Chapter Text
Goddamit...I can't move, yet, I'm being moved.
Hands, on my arms, dragging me through the ground.
Your grave, slowly growing distant, as my eyes fight to stay open. My sight is...blurry, shifting out of focus, and my ears ring.
What's happening? Did...they found me? Did...they caught me? I can't tell...but their smell...
Yeah, these idiots got me.
Damn the Scavangers and their tricks!
That smell, so sweet and penetrating it made me lose myself in it, even while standing guard at your grave, one of the few places left untouched by the akiridians and their lust for comodity. One of the places left out of the bubble.
There, in the wastelands, in the dark forest the bright cocoon made, hunters prance around searching for our kind.
For once, not in an effort to kill us, but with an even darker intent: Selling us like slaves, like entretainment for those invaders who took Arcadia hostage.
They have no name, but we call them Scavangers, since they hunt for those left, for those who refuse to bow our heads peacefully. I've seen them hunt other aliens, other trolls, even stalklings and wandering creatures from the Dark Lands. They also hunt magyks, humans with magical abilities, with the same intent as the others.
How could they be so heartless? So ruthless? So cruel, even towards their kind...
If Gunmar could hear me...if YOUcould hear me now, you'd be laughing at this admition of error, but, could you blame me for my previous prejudice? Morgana and Arthur left a wound which still bleeds, even if the witch had proven her worth before the war. They took so much from me, but their species wasn't the one to blame for their malice, the Hunter taught me so...speaking of him...
Lost in the abyss of unconsciousness, I wonder...where are you, hunter? Where have your bravery and determination fled to? Why did you abandoned us?
Some say what happened made him mad with grief, a husk of a man who lost it all...if that was true...then that would make us both the same.
Others say he jumped off the bridge sometime before the bubble went up, refusing to serve the akiridians, and, like the first theory, blinded by madness, by guilt. Given what I know of him, I doubt he would surrender so easily, that his mind would break as quickly.
But then again, I wouldn't know...I've been stuck doing his job, which was mine way before he came into the picture, but now, the stakes are greater and I lack what he had: Merlin's Amulet. Magic would make the trick against techonology, no pun intented, but those days are gone...
Before, it was the both of us. The Pale Assasin and Gunmar's Hellhound against the odds. Then, it was me...running around a world that shifted in the blink of an eye.
I had you, then you left. When you returned, I couldn't save you, so I left you to rest, until they found you and just in the moment I thought you were back to who I knew, you did the right thing, making me burry you again, but no longer under the rubble of a lost temple, but under green grass and a warm sun which can hurt you no longer. So, there I stayed, doing what I did best, protect our own time and time again, until today.
I came to see you, sit beside you and relax, but the smell crept in. So innocent but so powerful it made me lower all defenses, until I heard them. I tried to fight, but by then, the toxin made it, knocking me out.
And now, I'm being dragged into the bubble, into whatever hell they've got planned for me. At this point, anything would be possible, from being a carrying donkey to a guard dog, nothing would surprise me at this point. After all, Akiridans are even more twisted than humans, the only difference is that they'll hold you down while smiling kindly...
Sure, some aren't as cruel, most are actually very kind, but those in charge of this...are psychos. Preying on the weak, ravaging the need for stability by bending the morals of everyone they can recruit into an army of hounds. Hunters who will obey without doubt and die with no complaint...
Sounds familiar, doesn't it? But instead of a cursed blade to make them kneel, they use money, favors, exchanges. Something Gunmar didn't have, and, at that moment, he didn't need, even before the witch showed up, especially then.
His charisma was enough, his wit, his presence alone marked a statement. Thousands of tribes bent to his will, giving him brutes to form his army, and those which didn't, suffered his wrath. Those were simpler times, now, the logistics of intimidating would've made the Skullcrusher another slave, ready to be sold.
Maybe...it's for the better. For him, for the prince, for the witch but...what about me?
My redemption was on sight, and now, I'm ready to be sold, enslaved, traded like any other good to those who see us as beasts. Still, I won't give up, I have to flee. How? I don't know, but I won't bend over to those freaks.
I'd rather die than let them use me as a toy or trophy!
But...as of now, I can't do much. My limbs are almost numb, the core inside me buzzing like electricity on a wire, running rampant, but to no avail. Nothing responds, not even my eyes, nor any other of my senses.
I hear muffled chatter, close, far, I don't know. The smell of the toxin is stuck to my nose and throat, making me dizzier by the moment. I'm alive in a dead body, I have no mouth and I must scream, I'm trapped by someone who has learned how to disable us momentarily, and that frightens me.
The bumps on the road are all hitting my back gently, letting me know we're moving. A hearse transporting a labradorite corpse, unable to ring the bell and be set free.
