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The hunter’s eyes gleamed.
Out from the darkness shone an emerald glow, a lightless shimmer sparkling against the backdrop of cold stone.
Only his ragged breaths could be heard as daily he watched his prey, his heartbeat a mangled stutter.
Anyone who gazed upon him would see a lion, coiled to spring, held back only by the tight shackles that bound his body and soul. A ravenous beast fit only to be contained as his lust for blood seethes and rages beneath the surface.
What he sees as he gazes upon himself is a pitiful cub, a wounded creature whose pride is as scorned as his body is pained. He curls in on himself not because he waits for his moment to strike, but because he has no other choice if he wishes to once again run free across the savanna.
The manacles locking his hands behind his back cut deep into his flesh, long having scarred his wrists. His legs had been locked in place, a permanent kneeling position enforced by the bracers around his shins and thighs. His hair, not cut since his imprisonment, hung in long, ragged golden strands around his face.
He had not given up hope that one of his companions would come back and set him free.
But that hope was very deep in the darkness of his subconscious.
“Hey. Prisoner.”
The prisoner raised his head ever so slightly to meet the servant’s gaze. The servant shivered a little from the prisoner’s unflinching, unblinking stare, but composed himself and went in, leaving the keys in the door.
“I don’t like this any more than you, but orders are orders, so...” The prisoner glanced down at the food, then back at the servant. No emotion was betrayed in his gaze. He could just as well have been eating cake as nsima.
Truth be told, the servant was just covering for the guards, to whom he owed a favor. He wasn’t used to this unsettling stare, this way the prisoner had of looking into your soul. He honestly just wanted to get this over with so he could go back to the much less claustrophobic part of his job. He took a spoonful of the nsima and held it up in front of the prisoner, praying for him to just eat it and get this over with. Instead, the prisoner stared at it for a long time, then turned his head to the side, a silent refusal.
The servant sighed. He didn’t want to do this the hard way. Plan B first. “Look, you’ve gotta be starving. Nsima isn’t much, but it’s what we have for you. Just let yourself feel better, alright?”
The sharp eyes snapped back to meet the servant’s. Confused and scared at this sudden response, the servant’s ears flattened against his hair, muscles locking in and ready to flee. The hard emerald irises had the servant frozen in place, the prey to the prisoner’s predator. He felt as if the prisoner were scanning him, gauging any signs of weakness, anything he could turn to his advantage.
After what felt like an eternity, with a scattered rattle of chains against chains and metal chafing on metal, the prisoner leaned forward and took a bite off the offered spoon.
The servant was startled by the... almost friendly behavior. The prisoner’s eyes were still cold and sharp, but the servant had never heard of anyone else experiencing the prisoner acquiesce to feeding. It was unsettling, as if the servant had become some sort of dark chosen one.
He almost dropped the spoon, but held on by force of will and not wishing to be reprimanded. Though, he doubted anyone would care if this prisoner was fed a little bit of dungeon dust. It was still best to play it safe... Plus, it just seemed wrong to mistreat the prisoner just because he was such, with no knowledge of his crimes...
The servant didn’t want to ponder the questions much further. It hurt to try and think of the past. He just tried to ignore it as the rest of the food was eaten, bite by bite, and the servant could finally retreat from the oppressive cell into the hallway that would lead back to the surface.
The last thing he heard was a small adjusting of the prisoner’s chains echoing through the dark stone.
The prisoner was left in silence again.
Those words that had been spoken.
“Look, you’ve gotta be starving. Nsima isn’t much, but it’s what we have for you. Just let yourself feel better, alright?”
He couldn’t have remembered. They had made sure that was impossible.
But couldn’t something have changed?
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No.
He can’t have those thoughts.
He can’t have that hope when it would only lead to more of that same, familiar, horrible feeling that twisted through his gut and devoured him from the inside.
He shouldn’t even remember his name.
He had no use for it anymore.
So why did it keep slithering back into his mind?
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Rook Hunt...
Save your strength.
You will rise again, my child.
