by Nat Kennedy
Reggie forced his head up. It felt like he wore a hat of lead. He blinked, a slow, difficult process. How could a drug that made him as limp as a wet noodle cause him to be a stronger Wielder?
“No,” he said, mouthing the word more than speaking it. “I am happy.”
“Oh, I see,” the doctor said. He set his tablet on a table and began pulling Reggie's shirt off. Reggie tried to struggle, but his arms wouldn't work. Panic clawed its way through his frayed sensibility. His shirt was off, and Reggie felt chilled and shameful.
“Oh, look at that Corruption. Beautiful.”
Though he couldn't quite feel the contact, he sensed the pressure as the man touched the thick, scaly skin on his back.
“Bet you don't like it, though. Trying to hide it away, under a shirt. You should own your Corruption. Live it. Be proud.”
The madman returned to his table and grabbed something. A jangle of noises brought images of torture devices from the spy movies: pliers to tear out his fingernails, another implement to remove his eye. His captor turned toward Reggie, his smile wide and glistening as he held the scalpel up, its surface sparkling in the blue fluorescent lighting. “But, if you don't want it, I can help.” He came forward and sliced into Reggie's skin.
~~~
He blinked his eyes open. Or tried too. Gummy paste coated the surface. The crazy bastard had put something in them. “To boost his sight,” he'd said, but all it felt like was a layer of petroleum jelly waxing up his eyeballs. He still couldn't see, though he didn't really want to. The drug he'd been injected with was wearing off and within the cracks of numbness, sharp pain mapped out where Reggie was missing slices of his flesh. He didn't know how much was cut away. If the mad sicko had removed it all....
It was cold in this dungeon, but his body was too shocked to shiver. Chains from the ceiling were manacled to his arms, holding him up by his already sprained shoulder. The doctor had left, bare hands purple in the blue lighting, giggling to himself. He told Reggie that soon he wouldn't remember any of it. It would be a favor, a kind favor. Reggie didn't mind the thought of forgetting, but he also wanted to remember. Remember who had done this to him. Remember the things the man had said about men who could regenerate. Men who could pass their madness onto others. Crazy stuff. It was all crazy. Men who could touch something and change its nature. Lead to gold. An alchemist.
Bethany, Bethany, Bethany, where was she? She had to get Kyle out of here, away from these insane skells. Reggie could handle this.... He would remain strong. His stomach was growling and he'd peed himself. The torturer had scolded him when it'd happened, right when the skell had yanked a long strip of skin free from under Reggie's arm. Hours had passed since he'd arrived. Maybe a day. Only a day.
A door opened and Reggie erected his mental shields, the process slow and meticulous. He had to concentrate on the construction now, instead of just having it appear. One of the injections must be doing something to his head. Or the eye goop. Or maybe just his exhaustion and pain.
“Ah, my boy. I see you're up and ready for some more.”
Reggie could see the silhouettes of two individuals. He wondered who'd come down with the mad doctor. He hoped it wasn't Kyle. Kyle didn't need to see this. Then he focused on the foundation of the building he used as a mental symbol for his Shield. The concrete as it spread out within the forms. The steel beams. He had to focus...
“He's worried about the kid, but he's still fighting it.” It was Chance. The mind-reader. Reggie wondered how bad his Corruption was getting. If his horns had been ground down with a Dremel.
“Worse than yours, since, yours has all been sliced off,” the mad doctor said with a cackle. Could he read minds too, or had Reggie spoken aloud? “How that feel? Sting a bit?”
Such viscous brutality. Reggie had thought most of the rumors of the cults to be exaggerated. That only some of them performed the crimes and the rest were just huddled together for support. Not really criminals, just men made suggestible and willing due to their terrible circumstances.
“Some of us are just bastards, Reggie Wolfe. Brother of Bethany Wolfe, of the Bureau of Wielder Services. How soon until she gets here? How many are coming?” It was Chance speaking this time, or had it been Chance last time?
Reggie's building collapsed, and with it, his mental shields. He sagged against the chains that held him up, the metal rattling against itself.