As much as I'd love to panic, to rage, to roar, I can't. The only thing I can muster, is the energy to plan my rebellion, my stand against those who have taken me from your resting place.
Time goes by and if I have to guess, maybe an hour or two transpire before I feel the vehicle halting. My blurry gaze can no longer see the LED lights of the city, but the dimmed darkness of, what I assume, is a Parking Lot, or perhaps, a basement. My ears finally react as a door opens, my legs can feel a tug as my long body is dragged out of wherever I am held.
A hiss, weak and pathetic, rumbles in an obstructed throat, making me nauseus. Laughs, subtle and malicious, reverberate in my head, as it spins into the abyss.
I have to wake up, I need to run! What was that toxin? How could it knock me out so easily?!
Though my mind fights to be freed, my body remains still, slumped over like a sac of flour. Dragged by two brutish men with no decorum on letting me stand on my hooves, instead, letting my knees mark the floors, leaving turquoise lines behind us; still, they don't mind it though, as if they've done this before, as if they knew here no one will hear me scream.
The flickering lights, the dark walls, the faint smell of humidity and mold let me know I'm in a sewer or, at least, a dark passage. To where? I don't know, but some of the noise above me gives me a strong idea. Glass clanking on metal, soft ambient music, quiet chatter, each sound muffled by concrete and my awakening senses. I can't smell the alcohol, but I can hear the glasses and bottles, I can't smell metal, but the coins and fine cutlery speak for themselves.
We were below a casino, or, at the very least, a high class tavern.
Those are unusual, even within a corrupted Arcadia, but mostly visited by the akiridians who have the means to gamble. More often than not, is currency what lays on the table, same which grows in amount by the minute, only to be taken by the best at the game. But underneath the champagne and the edonistic pleasures, these places, like humans used to do, have a dark market. Then, humans sold others of their kin for their own benefit. Now, us trolls and magyk children, among other creatures, are the price for the highest bidders.
And here I am, being dragged to become a comodity. Unless I get to run.
My knees begin to burn, as the friction can finally be caught by my brain, no longer completely numb by the toxin. My claws move softly, clicking with each other, reawakening slowly. My long tail, finally whips, though softly, swishing around in anger and, at last, my fanged and tusked jaw is able to articulate, poorly to say the least, a claim.
-Let me go...- a soft growl, groggy and weak comes from my half dead self. Their laughs, macabre and ill intented, are the answer which would've earned then a kick on the mouth if I could stand. Instead, the only response they get is a pitiful growl.
The mocks fade, as the realization of my state becomes evident, the truth of it almost makes me numb once more.
-The Creeper's Sun Gas is wearing off- one of the thugs says, instantly sounding an alarm inside my head, as a million questions flod my thoughts. How? Where? Who? Only trolls know about this poison, magyks as well, afterall Morgana enhanced your dagger, a bright green blade infused with it, able to turn any troll into stone in seconds. It's origins are strange, unknown, only the elders knew how to get it, purify it and use it, mostly as a method to deal with Gumm-Gumms.
To take something as dangerous and turn it into a toxin, though genius, is...disturbing...
Who could not only give such information to the enemy, but, perhaps, help them develop it into it's new form? I...have no clue...and a part of me wouldn't like to know.
-Who cares? We're almost there- a snarky reply from the second brute holding me hostage, as we approach a bulky metal door, with a slide in window at the level of their eyes.
A rythmic knock, the slid opens, they take a look at us, the slid closes and the giant door creaks open. My body twitches, a small rebelion against those seeking to trap me, but I can barely move, like a child having a nightmare. It's so pathetic, so vulnerable but there's nothing I can do. The taste of the toxin covers my throat, making me sabor it's qualities everytime I swallow, making it dry in the process.
Like eating a can of hairspray as the spout empties the contents into your body. A film of a paper like substance making you unable to even breath without feeling like you want to torn your throat into shreds just for a chance to breathe. It's agonizing...
As I pant, reaching for whatever air is left in this place, my hooves fight to stand, to touch the ground and run, but I can't. They're heavy, sloppy, like a fawn trying to walk for the first time. Tangled thanks to how numb they still are.
I feel like a youngling again, stepping out of my stone coccoon, tumbling, getting stuck in my own tail, unable to properly balance my claws. Quiet desperation, then brought by ignorance, by the lack of experience. Now, brought by knowing, but being prevented to do so.
If this is how it felt to be under Morgana's control, I was wrong to judge you for so long...
Once inside, I can see a room, mostly darkened with only a spotlight high above a small wooden stage. Soft murmurs can be heard around me, quickly becoming silent as the door shuts behind us. A loud slam which would've made me alert if my senses were responding as they should.
Still, I can feel them. Eyes, dozens of them, I can feel them in the back of my head observing what the light can tell them of the new item in store.
