Chapter Text
“How many Shifting Stones do you know about?”
Silence.
“How long have you been looking for them?”
Silence.
“Where did you find the stone that your brother has?”
Nothing.
“Any idea where Lord Steve is now?”
Silence stretched on.
Israphel gave a sigh, his hands clasped behind his back as he paced in a circle. “I am disappointed, Herobrine, I will admit it. You were very talkative last time, even if you were less than helpful. Why are you ignoring me this time? It is like you do not even know that I am here.”
He waited, watching the man who hung in the middle of the cell, but still no words came from him. Herobrine’s head was lowered, his chin nearly resting against his chest as his hands stretched above him, the metal cuffs around his wrist suspecting him from the ceiling of the small cell. His solid white eyes gave off little glow and his expression was blank, his ears apparently deaf. Around his forearm was a smooth black cuff, locked and secured, repressing his magic.
Israphel continued his pacing, his soft boots making little sound on the concrete floor. His deep red eyes watched his prisoner, his cloak rippling from his shoulders as he moved, his hood down to reveal his pale skin. He finally came to a stop in front of Herobrine and moved his hands out from his back, the fingerless gloves he wore catching the light that came from no visible source.
“You do not want me to be here,” he said simply, his voice echoing slightly in the small space. “I understand that, but I would be here less if you were responding to me. As it is, you are being more than a little difficult.”
Herobrine still did not respond and Israphel’s gaze darkened a little. He took a step closer. “I could delve into your mind myself if I wanted to. I have done it before; it would be a simple task. Would you like to relieve some of your more memorable experiences?”
A small flinch shook Hero’s body, the quiet clinking of chains betraying his movement. His breathing increased ever so slightly, evident in the small rising and falling of his chest. Though Israphel was not fond of implying such things, he enjoyed playing games; finding the best way to outmatch his opponent. And he was searching for any way to outmatch Herobrine.
“What do you know about the Stones, Herobrine,” Israphel asked again, his voice steady and flat.
Herobrine did not speak nor raise his head, though Israphel saw him swallow. He knew, and Israphel had always known that he knew, and his silence was not amusing Israphel. Suppressing a flash of annoyance, Israphel turned without a word and marched out of the cell, his eyes flicking to the small pure black bat perched in the corner that kept a constant watch of the prisoner inside.
Israphel’s shoes made no sound on the floors of the complex as he stomped down it and through doors that were constantly propped open but could easily be closed with the flick of a wrist and a burst of magic. He entered one of the common rooms of the complex, walking in until he stopped in front of one of the two large fireplaces in the room. The hearth inside was burning cheerily with flames that banished the freezing cold of the snowy mountains they hid in.
His deep red eyes watched the flames, his ears faintly hearing the voices of those of his followers who were reclining in the cotton couches that filled the room, or hearing the quiet flipping of pages in large, old volumes. Footsteps also reached his ears and someone stepped up next to him in his position in front of the fire.
“He is not talking?” a male voice asked.
Israphel sighed through his nose, his arms crossed over his chest. “No, he is not,” he said shortly. “He has not said a word in my presence. Not even to scorn me. In fact, he has not even made a sound.”
“The silent treatment,” the other said with a hint of wisdom. “Is there a way we can get him to talk?”
“Oh, there are ways, Max,” Israphel said. “The question is whether I am willing to resort to them.”
Max was silent for a moment, his green eyes watching the fire as he stood beside his master. “I suppose that the question really is… how badly do we want those Stones?”
Israphel grew silent for a time as he thought. His body was completely still as he did so, so still that he didn’t even seem to be breathing. “We need these Stones,” he said finally. “They are our best chance, and to attempt it without them would be folly. Lord Steve is still out there, as is Lord Notch. I have no doubt that their brother informed them of our quarry, so no doubt they will also be hunting the Stones if they could. We have limited time.”
“Then we need him to talk quickly,” Max summarised.
Israphel raised his head a little. “Yes we do.”
“Lord Israphel?”
The red-eyed sorcerer turned from the fire to face a younger sorcerer who had joined the two, inclining his head respectfully at the both of them. “Um… We’ve been tending to the winged Brine child like you instructed, Lord Israphel. The other sorcerers have tried their best, but… one of her wings is beyond repair, despite our best efforts.”
A brief flicker of what was perhaps pity flickered in Israphel’s eyes but he nodded to the young sorcerer who ducked his head again and rapidly retreated. Max shifted a little closer to his master. “Was it necessary to tend to the winged one?”
“There was no reason not to,” Israphel said plainly, his eyes staring ahead. “Her condition is unique, one that I have never seen before and nearly never heard of. Additionally, our quarrel is not with her, nor is it with any of the other children. Save, perhaps, for that eldest.” His eyes narrowed a little. “He, being older than his siblings, may know more than they do.”
Max stayed in his spot as Israphel stalked out of the common room again, his cloak whisking about his feet. He strolled down the corridors of the complex, going a rather complicated route but it was necessary: he had ordered that each of the Brine family be contained in rooms far apart from each other, to minimise the risk of all of them breaking out should one get lucky enough to. Not that such a thing was likely to happen; Israphel had taken many precautions, but he preferred to be sure.
His sight shifted momentarily as he passed Herobrine’s cell, the scene he saw changing to an elevated view of the dim cell and the figure within who still hung his head. Israphel brought back his sight and continued his walk, connecting to another Shadow Beast further on. In this cell was a younger male who shook at his chains with his bright green eyes looking up and around, his expression showing his discomfort.
