W.I.C.K.E.D Collab Competition

Reads: 33298  | Likes: 8  | Shelves: 13  | Comments: 137

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

More Details
Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: House of Ghosts

Chapter 13 (v.1) - Brighton - The Immortal

Submitted: January 10, 2016

Reads: 442

Comments: 2

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 10, 2016

A A A

A A A

The cell was damp, and cold. A breeze could be felt from some unknown crevice or hole, but no matter how hard he tried, the Lord of Rigdale, Brighton,  could not find a source. There was no light, and at first he collided with each of the eight walls before he decided to memorize the layout of his prison. Each wall was five steps long, in what appeared to his mental layout as an octagon. Brighton had no company since the masked men abducted him outside of his homeland, and the darkness gave him no sense of the passing time.

How long have I been trapped in here? Brighton thought to himself. A week, two weeks? Maybe a month? How many times have they lowered me down some food? How many times have I fallen asleep between each meal?

The days had started to blur together for him, and his once quick mind seemed sluggish. The constant isolation, broken up only by the times he was fed, caused a deep melancholy to set in; loneliness and mild despair plagued his mind. All he could do, after mapping out his cell every time he woke up, was sit on the hard, rugged, and cold ground and think.

I wonder how Ellia has been handling my abduction? Does she even know I'm alive? How long would it take for them to realize I never made it to Medsa'lear to speak with Kip? She probably believes me to be dead, if my absence is as long as I believe it to be. Kip surely would have sent some notice of my lack of arrival after a few days of expecting me. What if whoever captured me, had captured her as well? Oh Nya, I hope she is safe. She is a great duchess, one of the best I have seen since my people elected me to be their lord.

How did I even get into this mess in the first place? I've only been Lord for a short time. Surely I haven't upset anyone. What would I have done to cause any sort of reaction for them to lock me up in isolation like this?

Brighton looked up from his musing as he heard footsteps echo throughout his cell, his captors have decided to feed him again. How long has it been this time? He thought, as he turned away from where he knew the opening would be. He wasn’t feeling up to facing his capturers yet, no matter how lonely he was.

A small door on top of his prison opened, and one of his guards lowered in his food, basically just tossing it down. The rope became taut with a loud clunk, as the strange wooden basket bounced off the stone wall, jostling whatever they deemed necessary to feed him.

Off in the distances from his cell, he could vaguely hear other voices talking. "How are the others holding up?" One of them asked.

Brighton's brow furrowed, as he tried to make out exactly what he was hearing. What others are they talking about? Ellia? Surely not. From the sound of it, there are multiple captives somewhere. Could they be other rulers? Do my captures want to take over the world by taking out all the leaders they can get too?

I didn't bring any guards with me when I set out to Medsa'lear. My griffin should have been enough to fly me away from any harm, but he had flew off to hunt food when we stopped after the first night. I should have brought someone else with me. Ellia pleaded with me to take one of my guards. Why didn’t I listen?

Brighton turned around after the door had been shut, and felt the ground for the strange box filled with the bland, unknown food inside. As each feeding passed, he felt more weak, tired, and sore. His body had began to ache, and his joints began to grow stiff due to his malnutrition.

***

The next time the guard came to feed him, Brighton was finally ready to face them. Maybe they'll talk to me this time, or at least tell me what they want from me.

The door opened up, bringing with it a small beam of light, causing him to quickly raise his hand up to block it from his sensitive eyes. For a small moment he was able to see his skin for the first time since he had been captured, and he grew terrified. His skin was so much paler than normal, but he had expected such. What frightened him so was how shriveled up his skin was, and how easily he could see his veins underneath them. The box of food was lowered in, and the cell closed once more; leaving Brighton to the darkness, with the horrid image of his skin seared into his mind.

What is happening to me? I couldn't have aged this fast. My skin shouldn't look like this for another five to six hundred years. Am I going to die in here? Am I going to wither away to just bones?

This must be an cursed cell, similar to the cells in the dungeons of my castle. Only these seem to be making me rapidly age, instead of instilling the idea of being trapped in a frozen wasteland for years. It must be a form of black magic put upon these walls. If anyone I know would go to these measures to do this, it would be Valek. He always was a troublesome ruler, and has always wanted to rule over all of Metagore.