As I grow closer to that lonely spotlight, the reactions begin.
Gasps, filled with amusement, with surprise as my tall and slender figure comes into view. The dark, old chainmail covering my torso making questions arise as I fall to my knees over the stage, unable to stand once the thugs let go of me.
The lights, the sounds, the frustration, everything blinds me to what's happening around me. I'm so dizzy, so nauseus, my mind can barely understand where I am. Damn whoever taught my captors how to purify and refine the Creeper's Sun Venom into gas, and, given what happens next, also how to provide the antidote...
Kneeling, weak and dazzed, a hand reaches for my jaw, tugging it upwards, forcing me to open my mouth wide. I try to clench, to keep it close, but the need for air and the rough handling, aside from my current state, make me so easy to handle, so tame and dumb.
Without a second to spare, something hot, thick and bitter is thrown into my mouth. The sensation makes me flinch, but not less cooperative, much to my dismay. It's oil, pipping hot, filled with herbs and pieces of ingridients, smelling rotten, reeking of that forsaken antidote you taught me to do time and time again to cure the wounds from your dagger. Back when you lived free, this concoction was merely inhalated, the smoke curing the crack and the stone forming around it, here, given the poison's form, it must be ingested, making the process excrutiating to those captured and drugged.
As the syrup-like beverage goes down, its heat reawakening my nerves, everything begins to fall into place. This is an auction circle, in which it's members, who I asume are akiridians, their designated humans or other aliens who have taken refuge here, are covered, hidden from sight to avoid being ratted out by whoever frees themself and flees.
As if anyone would do something about it...
The stage, in which I'm mercilessly bound with chains and a collar, it's nothing more than a display, far from reach, from danger, as the subject of the sell is admired like an animal in a zoo.
-Ladies, Gents, and other guests!- one of the scavangers shouts for all to listen. A welcoming, yet mischievious tone which tells you more than words can. His words reverberate, not only in the room, but inside my head, as it slowly recovers conscience.
The thug continues, acting grandious, elegant for such a criminal. -Welcome to Kronos' Private Auction! Tonight, we got quite a special specimen for you to take home.- Despicable, truly stomach-churning. How could they do something as disgusting? As cruel? To kidnap and sell another living creature as if they were nothing but an ancient good which would otherwise go to waste? I would tear him to shreds, all of them would be dead if I could free myself from these chains. More so over, the one they call Kronos, whoever he is.
Once I'm free, he'll be the first to taste my blades...
-Tall, athletic and powerful! This troll is the perfect bodyguard! Don't let their cracked eye and horn fool you, on the contrary! It's nothing but a sign this creature can give a fight without breaking a sweat!- and you, stupid child, are nothing if not right! You have no idea about the storm brewing behind you...
In minutes, I can smell everything around me, hear each murmur and though I can't see clearly, my mind can tell how an escape would work, the small breeze running from the other side of the room tells me there's an exit I can force my way through, but as soon as my body springs to life, the cuffs at my ankles and the heavy collar at my neck stop me from moving, leaving me there to rattle and growl like a rabbid wolf. My claws, behind my back, tied above my elbows, getting them as close as possible to each other, clearly meant to fit in anyone's wrists, but not mine.
The sensation unleashes adrenaline within me.
My instincts kick in, annoyed, searching to free myself, threatening with nothing but a bite to anyone who wants to get near me. By the gasps of amazement, of surprise, I can tell none of my kind have given such a show. I doesn't surprise me, most would cry for help, crying desperately to be freed, unable to fight, partially due to the bindings, but mostly due to their oath of pacifism.
I can imagine then screaming, but not being heard, panicking with no way out but to be sold. I won't go down, I won't simply surrender, so if I need to look like a mad lad, then so be it! I'll bite, hiss, growl and roar until I become unable to purchase. Which, given what I can hear, is working.
-For Seklos and Gaylen!- a voice exclaims from the seats, offended by my display. -What beast is this?! It most certainly isn't what we were promised!- their surprise, their disgust, it's music to my ears...
The thugs try to restrain me, only to be faced with my whipping tail and my snapping tusks. As much as I hate to say so, Gunmar's lessons are still useful. Even when the world he knew no longer exists, the way to deal with monsters doesn't.
All panic as the chains rattle, clinking around in a wild cacophony, voices claiming they've been scammed just add a harmony to it when...a voice breaks the noise.
-I say we got more than we asked for, ladies and gentlemen!- my frency, caught short, like everyone's screams. Though I wouldn't normally care, that voice...I've heard it before...
Quickly, my ears dart around to find the source, nervous, hoping it isn't from who I think it is, that is no more than a coincidence. Left, right, in front, and finally, behind me, a lonely eye catches a glimpse of metal, black, and shining by the cyan lights coming from its body.
The sillouhette sends shivers down my spine...
