“As long as the buyer can't tell, and she technically stays a virgin, no one should care,” the new guard repeated. I didn't catch his name, but then again I didn't know any of their names. “Hell, for all I know it will be make her more experienced and the buyer will be happier for it. And all the management's on break right now anyway, so what they won't know won't hurt us. But this is a one-time thing. Any more, and management will be all up our asses. Doesn't even matter who I grab.”
“I can live with that,” the dirtbag on the left said. “I'm not gonna want her more than once.”
“This isn't going to get us in trouble?” the right guard asked the scientist.
“If it doesn't mess with the experiment I don't care,” the scientist shrugged. “But let's get moving so that we can get this done before lunch.”
I couldn't bear it. I wouldn't bear it. I wouldn't have even known how to bear it, if I could have. So I did the only thing I still remembered how to do.
I broke again.
When the degenerate let go of my leg to reach for the girl, I lunged forward.
It was the most pathetic lunge in the history of the universe. There are starving beggars in alleys and dungeons that would be ashamed of that lunge. Had anyone been paying enough attention, including the one guy still holding onto my feet, I would have been knocked away immediately. And given that they had all descended several levels, they probably would have broken several of my bones. And they still could've just shaken me off immediately.
But I had managed to jam my hand into the would-be pedophile's belt. It was a lucky break and probably the only lucky break I'd gotten in a long time. The guard on the right yanked on my leg, nearly pulling it out of its socket, but I tangled my arm too much into the left guard's belt and so they couldn't remove me easily.
“No!” I begged, this time crying and sobbing. “Please! Anything but that! Not that too!”
“What the hell, cripple-head!” the bastard shouted as he tugged at my arm. “I'm not even into you! Get off of me!”
“Not her too!” I babbled, sobbing and with snot running down my nose. “Please! Just kill me! Just kill me! I'll do anything!”
“Get off!” he screamed, slamming his knee into my side with rib-bruising force. But I didn't let go. My hand was looped into his belt, and had somehow even get managed to loop into his mail shirt. That was right, I remembered. He was one of the only ones who bothered wearing metal armor, and had even been transferred out to fight in the front lines some time afterwards. I had no idea why he had been stuck here with me in this dungeon.
“I'll do anything!” I repeated desperately. “I'll never complain again! I'll... I'll dance! I'll sing a song!”
He swore and cursed at me. Then he hit me in the head. It was only a glancing blow but it still made stars fly through my eyes. But it didn't knock me out, so I stayed a broken, snotty mess constantly looking for a way to spare me the humiliation of seeing a little girl violated in front of me.
He didn't like any of my ideas, and just got angrier the more I begged. Finally, when I started barking like a dog, he reached for the hammer he had strapped to his body.
Then he flexed his Descent-enhanced muscles and swung his heavy iron weapon into my body.
He missed my arm, but the force of the blow was still enough to rip me clear of his belt, tearing part of it as I came free, my arm broken and yanked out of socket. I spun through the air and slammed into the dungeon wall hard enough to hear a cracking sound. I hoped the sound came from the wall behind me, but I doubted that I was that lucky.
And worst of all, I was still lucid. Though all I could do was making strange, high-pitched moaning noises.
“Fuck!” the guard began swearing. “Fuck! Fuck! He tore my goddamn belt!”
“Damn,” one of the other guards said. “That was one of the local-crafted stuff. You're going to have to go get that fixed or replaced, like right now, or they'll have your ass over destroying native gear.
“I know!” the degenerate snapped. “This will take hours to fix!”
“Well, I can't cover you that long,” the new guard said. “I'm going to have to take her back. Sorry it didn't work out.”
I could hear the girl crying now, and apologizing. As if she somehow was responsible for all this insanity. And now she was the one forced to watch a traumatizing event happen to someone else, and be helpless to stop it.
I hadn't saved her completely. But in my broken moment, this was still about me. This was about me trying to feel strong, or at least not completely shamed.
But as I rolled and flopped and moaned on the floor, I found that I still didn't feel strong.
I still felt completely helpless. And as my body flopped around, I still felt shamed.
The one I had tangled with swore again.
“I'm not even in the mood now anyway. Freaking kid looks so disgusting. Look at the way he's bending.”
“That's going to affect the experiment,” the scientist at the back sighed. “I'll have to
reconfigure the results.”
“You're in charge,” the right guard said. “You'll get in trouble too if this gets out.”
