ACT III - THE KING

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Rancid odors wafted through the galvanized bars of his cell. Filth-covered adolescent guards jeered at Soran. They hurled clumps of rotten food waste whilst jostling each other for a better look at their latest prisoner. From Soran's limited vantage, the entire deck appeared to be fashioned as a prison. Cells lined the walls, encircling a large cage in the center of the oval expanse. The centerpiece was currently occupied by a gaggle of heathen youth, partaking in what he could only guess was a game of prowess. Indeed, it was not only the leadership of the Insidia that was taken by force but all ranks in the hierarchy. Age and gender played no part in their contest, only the will to endure.

Two young boys stepped forward, taking their places beside a bulbous copper pot. Neither looked as if they had yet reached their teenage years, unable to muster even a stray whisker between them. They placed their hands together, cupping their fingers as if expecting a serving of whatever inedible concoction resided within the basin. Instead of a meal, each received a coiled grub the size of a man's fist. The ruckus of the surrounding group dimmed to hushed, anxious whispers, and the young participants stood deathly still. Oily residue began to secrete from the body of each grub, coating the competitor's hands in a neon blue liquid. Almost immediately, the sludge began to burn their skin. Their eyes remained locked together, unblinking. Their muscles tensed, unable to hold back the twinges as the liquid crawled up their arms with an almost purposeful sense of direction. After only a dozen seconds one of the boys was possessed by convulsions. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and steaming arms dropped to his sides. The grub fell to the ground, quickly scooped up, and tossed back into the pot. Raising his arms in triumph, the victor flung the grub -- along with a stream of venom -- into a huddle of unfortunate onlookers. The crowd doused the competitors in a waxy substance to quell the spread of the toxic secretion. Celebratory cheers filled the prison, the rowdy screams of spectacle reverberating the chilled bars of each cell. Soran was focused on the competition's unfortunate loser. Abandoned by his crew and left clawing at his skin, all while hostile taunts of ridicule were hurled by the victor.

Little imagination was required to foresee the type of individual such behavior would cultivate. Barely onto their feet and already being trained in cruelties and malevolence that would cripple most twice their age. To them, the regular occurrence of these displays had bred a complaisance to the most brutal of actions. Still, the most upsetting aspect of what Soran had seen was the joy carved onto their faces, the excitement of inflicting pain on others, and the longing for more; their hunger for the profane remaining forever unsated.

Detracting from the barbarism, Soran lay down in his cell. He experienced a strange relief as his bruised face pressed against the icy metal panels. Despite the extreme discomfort of his lodgings, it wasn't long before he once again felt the nagging pull of slumber, spiriting him away to an unfamiliar realm. Not that of a dream, but something else.

An ethereal jaunt back to the thrumming thoroughfares of the Hyacinth was not on the agenda. Instead, Soran was greeted with a vision of the bridge from his recent voyage aboard Galneus. Not as it is, but as it was. Rosewood banisters cradled the winding stairways, polished to a mirrored perfection. The same was true of the rows of instruments that sat before an immense triple-plated viewing portal. Soran gazed through the glistening window at an immense sun; its vermilion glare penetrating, heightening the radiant beauty of everything it touched. Captivated by the cosmic elegance of the massive object, he felt the burning of a reticent gaze on the back of his neck. Hesitantly, he turned. A group of hooded figures, masked by shadow, stood in a haunting crescent against the statues of the rear wall. He scoured the line. Although each of the mysterious apparitions differed in both stature and posture, they all emulated one another with an unfamiliar gesture. Their hands were together, fingers spread wide with the tips barely meeting. Confused by the display he took a step forward, seeking to reveal the mystery of their veiled features. As his first foot landed, his body grew heavy. He attempted a second but was met with an uncomfortable resistance. The figures tilted their heads, revealing the lower portion of their faces. A spell of silent words was initiated, chanted through welcoming smiles. These were not words meant to be heard but to be felt, spoken to the soul. Although unable to move, Soran was no longer afraid. The weight on his body seemed to reverse, lifting him by the shoulders as if becoming feathers on incredible wings. Words of encouragement were what they had given him and as his fear vanished, so did they. Alone once again he turned to face the radiance of the star but instead, the boy gazed upon an eclipse. The sun was obscured by an unfathomable construction, its outline a piercing white ring of sharp light. Boring into the skin like a knife, its terrifying presence was painful to observe. Soran wanted to look away. He begged his stiffened limbs to move but to no avail. Ensnared by the terrifying black eye in its center, he could feel his body peeling away, atom by atom being swallowed into oblivion until nothing remained.