“That's it.” Chance chuckled. “He's broken now. I'll just sit in the corner and—”
“Don't push yourself,” said the doctor. “I can probably get all I need now. Unless you want me to remove your Corruption as well.” He sounded eager, breathy... almost turned on by the concept. Reggie shivered again. He was cold. Deep in his bones.
“Not me. Gotta prepare for the Bureau raid, anyway. Rod's having us evacuate. Have fun with him.”
One silhouette left, leaving the sadistic psychopath. The doctor circled around him while he dangled from the ceiling. Reggie could feel pressure along his back and the glow of pain. “So, sweet. So beautiful, this open flesh. Nothing to keep secret anymore. So, your sister is a Wielder. Do you hate her? Her pristine Wielding. Her lack of payment for this precious gift we have?
“It's her kind that pushes us to this. They have built the world to keep us down. No research on how to cure our Taint, no effort in reducing our Corruption. We have to hide, in the shadows, to try to learn. It's a great gift you give to our cause, your cause, by helping with my experiments.” He brushed his hands over Reggie's shoulders and chest. Reggie tried to lean away from that sick and greasy touch, but he had little purchase with his feet and had no power to lever his body.
The doctor slipped around to Reggie's front. Reggie blinked away more of the jelly until he could discern the man's eyes. He looked into them, searched out the man's tangle. A crinkling sound rattled through the air, like Mylar being fisted into a bunch.
“Are you trying to cure me?” the doctor asked, head tilted in curiosity. “I can hear your Tracer. You can't hide such things. You know, you have such beautiful eyes. Maybe I should keep one.”
His eye? He wanted his eye!
And he would too, this mad bastard. He would take Reggie's skin and take Reggie's eye and eventually take his life and toss it away.
In reflex, Reggie tore at the Nerve of the World, the crinkle scratched the air at top volume. Static of the Nerve. The man froze, unmoving, like a cement statue. Reggie panted and licked his lips. His mouth was dry. His second power, the one he never used, paralyzed the man to statue stiff.
Reggie's face scrunched up and tears pushed against the substance clogging his tear ducts. The cultist was going to take his eyes.
“Fuck, Beth. Hurry up,” he sobbed. Then he sucked up snot and began to work.
Frozen, the man's eyes were wide open. Reggie dove into them, the soft crinkling of his untanglement power giving the air a background static. He found the knot of Nerve within this twisted man's mind. Not only was he mad, but his Taint was rooted deep. Reggie picked at the Nerve, studied it, felt it with his own power.
He was going to take his eyes and take his memory.
Reggie grabbed the root of the Nerve and tore it from the doctor's mind.
~~~
“Don't look. Go, go grab that blanket.”
“Reggie... he's—”
“Blanket.”
“Is he going to be okay? Is he? There's so much blood.”
“How the hell should I know? I'm no doctor!”
The chains rattled overhead. Mumbling babbled on and on, like a traffic announcer. The pressure on Reggie's arms gave and he slumped. Someone caught him and held him up. “You're okay.” It was Kyle, but his student's words could do nothing to stop Reggie's scream of pain. “I'm here now, Teach. You'll be okay.”
The mumbler laughed. “Haha! I cut you! I cut you good. You'll be all scarred now. But I cut it all away. Eh, Lizard Man. I cut it all away. And I've cut others. Removed their Corruption. Not everyone surviv
ed, but the Dead Hand wants to find out our limits. We must find out our limits. The Order of Spiritii will lead us all to dominate this world. Don't you doubt it. Don't you ever doubt it. The Dead Hand is a physical Wielder and he can change things. Make new things. He can build a better world. Just you watch.”
The mumbling ceased with an oof and a deep curse from someone else. Reggie had torn apart the Nerve within the doctor. He had no idea what that would mean, but he hadn't cared at the time.
He thought through his own memories, looking for holes, places that he just couldn’t remember. Where did he go to college? Did he have a family? Where did he work? Where did he live? Who was important to him?
“Kyle.” The name broke on his tongue. He licked the roof of his mouth.
The man in the corner kept talking and chuckling. Kyle stepped between them.
“Teach, you're going to be okay. The BWS is coming. Your sister. You'll be okay. We're getting you out of here.” Kyle touched Reggie's face, and Reggie wanted to cry.