Still haunted by the image, Brighton rubbed his fingers across his arms; feeling every ridge and crevice of his skin. He felt his face; the hard cheekbones, the sagging flesh around his jawline, it all made him quiver in fear. Even the feel of the thinning of his long blonde hair, was enough to break his spirit.

After all the training I've done with my armies, and with various other masters across Metagore, making sure I've always stayed in top notch shape, and now this has to have happened. All my hard work over the past eighty years, gone in such a seemingly short amount of time. Now my body is decaying, and I'm going to continue to grow weaker and weaker. How much longer will it take before I die?

***

Brighton was pacing back and forth in his cell later that day, trying to figure out how he could escape his cell. Hoping the enchantments placed on the room wear off faster than the enchantments placed in his dungeons.

I won't have much more time, and I will only have one chance of being able to escape once I make my move. Whatever I do has to count. There's no telling what they will do to me, or where they might move me, if they even bother to move me, should I fail and get captured again. What can I do?

***

The next time he heard the footsteps, Brighton observed his host from the shadows in one corner of the room, looking to see exactly where and how the light made contact with the bottom of his cell. After the door closed, he made his way to the box of food, opened it, and ate a few bites to try and gain some energy, while saving the rest for later. With a plan finally made, he hoped it worked; for he had little time left before his body would truly fail him.

***

When he later heard the footsteps again, Brighton was ready. He laid down on the floor, just where he had seen the beam of light cover it before, and moved the box of food next to him. He sprawled himself out across the ground, and placed a small amount of food in one of his hands.

I sure hope this works. Brighton thought, as he could hear the footsteps getting closer. What if they don't pay any attention? What if they don't even look inside here when they lower the food down? Then what am I going to do?

Brighton's mind drew quiet as he could hear the door being unlocked. He took in a few deep breaths, then tried to hold them in for as long as he could; hoping to appear dead. As the guard opened the door, the light illuminated Brighton's still form. The guard could see the old, withered elven body still holding remnants of the previous meal in his hand.

"Shit!" He gasped out. He quickly dropped the new basket of food, and lowered down a rope ladder. He climbed down into the cell, skipping a few of the steps along the way in his haste to examine Brighton's body. He grabbed the ancient, decaying body and carried him up the ladder. He laid Brighton's pale body down in the light.

"No, no, no; you can't die on us elf!" The guard frantically muttered after feeling a very faint pulse in Brighton's neck.

"He needs help!" He shouted, as he glanced down at the other guards at the end of the platform, and noticed they were too busy talking to take notice of him or their dying captive. Looking back down at Brighton, as he leaned in close to try and bring him back to consciousness, when Brighton's light blue eyes suddenly shot open.

The elf punched the guard in the neck and slammed his head down onto the platform, knocking him out, and causing the other three guards nearby to take notice of the situation. One of them exclaiming at seeing the prisoner out of his cage, and the other two pulling out their guns at the sight of the fallen guard beside Brighton.

Brighton quickly rolled out from under the unconscious guard, and stood to his feet as fast as he could.

What have I gotten myself into now? I should've known there would have been more than just one guard. I even remember hearing them talking as the other lowered my food all of those times. How could I have forgotten? Oh well, I guess it's too late to turn back now.

The two guards with their guns drawn, quickly shot at him, one bullet puncturing his shoulder and the other just gracing the side of his neck.

"Damn it! We need him alive you morons!" The third guard shouted, pointing at the shocked Brighton.

What kind of enchantments are on those contraptions? What are they? They’re not bows, but they shoots projectiles like a bow, but they don't need to draw back a string or use both hands for these things. What kind of dark magic does this place hold? Brighton thought, as he quickly glanced around at his surroundings, then returning his attention back to the three guards.

"Look at him," one of the other guards said, pointing at Brighton's wounds, as they were rapidly healing shut.

The elf felt at his neck, feeling the wound close up, and glanced at his arm to see his skin had started to smooth back out again. The cell's enchantments are wearing off. He thought in excitement, as a small smirk crossed his face. After realizing that he was no longer cursed by the enchantment of the cell, he quickly darted his way towards the guards.

