Chapter Five - A Useful Hostage.
The two state-of-the-art corvid BOI-ENVSD model battleships
hovered above the alien world of Honosreach, observing the still burning
remains of the UAV-Abyss. These ships were designed for combat both in and out
of a planet’s atmosphere, and as such, shared a lot of similarities with the
cheaper in-atmo jet fighters. The biggest difference was the shape of the wings,
which were arched in the opposite direction of the traditional fighter jets.
Within the cockpits of each of these battleships was a strange orb, absent of
all colour or shape. The orb looked like a hole in the universe, it wasn’t
dark, because it technically wasn’t any colour at all. It was a purely cosmic
thing, something that belonged to a God beyond the understanding of mere
mortals. Through this orb, and many more like it, Interitus, peered from his
realm of nothingness into the universe that belonged to the mortals.
Rhys couldn’t help but stare into the empty void of the orb. As he did so he
could feel the thing feed on his very being. The orb, like its creator,
Interitus, wanted to consume everything, reduce the universe down to literal
nothingness. Even the atoms that made-up everything within this mortal universe
were an afront to the God of Destruction. Because of this, the Void Orb slowly
fed on the atoms of the universe around it, weakening anything and anyone that
got too close to it. Rhys, and the other four members of the Corvids, had spent
the better part of two years searching for the UAV-Abyss before they happened
to stumble upon it. This had allowed the Void Orb to feed on them for those two
long years. While Rhys was dedicated to his God, he was beginning to feel the
effects of being within proximity to the Void Orb. It was like a cancer,
feeding on the strength of his body, weakening him, reducing him, slowly down
to nothing.
Although this had been worth it, as the Corvids’ mission was almost a success.
They had found the UAV-Abyss, drifting slowly and silently through the vacuum
of space, en-route to Ociea Prime, the homeworld of the Alliance. The crew of
the Abyss and its on-board AI had uncovered the truth of the Brotherhood’s VSD
capabilities. If they were able to return to Ociea Prime and report this
information to their superiors, then the Brotherhood would lose their most
powerful weapon. VSD travel was believed by everyone within the known galaxy to
be impossible to navigate. Therefore, when the Corvids appeared out of nowhere,
destroyed key resources, ships, or other high-profile targets, the Alliance, or
wider galactic community assumed that these were random hit-and-run attacks by
greedy pirates. As long as this remained true, the Brotherhood would be able to
barter for peace with the Alliance while continuing to attack them with
targeted VSD strikes. They would be able to have their peace and be able to fight
their war at the same time. Therefore, the UAV-Abyss, her crew, and the AI all
had to die.
The mission had so far cost the Corvid squad three of their five members,
including their previous leader. This left Rhys in command now.
The UAV-Abyss had made a desperate series of blind VSD jumps, hoping that they
would be able to lose their attackers along the way.
They had been unsuccessful.
Rhys, and his squadmate, Laka, were suspended above the wreckage of the Abyss.
The massive frigate had broken itself apart as it entered the planet’s
atmosphere, eventually making a hard landing along some hills filled with
various crops and a single windmill. The wreckage of the Abyss was covered in
several fires, some large, some smaller, all raging out of control along her
hull. It was night, which meant that these fires were the only things that illuminated
the destroyed ship.
Rhys watched as three figures proceeded to make their way towards the wreckage.
This world was unknown to the Brotherhood. As far as Rhys was aware, this
planet wasn’t registered with any species of the galactic community. Yet, it
was not out of the view of the Gods. Interitus knew of this world, which he had
called Honosreach. The God even had followers here. Apparently, he had almost
managed a successful invasion of this strange world thousands of years ago. Rhys
thought back to his audience with the God of destruction within void space. The
abyss itself had looked him in the eyes; the nothingness took a form which was
beyond the understanding of Rhys’ mortal mind. It was nothing given empty form.
The impression of something within vacant space, that spoke within Rhys’ own
mind. The conversation felt like a false memory, the recollection of a dream
long since forgotten, but its impression still clearly left within Rhys’ thoughts.
This was how he knew that those three figures had one of the God’s orbs on
them, they had stolen it from an order of Interitus nearby. As well as killing
the survivors of the Abyss, Rhys and Laka, were to kill these three and
retrieve the orb for the Cult of Tywyll.
Rhys felt weak, as he struggled to keep his tired mind focused on the three
figures below him. He looked into the orb again, wishing that it would grant
him strength instead of consuming it, but it didn’t do a thing. Then he noticed
that the three figures had split up, they left one of their own behind, as the
other two began to climb the debris towards the wreckage of the Abyss.
Now was the time to act.
Trevik found himself trapped within the void, unable to free
himself, despite how much he thrashed around. It wasn’t that he couldn’t move,
he was free to flail his arms and legs around as much as he wanted, it was that
there was nothing to thrash against, nothing for his flailing limbs to get
purchase on. He simply floated there, uselessly, completely helpless against
the punishment of the God that he had failed. Until now, he hadn’t understood
the true depths of fear that a man could feel.
He understood now though.