“You're unhurt?” Reggie asked.
“I'm fine.” Kyle nodded and brushed away the sticky hair from Reggie's forehead. With a fingernail, he cleared away some of the jelly from the corners of his eyes. “August looked after me. I wasn't really in any danger, you stupid fool. I coulda got out.” Kyle kissed Reggie's lips, and Reggie didn't protest. Didn't want to protest. He kissed those lips back.
“We gotta get,” August said. Reggie tried to focus on August, but nothing felt like it was working right. Kyle stooped under Reggie's arm and helped him walk. Though his legs still wouldn't hold him, his body's pain receptors seemed to be working on full throttle. The two men led him to the stairs. They passed the doctor in the corner. Reggie had torn his Nerve. Ripped it out by the root.
“They'll lead us all, Lizard Man. The Core of the Order will lead us all out of this banishment!” He nodded, teeth wide. “You'll see.”
The three men trudged towards the ladder. Reggie swallowed down a brewing sob at the idea of climbing rung over rung. “Nothing's easy.”
“I'll help... just hold on.” August pressed his hand to Reggie's back, a series of fireworks sparking up along his flesh. Though Reggie didn't think he'd said anything, August yanked his hand away, but remained by as support as Reggie climbed the ladder, one step up, one hand up, a slow progress as the doctor cackled in the corner.
At the top of the ladder was another room; obviously also underground, it was full of the glassware you'd find in a chem lab. He didn't care what they did down here. Pixie Dust manufacturing? He let Kyle lead him across the room to another set of stairs, much easier to navigate than a ladder.
When they opened the door to a hallway, August pushed himself past Reggie and Kyle. “I'm going to make sure you've a clear road out of this. Got it? Give me a half a minute, and if you don't hear anything, follow. But carefully.”
“August, don't forget your mangoes.”
August grinned. It was a supportive, superhero type of smile. A smile that said, “No worries, I've got this covered.” But the smile lost some of its strength and he said, “Don't got no more, bro. I'm all out.”
Reggie hoped August would find nobody out there and the three of them could pass through this place of terror unmolested. He hoped, but he knew better.
Kyle continued with his pledge that, “You'll be okay.” Reggie touched Kyle's lips with his fingers, then realized his hand was filthy. Blood coated his body like he'd just experienced a second birth, he'd soiled himself, and his back was flayed open.
Reggie took his hand away, grabbing the sheet around his neck to pull tighter. “I'll be... Let's just get out of here. I've things,” he swallowed, “to tell Bethany.”
The hall was a blur and Reggie soon realized they weren't the only people left. “I'm drugged. And can't see.” Kyle should know the full extent of his disablement.
“I gotcha.”
Kyle gripped Reggie's arm, but didn't try to touch his back, and he was deeply thankful for that. Reggie stumbled along, surprised he still had shoes on. His jeans were damp. His mind continued to spin under the drug, but the effects were relaxing and suppressed some of his pain. Or he was simply in supreme shock. Sharp needles pricked at this back, up to his shoulders and down to the curve near his tailbone. He hoped it didn't come back, that the scar tissue would be normal and he could start all over, a clean slate with his Corruption. Perhaps the mad doctor had done him a favor.
They caught up to August, who was waiting at the entrance to the kitchen. He jerked his chin at them and led them to the dining area. The air still smelled of stew. Perhaps everyone had eaten that for lunch, left over. But there was no light coming in through the windows. It was dark. How long had he been in that trap?
A man ran by them. “They've got the front entrance, but we kept 'em off the rear. Head that way to the trucks.” Another man asked, “Wow, what happened to him?”
Kyle tried to explain, but August shook his head. “I think they got the back too. We're heading out the front and sticking to the trees. They can't catch all of us.”
The man sputtered, looked toward the back door and dashed down another hall shouting about the back being blocked too.
“How did you know that?” Kyle asked.
“I lied. It'll make it easier for the BWS to capture more of these… criminals if they're in once place.” August grimaced. Reggie stared at the man. He'd thought he was on the cult's side, and now, he wasn't so sure.
They entered the front room and Rod Redstoke stood there talking to Jeremy. Both turned to look at the fleeing threesome.