“Fine,” the technician surrendered. “Let's just drag him to the pit and throw him in like we were planning to anyway.”
“Gladly,” the man with the broken belt growled vengefully. “Let's hurry this up.”
The new guard dragged the girl back to her cell. The other guards dragged me quickly, making sure to catch the hurt parts of my body over corners and any loose rocks they could find. I wanted to beg or plead with them, apologize even, but my mouth wouldn't work right and I just kept making weird moaning noises. Finally, we reached the room I had been dreading. Loud snarling noises came from beyond the door.
At that point, my voice began to return.
“No,” I croaked. “Not again.”
“Shut the hell up,” Mr. Broken Belt snarled. “I've had it. We're tossing him so he lands feet first.”
I did the right thing, a tiny, selfish part of me whined inside as I screamed and flailed. I did the right thing. So why is this happening?
Why can't I ever feel strong?
I flew through the air. I saw the furred, snarling, blunt-teethed monsters I had learned to fear on my second Challenge ever, right below me. Then I landed in their midsts, and I screamed again as blunt, rabid teeth tore me into pieces.
When I finally woke up, I was still screaming. Soft, but firm, hands reached to hold me down.
“Wes, dear Wes, calm down,” Guineve's voice called to me from nearby. I still flailed, because I didn't believe her yet. I was still down in that dungeon, down in that pit of monsters, screaming and dying all over again.
And I was still pitiful and weak.
“No, Wes,” Guineve said patiently, still reaching to hold me down. “Be still. Be calm. You're safe. Breena dear, help me hold him.”
“Is that okay?” Breena asked carefully. “He gets upset when I’m near him at night.”
“He needs you dear, whether he'll admit it or not,” Guineve replied, still holding me. I felt her mist magic engage, to try and restrain me. “I'll hold his arms. You just find somewhere to land on him so that he knows you're here for him. And don't worry about him yelling. If he gets mad I'll fix it.”
I realized I wasn't screaming anymore. My shrieks had fallen to mere loud noises.
“Hush, Wes,” the tall woman soothed. “Good Wes. You are safe, dear. Everyone is safe. You did well.”
“No I didn't,” I said, choking on a sob. “I was pitiful! I was weak and I was small and it hurt so much! No matter what I did, it would always hurt the worst! Nothing worked! And nothing works now, because I still hurt!”
“Shhh,” Guineve said. “You are wrong, dear Wes. You were strong. I saw you in your dream.”
“You saw me?” I asked, ashamed and ready to start thrashing again. Because I didn't want Guineve, didn't want anyone really, to see me like that.
“Yes, Wes, I saw all of it. You were strong. You were good,” she insisted.
“No I wasn't,” I wept. “I cried and moaned and hurt all over. I was pitiful. And I still hurt.”
“Shhh,” she said. “Hush. You were strong. You were good. And you still are.”
What is this? Teeth asked me. Why does she hold you?
I don't know, I replied to him. I don't know why she holds me.
“Still hurt,” I sobbed. “Still hurt so much. Can't even feel all of it.”
“I know, Wes, I'm sorry,” Guineve soothed. “It will get better. I promise. Dear Wes. Good Wes. You will be okay.”
A soft weight settled carefully on my chest.
“Wes,” Breena's voice whispered as she pressed her cheek down on my chest. Then she sniffled. “I'm here, too. I'm sorry you got so hurt. I'm sorry I didn't know.”
But she did, Teeth insisted. You told her. They said you told her.
She heard, I answered, dimly making the connection. She did not see.
“You saw too,” I mumbled, too exhausted to weep anymore. “You saw what I became.”
“No, Wes,” Breena wept, and I felt tiny tears on my chest. “Guineve's right! You're good. You've stayed good! I'm sorry you were hurt! It's gonna be okay!”
“Why?” I moaned. “How?”
“Go ahead and sing him to sleep, Little Bree,” Guineve said, still holding me, and the mist begin to wrap my skin like a blanket. It held me tight and snug, and then her grip on me shifted closer to an embrace while she stroked my hair with my other hand. “I'll help you.”
Breena snuggled closer to my head and began to sing softly, a fairy song that Stell's magic mysteriously did not translate for me.
What? my inner dragon asked. I did not answer him.
I was still hurting. But the music was nice. The four hands holding me were nice.
I don't understand, Other-Wes said. They are both beautiful. And this is a beautiful thing they do for you. Why do they do it?
More singing. More soothing. More soft touches that did not hurt.