The clattering of metal on metal tore him from his unpleasant slumber. Sweat was running down his face and neck, soaking the coarse hairs of his patchy facial growth. His hand jolted to his chest to still the uncontrollable beating of his heart. He had seen terrors in his sleep before, but nothing like that. Nothing so visceral had befallen him since that day on Boreus. The unwelcome feelings of helplessness and dread had reared their heads once again. Perhaps to test how far the boy had come. Unfortunately, the cold sweat rolling down his back presented an unflattering answer.

“We’re here. Move.” A girl whispered bitterly as she opened Soran’s cage. He noticed the black Raven-hawk feathers fanning through her hair. The dark shadows of brutishly applied make-up hid emerald eyes deep beneath a familiar scowl. Her admiration for her Lord was clear in mimicry, both her dress and mannerisms reeked of Neraka’s sinister aura. Irked by the boy's incessant stares, she yanked at the chains that bound him, digging the rusted metal deeper into his bruised wrists. He staggered forward. Grasping at the bars to still himself, he was stung by the frigid skin of ice. Begrudgingly, he sauntered after the girl and joined the parade of eager juveniles making scurrying to the bridge.

Stories of the Golgotha were about as rare they came. Only a handful of souls had ever set foot on the forsaken planet and those that returned dared not speak of their experience. Soran had heard wild rumors during his time on the Hyacinth, each consecutive account more unbelievable than the last, always prefaced as an anecdote of a rumor told by a distant cousin. Outlandish tales of a world of perpetual storm, concealing an unreachable prison at its core. Three thousand miles deep, the facility emerged once per solar cycle to rotate the wardens before descending back to the infernal depths of its molten refuge.

Jets of steam filled the narrow hallway as the Insidia's bridge doors clattered open. Groaning chains lifted the immense steel frame to reveal a thousand-strong crowd of wild-eyed adolescent soldiers; a writhing stew of eager onlookers clamoring over one another to glance at what lay beneath. Soran’s shepherd cut a swathe through the crowd, her rank demonstrated without the need of request. She cast the boy at the feet of her Lord. Neraka was unable to spare even a glance of acknowledgment, transfixed by the maroon glow of the planet below them. Despite the years spent dreaming up visions, the truth had him awestruck, his limbs trembling in the presence of cosmic chaos.

Eternal tides of storm washed over the planet's bruised surface. Brimming with bolts of forked lighting, each wave tore vast fissures into the doomed world's scared crust. Hurricane fuelled tempests reigned dominant, forcefully sculpting immense canyons and valleys in their wake. A spectrum of saturated earthy tones painted the atmosphere, constantly accented by violet flashes as the elements displayed their destructive prowess. A great eye gazed menacingly into the heavens, briefly halting the storm's advance. With a flash of crimson, something was emerging from the volatile depths. Vast panes of scalded metal breached the surface, demolishing the layers of volcanic rock that slept upon the surface. A noxious cloud spewed forth from the expansive aperture. Sheathed in a cloak of toxic smog and riding a tide of molten slag, the fabled obsidian tower emerged.

“Golgotha.” The words fell from Neraka’s lips like a divine prayer. She was here. Her pilgrimage was complete and so too, her part in the great work. Similar sentiments of finality could be felt on every ship in the armada. Although the majority of those present had only recently joined their cause, every one of them could feel the electric suspense as it crackled through the very fabric of their being.

Volka fell to his knees, his eyes enamored by the rising tower. His brother too was speechless as the object of their desire came into view.

“Your Majesty, we’ve arrived.” Volka held his hand to his chest. For too long his synthetic cage had prevented him from feeling the warmth of life. He longed to feel the beating of his heart, the blood coursing through his veins, and the slow roll of tears as they fell from prideful eyes. He longed for his humanity. He nodded to Khan and together they initiated their descent, leading their brethren to the reunion they so craved. The time to meet their King was upon them.