me, gripping my shoulders but not enough to stop the momentum and I end up being flipped over and lying on my back. I find myself looking up into eyes, a girl’s eyes; but they look like they’re burning.

I immediately feel like I’m on fire and start to scream, and her hand slaps over my mouth.

“Idiote!” she hisses again. She says it like id-iot-ey. “You want the Tenyshans to find you?”

{C I shake my head rapidly and she releases her hand, and I gasp for breath. She had been suffocating me, good gods.

“Thank you!” I croak sarcastically. {C She glares at me and I feel that burning sensation from her eyes again.

“You want to die, dude? ‘Cause you’re just dead weight to me.”

{C “Fine, fine!” I moan and I see why she caught me and flipped me over. As I rub my sore back I see my face would’ve landed right in the middle of a fire.


She rolls her eyes. “If I just saved your stupid ass, tell me your name.”

{C “Tell me yours first.”

{C “FINE!” she snaps. She stares me down for a moment, then finally says, “I’m Pyralis, but most call me Pyra.”

{C Pyralis…Pyralis…where do I know that name from?

{C She smirks. “Don’t try and remember my name from something. There was a movie star by the name of Pyra Yusiivie, but she died a while back.”

{C “I’m not so sure…” I say uncertainly. I could’ve sworn that I recognize the name Pyralis from somewhere…

{C “Now what’s your name?” {C I jump, startled out of my thoughts.

“Gabriel,” I answer.


"And?"

{C “And what?”

{C "Your family name," she says, looking at me like I'm an idiot, even though she didn't say her family name.

{C “I don’t know.”

{C She bursts out laughing. “I knew it! My powers are getting stronger, yes!”

{C I stare at her, a bit horrified and surprised at the same time, and realize her eyes aren’t the usual stormy seas gray or coal black that all Gershains have, at least all of the Gershains I've met in the past month or so.

“What’s up with your eyes? What kind of Gershain are you?” I ask.


She glares at me. “Why would you assume I’m a Gershain?”


“Uh…you were using coal.”


She rolls her eyes. “Well of course, you dummy. I’m an arsonist.”


“Arson-what?”


She looks annoyed. “I set things on fire on purpose for money, idiot.”


“Oh.” I back away slowly.


“MORON! I’ll only set you on fire if you pay me 40 gelks," she yells.

I'm about to return with a sarcastic comment when there's a horrible familiar sizzle and I hear a yell. We both freeze; the Tenyshans. Basically the policemen of the Fear, they have these weapons that look like what you might call a gun, but rather than firing bullets they fire a stream of light that melts, burns, or incinerates anything in its path. The sizzle grew louder...

Suddenly I'm pushed behind a dumpster and the alley is dark because the fire's been put out. I'm about to yell but I decide it best not to as I'm on the Tenyshan Most Wanted list and they're right out there, but it's hard not to when Pyra's practically on top of me and her liquid gold eyes keep flickering my way. What the hell is in the girl's head, for crying out loud that makes her keep glancing at me like that?!

The leader of the group of Tenyshans grunts at his team, and I don't dare to breathe. Then they shuffle out and Pyra presses herself closer against me as they pass the dumpster.

"Enjoying the view?" I whisper, and she turns her head so she's glaring at me and she just happens to be in the certain position so that when she turns her head from the side to glare at me her lips are pressed against mine.

It takes a second.

Then she's aware of the touch.

She leaps back and screams.

Chapter 2.2 - Capture...Or Not...Edit

"Damn you!" Pyra screams as the Tenyshans poke our backs, forcing us to move forward. She curses several times, words I wish not to repeat. "Damn you! Idiote! You moron! I hate you! I hate you so much!"

I laugh at the look on the Tenyshans' faces. Those cold robots aren't used to attitude. Pyra continues to scream at me, tugging forward, but held back only by the Tenyshan's iron grip on her wrists, which are tied together with thick, painful rope. I grin at her.

"Damn you and your smirky little face!"

We pass a pole as we're walked down the street, and I stop for a second before the Tenyshan pushes me again. But that's enough for me to see the poster stapled on.

There's a picture of a girl with flaming red hair in a golden dress matching the liquid gold of her eyes. She looks pissed, and her arms are crossed over her chest, and she's looking over her shoulder in an angry fashion. The background is elegant, clearly a place of riches and luxury. But the text is the most startling.

PYRALIS, MISSING PRINCESS OF THE DEIMOSIANS

IF YOU SEE THIS YOUNG WOMAN, PLEASE REPORT IMMEDIATELY.

DO NOT APPROACH, AT ALL COSTS.


Warning: she is a Deimosian, and she is one of the more powerful. She also has the ability to

And the rest is burned off. Pyra, as we pass the pole, catches my eye and follows it, and when she sees the poster her burning golden eyes are set ablaze. "DAMN THIS WHOLE WORLD!" she screams, and the rope tying her wrists burn right through.