And so it went. Israphel connected to the sight of each of the different Beasts who perched in the Brine families’ cells, viewing the prisoners within; the sky-blue eyed boy who had his head back and was examining the ceiling, the orange-eyed one who had her wings drawn to her back while some sorcerers secured the broken one so that it wouldn’t hang and pain her, and the rich brown-eyed one who seemed to be asleep, so much so that Israphel stopped in his tracks. He moved the Beast forward a little to get a better look and saw that the man was indeed sleeping, but a noise or sixth sense must have stirred him. He opened his eyes and looked straight at the Beast, a slight smirk coming on his face, and Israphel understood a little more why he had been Lord Notch’s Captain of the Guard.
But the person he was visiting was the last one on his trek. He only sight-joined with the Beast long enough to be sure that he was still there and secured before entering, closing the door behind him and standing with his hands clasped behind his back.
The man inside raised his head at the sound, squinting his golden eyes at the sudden flood of light and then blinking as they adjusted and he saw his company. “Oh, it’s you this time. Are you here to gloat or do you actually have something to say?”
An amused smile crossed Israphel’s face. “You know, your father said much the same thing to me when I last had him in my possession.”
“It’s almost like we’re related,” Skylous said flatly.
“Indeed.” Israphel took a few steps closer. “He is being much more silent this time around. It is almost as if he finds distaste in my company.”
“Yeah, funny that. Almost like he doesn’t enjoy being chained hand and foot and hung from a ceiling like a pinata with a too-tight cuff on his arm that restrains his magic.”
Israphel started his circular pace around the man in the middle, never taking his eyes off him. “And what about you? Are you enjoying your time in my humble home?”
There was no amusement in Skylous’ voice as he said “I think we both know the answer to that.”
“Amuse me, it is not often I get to speak with someone of your experience,” Israphel said, his voice now coming from behind Skylous. “I am curious about your uncle, however. How long have you known that he possessed magic?”
Skylous scoffed. “I knew at the same time you did. Right surprise too. Though,” and Israphel heard the smile in his voice as he said “I’m sure it was a much bigger surprise for you.”
Israphel did not respond. For a few moments, only sound in the cell were his light footsteps as he paced around Herobrine’s son. The prisoner seemed content to be silent under his gaze and Israphel saw a smile on his face, not unlike the smirk he had recently seen on Mishiael’s face.
“What about the Stones?” Israphel asked. “Your father was looking for them and you possessed one and clearly knew how to use it. Surely you would know a thing or two about them.”
“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” Skylous said. He grinned as he said “Maybe whatever I tell you would be a bluff to lead you astray so that whatever plan you’re cooking up gets ruined.”
“Maybe I should ensure that you are not bluffing.”
“Maybe you could try. Are you sure I would stop bluffing though?”
He couldn’t be sure, and that was the problem. Israphel stopped in front of him, his eyes slowly narrowing. “Are you attempting to irritate me, Skylous? I had assumed that you were wise, given that you also ran an army while keeping your identity a secret not only from them, but also from your close friends and uncles.”
Skylous had no answer other than that smirking smile that refused to leave his face, and Israphel’s eyes flashed. “I am sure that I could pass on a message to your army if you so wished. I am sure that they are missing you. In fact, I have already paid them a visit with my Beasts.”
“And I bet that went real well for you, huh?”
So he knew about those towers that destroyed his Beasts in a matter of seconds. The loss had not been a great one as Israphel was only looking to test their defences, but that was not something that he wished the man to know. Instead, he simply gave a thin smile and resumed his pacing. “Where is your uncle now, Skylous?”
Skylous scoffed. “How would you expect me to know? You’ve known where I’ve been every moment since we got onto that plain.”
“And what about your other uncle, Lord Notch?”
“What about him?”
The note of confusion in his voice was enough to convince Israphel and he moved on without answering his question. “That Flame Ring of yours, the one you tried to hide from me; it is quite an interesting object. Where did you get it?”
“Nowhere important.”
“I would much like to know.”
“Get used to disappointment.”
Israphel stopped a second time, this time behind Skylous with his eyes watching his back. “You like to avoid and dodge my questions, do you not?”
He saw Skylous’ shoulders move in a shrug, or as much of a shrug as he could do with his hands tied to the ceiling. “What can I say, I like to dance.”
Israphel hummed. “Do you play chess?”
He heard Skylous roll his eyes and huff. “Don’t get me started on chess, it’s one of the worst games that have ever been invented.”
“Oh, that is quite harsh of you. I enjoy the game greatly, as does your father.” Israphel turned a little where he was so that he could see Skylous better. “Would you like to see your father again, Skylous?”
A moment of silence filled the small room as Skylous hesitated. “On my own conditions,” he said finally. A wise choice of words, but that didn’t mean that Israphel was out of options.
“You do not wish to see your father again?”
Skylous raised his head a little, trying to turn it so that he could see the sorcerer who stood behind him. “When my hands and his are unchained and these cursed cuffs are off our forearms and you’re dead and buried in your grave, then yes, I would like to see him again.”
Israphel tsked, moving past Skylous to get to the door, brushing agonisingly close to the chained man. “Well, I shall pass on your condolences, whatever they may be.” He paused at the door, looking back. “Anything in particular you wish for me to say to him?”
“I hope you die and burn in hell, Israphel.”
The shadow sorcerer gave a small smile but said nothing in return as he opened the door and left the cell.