–––––––
Ruggie shook his head, ears twitching from side to side, thankful to finally be out of that gloomy dungeon. He wasn’t claustrophobic per se, but it gave him a chill to be so far away from the open, sunny savanna he was used to. Maybe that was because of something that happened in his past. Not that he’d know, of course... and not that anyone would answer if he asked.
They’d given him an outline when he’d first awoken, and then never gave any committal answers after, which vaguely infuriated him. Was he so lowly that he couldn’t get any straight answer about himself? It was like swimming in a pool without fins, and the only stroke you can do is the hyena paddle.
He brought a hand to both his head and stomach as a wave of nausea passed over him, combined with a small headache. He tried to steer his thoughts away from his missing memories; the pain always came when he tried too hard to remember.
The walls to either side of Ruggie gleamed blue, the corridor transitioning into an aquarium on either side. Fish and mer swam together, the latter watching Ruggie with... almost intelligent eyes. They always unnerved him, the way an animal seemed so intent on trying to communicate. But that was crazy... mer weren’t intelligent enough to speak with beastkin. Growls and grunts could barely be described as communication even within their own species. He must’ve... been reading too much into it.
He sped up a bit to pass the tanks faster, hoping to just get back and be able to finally eat something. He’d been denying himself all day, hoping to finish his morning orders before breakfast, which... obviously hadn’t happened. The Cobra had thrown a fit, tearing up his room, which His Majesty Farena had then instructed a team including Ruggie to fix. So, no breakfast. Then one of the others on the team volunteered to stay and sew the curtains back together... on the condition that Ruggie take over her duty to feed the Prisoner that day. So Ruggie had to take care of that immediately so no one would know she was exchanging jobs. So he had to run across the palace, prepare nsima, run back across the length, and then go into the dungeon and navigate to the Prisoner’s cell, then feed him, and...
Absent Seven, he just needed to eat. Food was the only thing on his mind.
Food was the only thing on his mind...
“What’s taking so long?!”
“Sir, the technology is still unstable! To use it on him would be dangerous at best, or...”
“I don’t care. Just get rid of his inconvenient memories. Leave the rest, we can fill in the gaps.”
“We’ll... we’ll try, sir.”
He awoke, though he couldn’t remember falling asleep. Nor being awake prior. His head hurt. All he could remember was the fact that he... was a person. He existed. Everything else...
There was nothing else.
“Hyena. You’re awake.”
There was a calm voice.
He opened his eyes. There was stone above him. Around him. Below him. He was in a room of stone. Even the simple sight pained his eyes to see, and he let out a small whine.
The voice growled lowly. “Hm. Not a promising performance. You require water.”
A cold liquid was forced down his throat. He gagged, disoriented, trying to expel the sudden stimulus. A paw was roughly placed over his mouth, forcing him to swallow. His own paws felt weighed down, not restrained, but unable to move from some mental block. There was nothing he could do to prevent anything going on.
He tried to close his eyes and block out the experience. This couldn’t be happening. He didn’t even know who he was, what was he doing here? Who were these people? Why was he being treated like this?
“Now you can speak.” The voice said again. It sounded so self-assured, so in control.
Everything still felt so off-kilter. His ears folded back against his head, and he growled in response, a simple “stay away from me”. He didn’t want to have to be near anyone.
The voice growled again, a disdainful response. “Is he broken?” Footsteps crossed from one side of him to the other. “What went wrong? How badly did you mess up?”
Another, high-pitched voice joined the cacophony. “W-we’re not sure, sir! It should have done everything it was supposed to. But, this is still experimental technology...”
A roar. “What are we supposed to do with this?! A hyena that can’t even listen to the most basic of sentences?!”
He groaned, the thundering sounds too much for him to handle. His ears felt like they were on fire. He tried to turn away, rolling onto his side, arms wrapping around him in a small comfort.
An exchange of snarls occurred, however much he tried to block it out. “Fine then. Put him under again. We’ll see what he tries a second time.”
He felt his mind fade out.