The Tenyshan leaps back, yowling in pain as he stares at his burned hands blankly. The entire group stops and Pyra whips around, kicking her Tenyshan guard in the face.

He stumbles back and several words come stiffly from his rigid mouth. "Pyralis...your...father waits...surrender...peacefully and...your lover...won't...be hurt."

Her eyes are furious when she bends down to whisper in the Tenyshan's ear, who's kneeling, a hand on his cheek. The words come softly, yet resonate down the whole street.

"F*ck you."

And chaos breaks out.

I only remember a few things; Pyra burning through the rope tying my wrists, me punching and knocking out several Tenyshans, Pyra cursing everywhere, and the question burning in my mind: She's a princess?! The entire is squad, and Pyra starts walking off.

"Wait!" I shout angrily. "I need answers--" I place my hand on her shoulder.

She grabs my hand and flips me over her and onto my back on the street. She leans over me, her red hair falling by her face and the ends tickling my cheeks. Her face is upside down when she smiles sweetly and says, "No you don't."

And then she leans down and kisses me.

Then I black out.

Well, aren't those two entertaining. My, my. A rebellious princess and an innocent criminal. Well, he could be called "innocent" as he has no memory of his crimes, but he still committed them...what a classic pair. Where shall they go? Let's see...but first, another pair of heroes and heroines...

Prologue 3 - I'm Shown to Your Cage...Edit

I walk slowly to the cage. It's dark, despite the cold white lights shining down on the hall, showing every little thing that scurries across the surface. I kneel down, peering in. I can't see a foot past the bars.

Then I leap back a split second after the bars shudder as she throws herself against them. The clang echoes down the bleak hall, muffling the low moans of pain and the occasional distant scream.

I stay silent and crawl back towards the cage.

She hit the bars with a bruised left shoulder, and she's slumped over, her hands oddly hanging in midair behind her. I remember; she's chained hand and foot to the wall. The chains are keeping her hands hanging like that.

I can't see her face behind a tangle of once-beautiful golden brown hair. I miss those eyes.

I grip a bar tightly, staring at her.

Her hand slams against my fingers, she still has some strength left, and I take my hand back. They're throbbing.

We stay silent like that for a long time, the guards looking over my shoulder.

Then it comes like a whisper. A moan, barely within hearing range.

"Damn you."

I stand up and take a step back.

It's been four months.

She hasn't said that to me yet.

Again, louder.

"Damn you."

She hates me now.

And I see her eyes, and I gasp.

Pale blue, so pale they're almost clear and colorless. I haven't seen them in four months. They're not cold, drained of emotion, or burning with fury. Nor are they tear-filled.

She quakes.

She's scared.

I'm too late when I realize the guard is loading his rifle.

"No--"

The gunshot echoes in my ears.

"NO!"

I know I can't do anything. But I still try.

When I wake up, I'm screaming and chained to my bed. Like I always am. I can't deny it.

She's gone.

Chapter 1.3 - ...to Wage this Rage...Edit

“They killed her!”

I hate how he’s gazing at me with such…pity. Such angst.

He’s pretending. Lying.

“They killed her! You said they wouldn’t kill her!” I roar. I punch the wall angrily, denting it.

“Old friend, I don’t know what--”

“You’re lying!” I turn on him, all the pent up anger from watching her for months, being chained and screaming at me, her spirit and soul slowly crumbling until the day they shot her dead. Ruthless.

“I hate you!” I shake with anger. “You’ve done nothing but LIE!”

“Jakob--”

“DON’T SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT!” I roar. “YOU SOUND SO PITEOUS! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!”

I advance on him, shaking with anger, my vision blurring. “I should avenge her! Chain you, torture you, starve you, shoot you dead! That’s what you deserve, you lying bastard!”

He smiles. Unfazed. “Jakob, dear friend. You know the way things work here. You know that it was not in my power.”

Maybe I do know. Maybe I just ignore the fact that I know because I don’t want to accept the fact that she’s dead because of me. He stands there watching me. It’s like he’s tempting me.

I punch his jaw. Hard.

He goes flying. I’ve forgotten how weak my brother is compared to me. He hits the other side of the room and slumps down the wall, that cold smile still on his face. His eyes are closed, and he looks like…almost like he’s sleeping, peacefully.

Did I just kill my brother in my rage?

Chapter 2.3 - DON'T LET ME GO!Edit

I wake up in a cold sweat.

I can’t help the sobs from racking my body.

“Why am I going through this torture everyday?” I whisper. “This remembrance?” As if I don’t know the answer.

It's almost as if their spirits are screaming, "DON'T LET ME GO!"

