Darkness

Darkness

                I look into their eyes as I walk down the corridor. Such fear. Like there was nothing to be seen but the dark. They are all captives of my comrade in a terrible quest for power, chained to the walls of almost every corridor to save space. These ones are broken, they flinch away as I walk past if they notice my presence at all.

                Strangely I have yet to find any that aren’t broken. All seem to be waiting for what they fear most to come true – death, or perhaps something worse. My comrade’s methods are quite terrible. Whether they are worse than mine is debatable, though my methods are certainly less painful.

                These broken souls will be used as the raw material for soldiers in my comrade’s army. Those that are too far gone will be given a new intelligence that controls their actions and hurts them should they dare to do anything. Those not quite so far are given a choice: work for my comrade or face more pain. They are long since broken, so they accept. Some recover enough to think of betraying my comrade and suffer the consequences. Most never dare.

                Finally I finish making my way down the corridor, arriving at the door through to my comrade’s ‘processing’ chambers. This refers to a variety of things – primarily torture and several kinds of magical modification – but this section is the one he runs personally. It is the ‘training hall’ for the twisted souls he finds and trains to carry out his dark work elsewhere.

                The guards allow me to open the door and step inside without even acknowledging my presence. Despite this, they pull the door close behind me with a clang.

                I find myself on a walkway, overlooking a selection of surgical tables. Thankfully the room is empty – class is not currently in progress. My comrade is here, however, as I knew he would be. He stands imperiously halfway along the walkway, looking down at the tables below. When he is taking class he calls out instructions or chastisement from up here; unless serious action is required. In such cases he leaps down and … does whatever he sees as necessary. I have had the misfortune of seeing class in progress here several times.

                “Greetings, comrade,” he says as I approach.

                “Hail, comrade,” I reply. We are very similar in appearance, he and I. Tall, imposing bastions of might and magic. It is what makes us suited to our dark quest.

                “You are here for your share of the prisoners, I presume?” he asks. I stand about a metre away from him. As always, I am grateful for the few centimetres of height I have over him.

                “Yes,” I say. His prison is far larger than mine; and in exchange for being allowed to exclude those willing to study under him from the split he holds all those captured in our raids.

                “Good,” he says. “My prisons are almost full from this lot. We should hold off on raiding until I finish more levels.”

                “You could always give more to me,” I say. This is… Annoying. I am finished with my prisoners far faster than my comrade, although his work utilises them far better.

                He laughs. “No; for then we would not be equal in power!” he says. “That would not be good for me.”

                “I am not as powerful as you seem to think,” I say. This is a lie, although also me being overly humble. My comrade has a firm grasp on my power; as good as my understanding of his.

                “Yes you are,” he says. “Each soul you twist to your will through clever manipulation is worth a dozen of mine; and those you do not choose are used to make weapons, armour and beasts greater than anything our victims have ever seen. With that delightful twist, using them against your will corrodes their very souls.”

                I smile. “I find the system works quite nicely,” I say. “I could always utilise them to make weapons for you.”

                My comrade pauses for a moment, mulling over this new idea. “No,” he says, “for we have the issue of our wills aligning. Suddenly my warriors are unarmed, or worse.” He laughs. “A nice try, however.”

                “Very well,” I say. I straighten my shoulders, causing my back to crack. “Have you split the prisoners into two groups yet?”

                “They’re ready to go,” he replies, leaning back against the railing. At times like these my mind always turns to dark things. Perhaps not as dark as our quest, but… Betrayal. Now is a time I could strike true.

                I do nothing. “Good,” I say. “My people are ready to welcome them at the far end of the tunnel. I’ll lead them through.”

                He nods, and then turns his head to look down into the chamber below. “Assistant!” he calls out.

                A meek voice softly replies, “Yes lord?”

                “Have the prisoners sent into the tunnel now!” he calls out. “And speak up next time, or you’re practice this afternoon!”

                “Yes lord!” the voice replies loudly, somehow still quite meekly.

                “Do we have any other business?” my comrade asks.

                “No,” I say. “I will see you in two days to plan our next move.”

                “Very well,” he says. He holds out his left hand.

I take his hand in my right and give it a solid shake. “Until we next meet,” I say.

“Until then,” he replies.

I turn around and walk from the chamber at a quick, steady pace. My comrade will, as always, have turned back to the railing. I asked him why he spends so much time in here once; ‘to better teach’ was his reply. He plans his lessons, and wonders how better to instruct the depraved few who serve him willingly.

Travelling back through the corridors, past countless dead-eyed prisoners, is still eerie. Over the years it has gotten worse and worse, of course. At first there were only a handful near the prisons, and now every wall is lined…

My thoughts repeat themselves, to an extent, as I make my way back to the tunnel. When I arrive, passing unchallenged through a quartet of guards, my thoughts turn to the journey ahead. I will enter the tunnel through the normal entrance, which will then be hidden. The prisoners will be released from a cell that adjoins the tunnel, and I will lead them through to my citadel a day’s walk away.

We play a cruel trick upon them, me and my comrade. They think they are being lead to freedom and that I am their guide. At the far end they are welcomed, analysed while being treated as guests. Then I begin my manipulation of those I wish to serve me, and the rest are quickly made use of. I grin at how I have hidden the horrible methods I practice within such simple sounding words.

I have reached the middle of the tunnel and hear the cell entrance opening behind me. I turn around and face the prisoners. Some are weak, or tired, or injured but all have hope in their eyes; they are not broken. They have not been harmed. This is what I prefer to work with.

“Follow me!” I say. “And quickly. The guards will discover your absence soon!”

They start moving without question. Sometimes someone will ask, ‘Where are we going?’, but not often. That comes later. No questions is a good sign – it means more will be easy to fool. I scan the crowd for the other important thing. None look at me strangely. My disguise, an old hermit, has held.

I smile at my luck just as the first of them reach me. “Quickly, quickly,” I say, “you have all escaped a terrible fate.”

Many smile back. They do not know what awaits them, but they assume it to be good.

This is a foolish mistake.