He awoke, though he couldn’t remember falling asleep. Nor being awake prior. His head hurt. All he could remember was the fact that he... was a person. He existed. Everything else...
There was nothing else.
“Finally. You’re awake.”
There was an agitated voice.
He opened his eyes. There was stone above him. Around him. Below him. He was in a room of stone. He felt lightheaded, even from the simple sight, and he shut his eyes to try and make it go away.
“You speak to him. Give him the story.”
A warm softness pressed against his forehead. A softer voice replaced the harsh and agitated one. “Hey, Ruggie, we were all worried about you. You took a really bad blow in that fight.”
“...Fight?” He didn’t know why he spoke. Nothing made sense. If he asked... maybe someone would tell him something.
The softness rubbed from side to side, encouraging him to open his eyes. He saw a person above him, with long hair and two black-and-white striped ears. Their kind eyes were a soft green, looking down on him and giving him... some comfort, if that was what this warm feeling was.
The person smiled sadly. “You don’t remember? We were fighting two renegades who went against the kingdom. You got knocked out, and then after we subdued them, we brought you back.”
He tried to shake his head, still confused, though his thoughts were getting a bit clearer. He took in all the information, sifting through it to try and form a picture. But that still left a gaping question he had to answer.
“Who... am I?”
A terrible roar of anger and frustration shook the castle.
Ruggie shook off the rest of the flashback. He shut his eyes tight just like he had that night.
It was too painful.
Even when the other servants took him away, he still... he hadn’t been able to escape the image of the face of His Majesty, twisted with rage, eyes fixed on Ruggie like he was a tumor that needed to be cut from the kingdom’s flawless body.
He gripped tight the plate of food he held as he rushed back to his room, shutting the door. He’d never felt any sense of familiarity there, even as it was one of the only constants he had. They said he used to live in this room before, too, but...
It didn’t matter.
He didn’t need to know.
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Ruggie Bucchi...
Salvage your strength.
You will remember again, my child.
–––––––
A twitch.
Another flash of pain.
His right hand clenched while the chafing ran its course and died down.
He leaned his head back, slowly, ever so cautiously, trying to set it against the wall without getting anything pushed around.
He opened his eye. The other one blinked to life on its own.
There was a hole in the wall. A balcony. The blue sky was beyond it. He wished he could see it.
A list of analyses, identifications, data collections, and running calculations flashed across his vision. He knew the type of stone that had been used to create the room, the exact year it had been constructed, and where war damage had forced newer repairs. He could see the concentration of moisture in the air, the verification of all the animals roaming on the plains in front of him, and the flashing time in the same consistent numbers he’d grown so used to.
17:44
He wondered if the servants had fixed what he’d done yet.
He wondered if Ruggie had been among them.
“Leona.”
There was that familiar snarl.
Leona resisted the urge to turn his head, even to pull himself up by his chains into a more comfortable position. His head was resting against the edge of the board to which his hands were shackled on either side, but he didn’t want to move more.
An attempt at composure was quickly snuffed by a glitchy twitch in his left hand, causing the hard metal to rub against the still-raw skin on his shoulder. It turned what should have been a returning growl into a breathy, rage-filled whisper. “Farena.”
The king clucked his tongue. “You are aware I remain the only one who calls you by your name. And the only one who can help with... that.” He gave a mildly bemused glance at Leona’s arm. “Speaking of which, I hope you enjoyed your little screaming session?” Farena grabbed a bottle of water and poured it into a champagne glass, acting as though it were the finest wine. “You know the drugs we use to knock you out counteract my painkillers. And still...” He gave a mirthless laugh. “You try desperately to get away with stunts like this.”
Leona could only glare, daring to move his head down to give a more direct gaze at the lion before him.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Farena drawled, turning to face Leona fully, while he adjusted his fur cloak. “This image of you, the “Cobra”, is only because of you. You feed into it when you do such drastic things. And now, look at what’s happened: only your brother cares at all for you.”
Leona tried to push past the pain. Past the fear, past the anguish. He leaned forward as far as he could go with his manacles and stared down Farena as he spoke. “You're not... my brother... Not anymore.” He spat at Farena’s feet.