Fresh clothes arrive in a tube, as they always do. The bright white of the room still sting my eyes. I dress quickly, tie my hair back with the uniform black band and wait for my instructions.

Surprisingly, I sit well past the seventh hour, in which almost everyone has been delivered their duties for the day. A cold shiver runs down my spine as I realize the only people who have their duties delivered past the seventh hour are the Testers. Whenever a Suit isn’t looking, we call them Lab Rats. Grotesque, mutated, tortured…killed.

They arrive a split second after the thought. I hate the fact that I relax when I look at them; Suits wear these black suits and black glasses to hide their eyes, and some cover up more than others. Some say they’re Testers that survive and are relieved of their duties and responsibilities. Some say they were bred for their job. Some say they're just robots. No one really knows.

There are two, and one steps to the left of the doorway, the other to the right. In comes a shambling man, older than I thought they kept people here. He sits down in front of me and stares at me. I try not to look at him, and so my eyes slide to my left, where dust molts float around in a beam of sunlight. I can see the sun shining through the window, the blue sky and the green grass. It pains me to think that the grass, the trees and the children playing outside are all artificial—the children. I am, too. This isn't life...but at least the sun, possibly the sky, are real. Something to look to. I still feel the old man's stare on me, so I look back at him.

I gasp softly. His eyes are a blank, milky white film, and there's a small tattoo in between his eyes: a white box on one of its edges, and four black lines poke from behind each of its flat sides. Above it, in a sort of banner, is the emblem of the Order, the Cause. "Causae quam Ordo noster in aeternum durabit." The order of our cause will last forever. The old man takes my wrists and grips them with his knobbly fingers, and his grip tightens and tightens—he's strong, incredibly strong for his age—until I gasp and wince in pain.

"You're hurting me!" I whisper, hoarse. The men at the door are still, and the old man's gray clothes ruffle as he takes one of his hands away. He moves his hand across my face, brushing my face and almost tickling me. His grip remains tight on my other hand.

He stops moving his hand, and he keeps his hand right dead in the middle of my face, and we stay like that for a long time. Then he drops my other hand and turns to the men.

"He remembers. He knows."

His voice is a scratchy, strange thing, almost as if it was recorded. Almost tinny. I realize there's a tiny voicebox on his throat and I try not to shiver thinking of how painful that must've been.

The two men nod and the old man walks out of my room without a second glance back. The men advance forward and pick me up by my arms easily, bringing me to my feet. They keep a grip on my arms as they force me out of the room.

AppendixEdit

For those extra little things that don't fit in the story. Or for the extra little organ that sometimes needs to be removed.

PronunciationsEdit

Anya - an-YAH One of the main heroines, character

Philippe - phil-EEP One of the main heroes and Anya's best friend, character

Tenyshan - ten-ee-SHAN A race of militaristic people, undeveloped in mind yet naturally fit in body, race {C Gershain - ger-SHAIN [shain rhyming with rain] A race of people, their seemingly only interest in mining and finding precious gems and metals, race

Deimosian - dee-MOS-ee-an A race of people, the link between the land and its people and the Fear and the closest to the Fear, race

Eirlanth - air-LAN-th A race ruled by the tyrant King Gavin, in the region not riddled by the Fear but all are fearful of Gavin, race

Oniixi - oh-NYX-ii A race of shape-shifters with a tense treaty with their neighbors the Eirlanths, race

Guide to the RacesEdit

Here is a guide to the different races and lands they inhabit.

All of these lands reside in a certain region, and while some can differ quite a lot, they are within the same general boundaries. They are similar to the city-states of Mesopatamia, if that makes any sense.

Tenyshans:

  • Not very tiny or teeny
  • Not exactly a civilazation but a certain species of people incapable of very deep emotion
  • Population mostly made up of males
  • Almost all (if out patrolling on the streets, then definitely) have lightblasters
  • Militaristic and robotic

Gershains:

  • Either storm gray or coal black eyes
  • Dislike sunlight
  • Would rather spend most of their time mining
  • Likely to kill you if you try to steal their precious gems and metals
  • Tend to be sarcastic and dreary
  • Their skin is a bit tinted gray from spending so much time in mines and tunnels
  • When creating a fire, will only (and serious only) use coal
  • Most have a bit of an obsession with mining, precious gems, precious minerals, precious metals, and coal

Deimosians:

  • Ability to read minds
  • The strongest of the strong can read people's minds and their fears
  • Most have red or black or dark brown hair, but it may be different, that just happens to be quite common
  • Have the strongest sense of the Fear; they can feel where it's strongest in the town they happen to be in and can feel the Fear the strongest, but can resist it the most
  • Most, as they're race is based, surrounded and linked to the Fear, have learned to suppress their emotions

Eirlanths:

Oniixi: WIP WIP WIP!

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