A dark cloud threatened an even darker mood from the second-in-charge of Mara Murda. “You brought the Bureau on our heads.”
“Let us pass, Redstoke. No point in a showdown when the Bureau is going to be on all of our asses.”
“Not his,” Jeremy said, nodding in Reggie's direction. “He did this. I'm sure he's got a free pass. His sister's an agent, you know. He's not on our side.”
Reggie struggled to stand, taking his weight off Kyle in case the kid had to run or defend himself. He looked to the door. Outside, bright lights lit up the night sky. Overhead, he thought he heard a helicopter, but it could also have been someone's Tracer. Both men were primed for a fight, one last ditch desperado move to prove their superiority over nature and the Nerve.
“Get to the door,” August said. He stepped away from Kyle and Reggie before he said to Jeremy, “Oh, I think his ass is just as on fire as our own. You ever been skinned alive?”
Jeremy's face twisted, his weight shifting: to run, to attack, Reggie couldn't tell.
Redstoke faced off with August. “You think you can take me?” the cult leader said.
“Ah, crap,” Kyle said under his breath, taking small steps to the left. Reggie followed, but with his slowly clearing sight, he focused on catching Redstoke's or Jeremy's eyes. Redstoke seemed to be wholly focused on August. So Reggie stared at Jeremy, sought out the Nerve that linked him to the earth. The man's eyes flicked from one to the other, and then Bingo, they clicked with Reggie's.
Reggie, reached out and plucked the Nerve of the World and Jeremy went stiff. Reggie fell to his knees.
“What the hell? Get him the fuck outta here!” August said, and Redstoke went flying backwards into the couch, nearly cracking his head on the stone fireplace mantle. The air blossomed with the smell of overripe fruit.
Kyle wrapped his arm around Reggie, unintentionally digging it into Reggie's back. Reggie screamed, the pain like a landmine going off across his skin. Nothing mattered but the pain. He felt himself being lifted, but it was a background event, not something actually happening to him. Because his back was on fire and something abrasive was scrubbing at it, trying to tear the flesh away.
“Come on, teach.” Kyle was sobbing, saying over and over, “I'm sorry, so sorry,” as he dragged Reggie out through the door and down the steps off the front porch. Back in the lodge's great room another bang rattled the windows.
Mangoes, Reggie decided, it smelled like mangoes.
“Hold there!” a woman called out. Then a man came forward, gun aimed at their heads. Shouts and shots, a chaos of auditory information rattled Reggie's concentration to stay conscious.
“We're with Bethany Wolfe-Martin,” Kyle yelled out. “August Whalen is still inside.”
“Over there,” the man said, but kept his gun on them. Reggie didn't care. Didn't care about the cultists, the people with guns, what they might think of him. His world was wrapped up in the pain. “What's wrong with him? Taint?”
Kyle growled. “No, you bastard. He was tortured by them. They cut off his skin.”
“Reggie!” a woman screamed. It was a completely unfamiliar inflection coming from a voice he knew so well. “Oh my God, Reggie! Are you okay?”
Bethany charged forward, a mother badger on the defense, and scooped Reggie up and away from Kyle. “I need medical here!” Then her voice softened. Reggie landed his head against her shoulder. “What happened? What happened to you?” she asked.
“They cut off his Corruption,” Kyle told her in a small voice.
“Sis, I know who's behind it. The Dead Hand, they call him. Order of Spiritii. They're in Oregon. Scrub Ranch. They're doing things... experimenting on men.”
“Don't worry about that now, Reg. Oh God. Oh God.” His sister cried, touching him with a delicacy he had not felt for years. Reggie squeezed his eyes shut and let his sister hold onto him.
Chapter 14
The sheets beneath his cheek smelled freshly laundered, the comfortable scent of his own detergent. His back still stung, but after a few days of treatment and care, the scab didn't pull so much. He'd completely missed Thanksgiving dinner. Now that he thought about it, Bethany must have, too.
“Thanks, Llewellyn. I appreciate this, and keeping it on the down low.”
“Don't worry, Bethany. I'm glad to help.”
They stood in the hall outside his bedroom, a quiet reminiscent talk about some paper they'd both read. He was always surprised at the contacts his sister had.