As he approached the guards, one of them kept firing at him. When he reached the guards, he kicked the unarmed guard in the gut. He turned and punched one of the other guards in the face, causing him to stagger back. Brighton quickly grabbed the other gunman's weapon with one hand, pushed it away, and with the other hand he chopped at the guards wrist. The guard released his grip on the gun. Brighton quickly whipped him in the throat with the butt of the gun, causing him to collapse to his knees, gasping. Brighton then followed up with a kick to the side of his face.

The other guards stood by, stunned with what had just taken place. Quickly shaking off the fear that had overcame them, they started swinging their fists. Brighton grabbed one of the guards arm as they swung, wrapping the arm under his armpit. Then with his free arm, Brighton plunged his elbow down into the back of the guard's elbow, breaking his arm. Brighton released the arm, as the guard cried out and grabbed hold of his lifeless appendage.

Brighton turned to the other guard, who had pulled his gun back out, and grabbed ahold of the barrel of the weapon. Rotating the gun sideways, away from him, he stepped to the opposite side from which the gun was pointing. He struck the guard in the nose region of his mask with the heel of the palm on his free hand, causing the glass like shield over his face to crack. After coming in contact with his mask, Brighton grabbed the handle of the gun with his free hand. Pulling and tugging on the gun, hoping to retrieve it from the guard's grip, but the guard would not let go. Twisting the gun around, with the gunman's finger still inside the trigger guard, caused the finger to snap, and instantly he release his grip.

Brighton took a step back from the guards, as he pointed the gun at them.

How does this thing work? Brighton asked himself, as he gripped the gun tightly.

The guard that he had just unarmed, bolted forward towards Brighton. Brighton quickly stepped aside, then kicked the front of the lunging guard's knee, causing it to buckle. The guard collapsed to the ground, and with a swift kick to the side of his head, he was knocked unconscious.

Brighton glanced back up at the remaining guard, who was still holding his broken arm. He ran towards the guard and tackled him to the ground. The guard's head ricocheted off the floor. Brighton quickly started to pound against the guard's mask rapidly, blow after blow, punch after punch.

Brighton paused for a brief moment to regain his breath. When he had paused he noticed no sign of consciousness in the guard.

What do I do now? Brighton asked himself as he looked around at the other three men that laid on the floor. He looked around the platform that he was on, and towards the doorway at the far end. He stood up, still gripping on to the gun, and started walking towards the opening.

Where am I? The thought flashed through his mind as he observed the metal walls, and the flashing lights that were embedded into them. There were large hoses hanging from the ceiling, with cold puffs of steam coming from where they connected into the walls.

Brighton glanced back down at the gun. I need to learn more about this weapon, and the power that it holds. He placed the gun underneath the waistband of his pants.

Brighton, still making his way towards the end of the platform, was so far lost in thought, that he was completely unaware of the noises surrounding him; the beeping and hissing coming from the walls and ceiling, and the sound of footsteps quickly approaching.

As Brighton passed through the opening, he was re-acquainted with reality, as a frightened young lady with red hair collided into the side of him. He staggered briefly, but the beauty that he collided with fell to the ground.

She had curls of fiery red hair spread out behind her from where she laid. Her skin was a color unknown to him, almost a pale bronze, but different at the same time. Her eyes were akin to rubies, but he could tell she was not a dark elf, for no dark elf had the coloration her skin had. It reminded him of some of the Talearians he had interacted with many years back.

Exhausted from the fighting, Brighton brushed his hair out of his face, and tucked it behind his elven ears. He stood there with fear creeping back. I knew there...wait...she's been crying. Maybe she's one of the others that they were talking about. Maybe I should help her up, it'd be the least I could do. I was what caused her to get knocked over.

Brighton leaned forward, over the terrified lady, and reached his hand out. The lady gasped and cringed as his hand approached her.

Why isn't she taking my hand? Does she not wish to be helped? As these thought passed through Brighton's mind, the young lady's golden gloved hand grasped his. He gently pulled her up to her feet.

In a language that was vaguely familiar to Brighton, the young lady spoke. "Thank you for your kindness. I am in your debt, sir." After speaking, her face grew sad, not knowing if he understood.

Brighton, wanting to cheer her up and let her know that everything was ok, managed to give her a slight grin. "It was no problem, my lady," he responded, as her eyes widened in amazement.