I thought...those things had been destroyed...how?...
-This is no ordinary troll, dear buyers. This is the last of their kind, in more than a sense...- grandious, like the host of a gameshow. The Omen walks closer to the limelight turning each doubt in my mind into an unbelievable and irrefutable fact. The black metal, the fine bright lights, the tall and imposing phisique, and that forsaken voice...it's Morando...
The heat in my core fades, as a mix of incredulity and anxiety creeps up my spine, slowing me down, forcing me to observe the Omen attentively, hoping it is nothing but a mirage, a hallucination of the reminiscing Creeper's Sun's vemon. But the closer it gets, it only becomes more real...
The creature stands in front of me, facing me, fearless, unexpressive yet confident. That arrogant stand speaking louder than any other thing, it infurates me, but also, brings back the acceleration of the night he sent his puppets to hunt me down. My insticts tell me to fight, and also to run, to face the beast, but also avoid further damage. A conflict of interest and survival, to which I can't oblige, making me shiver where I stand.
Tilting it's polished head, as if taunting me, the vessel of the tyrant proceeds.
-From what I've gathered, this specimen is quite unique.- points out non chalantly, but clearly in a manner in which he tries to poke my nerves. Unfortunately, he's very effective at it. The conflict, as confusing as it is, agrees in one thing with the rest of myself: This thing enfuriates me and it most be dealt with.
Steel chains refuse my advances, as my body launches itself to him, threatening the mechanical aberration like those thugs before him, but to no avail. My growls go unnoticed, my frown, my tusks, everything slides off him.
With a scan which gathers all my esence in his gears and code, a stroll begins around me, as if trying to observe me further.
-Last Feldspar Troll, known for their agile sillouhettes and strong digging claws. Now their remains serve as nothing but components in what we know...- continuing his speech, placing each fact around me, like cards on a table, as he walks around me, watching me. My eyes never leave his, even as a million questions race to my head.
How does he know this? When we met years ago, he even mistook me for another of his bounty hunters until I told him otherwise, thus, prompting his proposal to become one.
He came, not knowing what was a troll, nor who I was...someone must have told him or...he found the Trollmarket's lost books...
If he did, we are doomed...
-Last GummGumm, a race of trolls trained to fight and hunt humans, relentless and strong, experts in armed combat.- and so, gasps break the silence, murmurs erupt as all realize that was the reason for my wild nature, or at least, that's what they think. My growl doesn't make itself wait, as my gaze threatens him with each step he takes, but those, once again, are ignored.
-And the Last Assassin, one of two known to their kind. Devoted to protect their race from mankind.- mocking our promise, our purpose. The last straw being drawn.
The growl grows until it becomes a bite, rampant and savage, like one done by a cornered dog, but unlike it, a roar accompanies it.
To be honest...I don't know what I expected from it...
My tusks, my fangs, though they're stone-like, they can't pierce metal, more less so the star-made one used to create these abominations. Still, my instincts kick in and, maybe, I want to somehow take revenge on it, on Morando, for my eye. I want to humiliate him like he did all those years ago when he left me wounded, bested and alone as punishment for rebuffing his advances. When he wanted me as another merc, another bounty bunter to catch his planet's royal lineage.
Like Morgana, like Gunmar, like Bular, like Arthur. I wanted to face them, to kill them, but I knew it wasn't my fate to do so, it was the Trollhunter's. So, for years I stalled them, giving the hunter time to be ready, to step up.
But Morando? He was something else...
A spoiled creature like Bular, entitled to a throne he never earned. A malicious manipulator like Morgana, trying to make everyone do their dirty work. A leader with no spine, like Arthur, who fought for the sake of glory.
This bite, is all that compacted into a knee-jerk reaction, one containing fury of centuries past, and one which, unfortunately, backfires...
As my attack is thrown, the cold hand of the machine catches my jaw, firmly, its palm on my chin and each claw piercing turquoise stone before pushing me down, forcing me to kneel. Whipping me subtly, just enough to make my body oblige. The stage cracks as the spikes on my knees clash against it, and the sound leads to absolute silence.
Stunned, I can only shiver, as the adrenaline still makes each inch of me rush despite being handled roughly. Heaves, pants, grunts, the sudden defense catches me off guard in such a manner I can barely react to it.
His grasp, solid, strong, makes me unable to move. Only my eyes respond, looking at him with pure, unbridled anger.
After some moments of silence, of quiet whispers, his condescendant voice is heard once more, dripping with amusement, drunk on power. The Omen's metal claws clenching around my jaw, it hurts, but my pain must not be visible, not to him. My growl then reverberates through the machine, through the room, low and somber as his words make true a fear I didn't knew I had.
-This is Neala, Gunmar's Hellhound, and they'll be the new star of the show...-