They helped. The memories and the shame and the pain were all still real, but so were the songs and the gentle hugs and the comfort. Tonight the present won the battle with my past, and I began to calm, mumbling drowsily.
What is this? Dragon-Wes asked, still confused. You are hurting and they do not leave. Why do they stay? Why do they still act on your behalf? They... Loyal? They are loyal? No. It is more than that, Dragon-Wes decided. But what is it?
I still did not answer him. I was too tired, too pained, and too relieved, all at once.
I drifted back to sleep.
“Did it work?” Breena whispered, asking between verses of whatever song she sang.
“Almost, Little Bree,” I heard Guineve reply. “Give him a few more moments and then he will be better.”
I reflected on the fact that it was the first time I had heard my fairy friend's name be shortened. That was probably the last fully coherent thought I had that night.
My ears, however, stayed up a little longer than the rest of me.
“Guineve?” Breena asked. “When he falls asleep, can we talk about what we're going to do to the people who did this to him?”
“Yes, dear,” the Avalonian Satellite replied calmly, but no longer sweetly. “We're going to be very thorough about that.”
Wait, Dragon-Wes said, they fight for you as well? I do not understand. You are weak, and they are beautiful, yet they comfort you? Fight for you? Call you strong? I do not understand.
As he puzzled over all of this, I drifted back to merciful sleep.
You will be whole despite your harms, a small, quiet voice said in the dark.
The Challenger has successfully processed, and then adjusted from, a degree of trauma brought on by intense suffering and repeated termination of a projected body. The correction of trauma-induced reflexes improves his Dexterity by 1 point. Successfully processing and then repairing a traumatic memory improves his Intelligence by 2 points. Comfort provided by other beings has successfully enhanced the soundness of the Challenger's mind, improving his Wisdom by 1 point. The Challenger's newly adjusted scores are recorded below:
Dexterity: 100
Intelligence: 99
Wisdom: 99
The corrective mental adjustments have led to an improvement of certain abilities. Battleform is now easier to activate. Be advised that the fatigue and other side effects still remain from its use. Dragonform has also been corrected, and can now be used in conjunction with Battleform.
“Hey, Guineve?” I asked, walking up to the woman that had helped me last night. “Thanks,” I said as I hugged her shoulders.
“You're welcome, dear heart,” the wonderful woman replied sweetly, accepting my hug and then holding out a cup to me. “Coffee?”
“You are too wonderful to me,” I replied as I took the mug of steaming bean drink, wondering how the white-gowned woman had conjured up both the mug and its warm contents.
“No, dear, I'm not.” She waited for me to take a drink. Then, when I had pulled the warm mug away from my lips, she gave me a hug of her own. “We all love you, dear. And we will care for you while you get better.”
I turned to her, searching for the words to thank her.
A howl took away my chance.
Foreign contaminant detected, Avalon said in my mind. Contaminant is corporeal body of newly discovered Dark Icon. Icon is bringing full presence to Avalon in a suspected direct attack.
It can do that? I asked. I thought it was already here.
Icons can project their bodies in a fashion similar but not identical to that of a Challenger, the key difference being that an Icon can delegate the amount of power available for the projected body. Bringing their corporeal form would mean that the Icon is choosing to use its full power. While this has inherent benefits, if the Icon were to lose in a full-powered state, they would cease to be.
Great, I replied, trying to think quickly. But the Shelter's had time to gain power, right? Can we keep the Icon away?
Negative, Avalon replied. Shelter's power is insufficient to ward off a being of Icon-level strength. Repaired data files suggest that Shelter's previous activation failed due to a being of similar or higher power interfering.
That brought back my conversation with Breena back when we were underground, about how it had most likely been an Umbra that had brought armies to Avalon and conquered it, only to be trapped deep in the dungeon below by Earthborn warriors, of all things. How there had been people from Earth, speaking common languages, and at the same time predating all known human civilization on my planet was completely beyond me.
At any rate, that was a lesson for another time. Right now I had to deal with an angry murderous god.
More howls answered the first, and then the giant, tornado-like howl sounded out, drowning the rest of the pack out like a grown dog's bark silenced puppies.
I still hadn't seen him yet, except for a single super-imposed image on one of his lieutenants. But I recognized from the howl that the Raw-Mawed Wolf had decided to hunt me directly.
“Oh dear,” Guineve sighed. “I was hoping I had more time to prepare for this.”
Brace For the Wolves Page 55