A glower from above was the only reaction Farena made. He kneeled down, eye level with Leona, tail slowly dragging through the air behind him. “There is no reason to keep up this charade. Our mutual hatred is no secret. But for now, you are useful to me. Do not let that usefulness fade.”
Leona finally summoned a weak growl. “I’m not a tool...!” he forced past his quivering lips.
Farena held out his hand palm up. “Should I give you a reminder?” He began to close his fingers into a fist. “Surrender...”
Leona’s brain began to feel as though it were frying itself, panic and dormancy battling for dominance. He couldn’t let it happen again. He didn’t want to watch himself, not knowing who he was and who he was, whether his actions were uncontrollable or his own, watching only a red-tinted screen and feeling his limbs claw and rip and slice...
“Submit...”
He was dragging it out. That godsdamned lunatic was enjoying this. Leona’s brain was tearing itself apart, one half fighting to listen to the commands and the other clinging to his sense of self, to his sanity. While Farena just watched with a predatory grin, speaking the words that the snake-headed freak had whispered in his ear so long ago.
“PLEASE STOP IT!!”
There was a moment of silence. Farena’s smile had faded, and Leona was trying not to writhe in agony, mind still caught in its traitorous loop of self-destruction. He barely even realized he had screamed.
Finally, Farena moved away. “Abort command.”
Leona nearly flopped to the floor in relief, the pain dissolving into the back reaches of his mind, retreating into the chip embedded in his replacements. He wanted to curl up and cry, return to his cub days, before he had become a traitor to the kingdom and dragged his only two friends along with him.
But the time for that choice had long since passed.
When Leona lifted his head again, he saw Farena preparing a syringe, filled with a familiar liquid.
“Why...?” Leona choked out.
“Because, whether I like it or not...” he tapped the glass with one claw. “You’re still useful to me, as I said.” He crouched by Leona again, and the urge to bite him was overwhelming, but Leona forced himself not to. Farena placed the syringe against Leona’s neck, waiting only a moment before stabbing through. Leona’s urge to flinch was barely suppressed, but well employed, as the residual pain in his shoulder and face began to fade and be soothed.
Farena roughly pulled the syringe out, though Leona barely felt it, thanks to the painkillers now coursing through his system. He felt he almost passed out in relief, making a painless fist with his left hand as he heard the gears whirr into place, like an erratically soothing melody. Before he caught himself, he almost tried to knead the floor with his hind paws... which was odd. The painkillers had never made him act like a kitten before.
The other lion’s voice called out spontaneously almost as if an afterthought. “You’ll be moved back into your own room in a while. There were sedatives mixed in. The servants are too afraid to move their Cobra unless he’s knocked out.” Argh. So that explained the strange instincts.
But Leona was caught on the nickname. Cobra. He hated how it made him sound like an extension of that freak. Like he was nothing but a pawn at his and Farena’s whims, that the combination of magic and technology in his system forced him into becoming some sort of amalgamation of both their wills.
But there was no use crying over the Absent Seven. Farena gave a last seething glance at Leona before shutting the door.
What Leona wouldn’t do for the King of Beasts to give him the strength to break his bonds. He even gave one measly attempt now that he was pain-free, the chain even whining under the pressure of his mechanical arm, but nothing he tried could get the manacles to snap. Another Cobra-proofing of Farena’s that Leona couldn’t get around.
He slumped back, head falling less gracefully against the wall this time, but avoiding the edge of the wood. He could already feel more effects of the sedatives kicking in, his eyes starting to fall and his mind growing fuzzy. Sleep now reminded him terribly of the feeling that came from Farena’s commands, the haunting memory of the time he’d slept peacefully only to wake up with blood on his claws and a skewered dead body in front of him.
Still, seeking an escape from his life, the dreams pulled him down, away from his body and away from the torture, far from the machinery and the hell.
Thoughts were allowed to run free... to run wild .
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Leona, little one...
Replenish your strength.
You will rule again, my child.
–––––––
Be Prepared.