His soul, his mind, his consciousness, had been ripped from his fragile human
body. If he tried hard enough, it was possible for him to be able to glimpse
the view from his eyes. The connection between his soul and his body had not
yet been completely severed. Unless he was able to flee this void, this realm
of unmade reality, the realm of destruction known to his people as Uffern, he
knew that his mortal flesh would be killed, offered to Tywyll as a sacrifice.
Then, with his soul truly unbound from his body, the full extent of his
punishment would begin.
He wept in fear, as his soul thrashed about uselessly within the void.
The sensation of the tears rolling down his cheek were distant. It was a
strange sensation, to be almost completely detached from his body. He put
everything he had into willing his paralyzed body to move. What had once been
second nature was now almost impossible. After minutes of effort, he felt the
little finger on his right-hand twitch. This wasn’t enough, his executioner
would be at his body any moment now. He thrashed his soul about some more in
the void, but nothing happened.
Trevik allowed himself to remain still as he focused on seeing through his
mortal eyes, it was difficult, but he managed a flash of vision, an almost
static image. It filled his heart with dread.
There were two strangers among his cult members. These strangers were dressed
in clothing he didn’t recognise but they were dark. Each of them looked as if
they were wearing an extra skeleton that lay across their armour, the bones
were made of a dark metal, as dark as shadow. The strangers’ hands ended in
razor sharp claws. Their faces were hidden behind masks that resembled the
skull of a bird.
This was it; these were his executioners. He screamed as loud as he could for
as long as he could into the void. All that changed was that he felt a small
amount of liquid drip from his lower lip onto his chin. His mortal body was
drooling as his soul struggled uselessly in the void. He continued to thrash
about and scream, but nothing changed for him.
Not until the stranger started cutting into his flesh. When this happened,
Trevik was glad of the distance between his soul and his body as it allowed for
the pain to feel muted and less intense than he knew it would otherwise.
Eventually the cutting stopped, as his soul was severed from his body, but
things only got worse from there.
Rhys pushed the plump boy into the cult’s lair, hidden deep
within the cave that had been shown to him by his God. As he had expected, the
cult members, the few that remained, were all gathered within the main chapel
area of the hideout. Nine cultists were kneeling down, preying to Interitus, in
a circle around a central figure. The man in the centre of this ritual was
Trevik, the previous leader of this useless cult that had failed their God. He
was knelt down, with his head slumped forward, unmoving.
Rhys grabbed the man’s head roughly by its hair and pulled it upwards so that
he could look into the man’s eyes. They were glazed over, empty, like that of a
corpse, yet this body wasn’t cold or dead. This was obvious as he began to
drool. His soul was torn between the mortal realm, unable to fully leave until
his body died, and the void space where Interitus lived.
Rhys slowly ran the end of one of his claws against Trevik’s face, leaving
behind a slice in the man’s skin that quickly filled with blood. Rhys was
playing with his victim. The truth was that he had no idea how much the
disgraced cult leader could feel, but his torture would achieve two goals.
First of all, it would show the remaining nine members of this useless cult
what happened when they failed their God, and secondly, it would terrify the
fat boy they had picked up at the bottom of the pile of rubble. Rhys continued
to play with his victim, slowly ending Trevik’s worthless life.
Hours had passed by the time he had finished and as soon as
he turned to the boy, he began to talk. The pitiful whelp’s name was Quinn, and
he was a squire of Sir Reginald, a knight and worshipper of Solas. The other
figure that Rhys saw leave the boy behind was Keygoire, a wizard of some
renown. Quinn told them that it was the wizard that had the Orb of Regna. The
poor boy was a blubbering mess by the time he had finished answering the
questions that Rhys had for him. The interrogation had been successful, but
Rhys felt frustrated that he hadn’t been able to play with his victim a little
more.
“Laka.” Rhys’ voice sounded distorted and strange through the modulator, but his
frustration came through clearly.
“Yes Sir!” The response was fast but delivered in the same distorted tone as
his own.
“Take four of these cultists, launch a surprise attack on the crew of the Abyss
as well as this wizard and knight. If you’re smart you should be able to ambush
them, ending the fight before it has a chance to begin. The crew of the Abyss
are injured, and the wizard and knight are unaware of our technology. The
advantage is with you, don’t waste it!”
“Sir! Yes Sir!” She then pulled her phase pistol free from its holster, checked
the plasma reserves, then re-holstered it.
“Laka, if you should fail, send them back here, we’ll use this lair as an
ambush spot. Taunt them with the boy, rescuing him will become their priority.
It always does with these hero types!” Laka nodded, but Rhys imagined the annoyance
she felt at his lack of confidence in her abilities. After this she grabbed
four of the cultists at random.
“Do you scum understand me?” She barked at the cultists.
“Yes, my lady. Our lord, Tywyll, blessed us with knowledge of your language.”
“Good, follow me, you lag behind, and I’ll shoot you myself, understand?”
“Yes, my lady.” All four cultists answered in unison.
Then Laka began her march out of the lair and towards the wreckage of the
UAV-Abyss.
© Robyn Timmons, 2025
