I stared at the ground, my jaw muscles so tight they threatened to snap. Every fiber of my being screamed to spit in his face, but the image of my father and the hollow sensation of emptiness were stronger than my pride.
"I accept..." I forced out through gritted teeth, my voice muffled by hatred and exhaustion.
Beroth remained silent for a second, savoring his victory. A predatory smile stretched across his thin lips; he had never doubted my answer.
"Very well," he replied sharply, almost cheerfully.
He turned abruptly toward the armored door, his voice thundering and vibrating against the cell's metal walls:
"GUARDS! Inside! Unchain him!"
The crash of locks sounded immediately. Two silhouettes, weapons drawn, entered the room. Beroth made a disdainful gesture toward my hanging body.
"Take him to the Sector 4 infirmary. Clean him up and fix what can be fixed. I want him standing and lucid for tomorrow's tests."
One of the guards approached and slid a magnetic key into my shackles. The metallic click sounded like liberation, but the moment my arms were released, my body became nothing but dead weight. Without the support of the chains, my legs gave out. I crashed heavily onto the cold floor, face-pressed against the metal.
"Easy with him," Beroth quipped, already walking away. "He's an Empire investment now."
They grabbed me by the armpits. My feet dragged on the ground as they hauled me out of that black hole. The corridor light blinded me through the white veil blurring my vision.
The Flesh Crafter
I was tossed onto a stone table. In the sterile silence of the room, a rhythmic metallic clicking echoed, like scissors being sharpened.
"Oh, are you the new one? Delighted to meet you! I hope you'll give your absolute best to serve our dear Emperor Akaash?"
The voice was high-pitched, almost childlike. The silhouette approached, revealing an incomplete face: the long gills characteristic of Axols were missing on the left side, as was his eye. This doctor, named Kaducé, was wrapped in an immense green robe that hid his feet, making him seem to float above the floor.
"Don't move, little one. Or I might cut off something you'll find useful," he whispered, tilting his skeletal head.
Behind him, the air began to vibrate. A translucent, bluish form emerged from his shadow: a spectral creature endowed with dozens of arms as thin as needles.
"Suture, to work," Kaducé ordered.
Without a word, the invocation began its craft. I felt spectral needles sinking into my flesh to stitch my brow and repair my broken bones.
"Don't look at her like that," Kaducé snickered. "I am also a Kana manipulator. Her name is Suture; she is my invocation. Unlike you, I belong to the Invocation-type. We do not transform our bodies; we manifest allies. But she is bound to be faithful to me, as are all creatures tied to their summoner. You, however, are a Modification-type."
The coldness of his scissor-fingers brushed my cheek as he leaned over me, his single eye shining with a strange light.
"I'm going to get you back on your feet and make you presentable."
The Iron Cage
After several hours of surgery, I was patched up almost as good as new. The silver scars left by Suture glowed faintly under the harsh light. While my bones no longer throbbed, hunger, thirst, and fatigue still twisted my gut. My body was ready to fight, but my mind was crumbling.
Kaducé looked at me with a strange smile.
"Don't worry about your stomach, kid. You're going to get to eat with your new comrades."
At the doctor's signal, the two guards grabbed me firmly. They pushed me out of the infirmary toward a gaping opening: the freight elevator shaft. It was an immense platform of dark wood rimmed with iron, suspended by four colossal chains. With no walls or comforts, only a rusted railing separated us from the void.
No sooner had my feet touched the structure than a jolt vibrated through my bones. Within the darkness of the ceiling, a giant winch groaned into motion, and the platform began its jerky descent. Through the gaps in the floorboards, I watched the void slip past—a dark abyss where only the glow of torches cast dancing shadows.
The elevator came to a sudden halt at Level 2. I was dragged to an immense, noisy hall: the canteen. About fifty inmates were seated at tables amidst a din of metal and gravelly voices. Pushing me inside, one of the soldiers shouted in a booming voice:
"New arrival! Give him a warm welcome!"
He punctuated his sentence with a cruel smile. All eyes turned toward me, heavy with suspicion and weariness. Here, nobody looked like a friend.