"How do you know my language?" She questioned, still appearing shocked and scared, as she grabbed her arm. "I have barely encountered anyone with the same tongue as me in this forsaken place."

"Well if you must know, my lady," Brighton started to answer, chuckling slightly to calm her nerves. "I have traveled all across the world and learned many languages."

Brighton placed his hands on his hips, trying to catch his breath still. His eyes were drawn to the sight of her finely toned figure underneath her unusual golden dress.

"Oh, well that is helpful, I suppose," she responded as she began to look at the floor.

She has a beautiful voice, it reminds me of the melodious calls of the phoenixes roosting near my castle. And her hair! I've never seen a color such as that, it's almost like living fire, but I can tell it is not. What is she? She looks unlike anyone I have ever met before.

Brighton cleared his throat trying to shake away his errant thoughts, as the lady looked up at him. "Well, if we must really talk, we need to leave before more guards come through here." Brighton glanced around and pointed to a little dark room. "Over there in that opening, no one will see us."

Brighton grabbed ahold of her hand, and lead her to the room. As he released her hand, her glove slipped off.

"So," he sighed. "If we are going to stick together, I need to know your name, my lady." Brighton stared into her crimson red eyes, as he gave off a calming smile.

Her brow scrunched, almost in disgust that he had asked. "That is not a very respectable manner to ask a woman her name, but I suppose. My name is Topaz, Goddess of Fire. I live in the Sahara Desert where all of the humans love and praise me." She tucked a curl of hair behind her ear, then continued. "I do not think I deserve the title, but that is what I have become."

"Well, I guess I need to call you 'Lady Topaz' then," Brighton responded, as she started to shake her head.

"Just call me Topaz, since we have no time for formality. What is your name?"

"Lord...," he paused, deciding that she was right; no time for formality. "Brighton, Lord of Rigdale. At your service, Topaz." He bowed in an overly sarcastic manner. After raising back up, he asked, "How'd they capture you?"

Topaz, surprised by the question, responded. "Well, I was kidnapped by them when I heard a voice summoning me, and I was going to leave my home to find out who it was. Unfortunately, they attacked me and harmed one of my volcanic imps." As she finished, tears started to build up in her eyes, but she managed to hold them back as she wrapped her arms around herself in comfort.

She owns imps? Brighton thought to himself as he brushed a hand through his hair.

He quickly cleared his throat. "Well, I was in the same situation as well. But I was traveling to a swampy region known as Medsa'lear, and they came out of nowhere and attacked me. My griffin had flown away, so he wasn't any help. The thought still upsets me," he grumbled as he thought about the absence of his griffin.

Brighton, with a grin, glanced back to Topaz, who seemed startled by him.

"What is it?" She stuttered.

What is what? He thought to himself, then dismissed the sentence. "Now that we've shared our backgrounds, we need to get out of here." Brighton reached for Topaz's hand, which was bare from the absence of her glove.

"No!" She gasped as she held her hand away from his.

"What?" He asked shockingly. "Why can't I take your hand? I held it just a moment ago."

Holding her hand to her chest, she responded, "Well, I...when my gloves are not on, people get hurt. And sometimes I will get hurt in a way that might turn me evil. I do not want to put you in danger."

Brighton sighed. "Observe, my Lady." He grabbed her hand as he smiled, and placed it upon his face.

Topaz shouted in protest, but it was too late. Her hand had already started to burn his skin, but he was not phased by the pain. As quickly as the burn marks appeared, his skin returned to its smooth and soft form.

Their eyes still in sync with each other's, as Topaz stood there astonished

I wonder what she's thinking. Brighton thought. She must have had an awful time growing up, if everyone she touches, burns. She needs someone to stand by her gorgeous body...Brighton tried to clear the thoughts that he knew were coming. I barely know her. But either way, she needs someone that she can depend on. And hey, I can be that guy.

As Brighton continued to stare into her eyes, a loud noise echoed throughout the building. "I guess it's time for us to get a move on it," he winked as he grabbed her hand once more, as her cheeks started to blush.


© Copyright 2020 ShakeilKanish. All rights reserved.

Chapters

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:

Comments

More Science Fiction Books