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All Rudo knew at this moment was pain.
Horrific, horrific pain.
Pain so horrible it crept into his mind, stealing his thoughts. Pain so horrible he didn’t want to move. Pain so horrible it dulled the rage he knew only so well to a point where he could barely feel it, barely touch it, as his body was in pure survival mode.
After defeating Mymo and trying to help Enjin, Rudo found himself captured by the Hell Guard. In his anger, he refused to cooperate.
The first thing they did was remove his gloves.
He couldn’t really think or move without those, so he was a useless sweaty lump on the floor. They moved him to a new cell—one that didn’t seem like an interrogation room but torture room.
The guards came in periodically, leaving him for blips of time he didn’t care to count.
His arms were still broken thanks to Mymo, so they had toyed with his injured appendages some, watching as he blanked with pain.
They had dislocated other things, too, the first ones being his shoulder, then his kneecaps, watching as he whimpered as things slipped in his body where they weren’t supposed to go.
He didn’t know if they wanted to hurt him or gain information anymore.
…
His mind perked up from its sluggish state as the door rattled open. He didn’t care to move his body; everything was on fire already. His side dug into the sloped concrete ground, his face towards the drain. He knew that he hadn’t bled enough for that, so he considered there may be worse to come. Boots stalked over—the metal-toed kind, for extra protection— pausing front of his slightly curled up body, before they decided his breathing wasn’t ragged enough.
The shoe came ramming square into his chest, a crack and a wheeze escaping his frame.
The guard was asking something, stopping, but Rudo couldn’t think. So the guard did it again, and then again, and again, the cracking lessening as the time went on. The cracking of bone, Rudo knew.
The guard got one final kick in, Rudo sputtering blood out when he did so. That was new. It started to coat his esophagus, metallic thick in what felt to be the back of his throat especially, making him feel an odd sorts of heavy. He coughed a bit more out, watching it goop out of his mouth and blob to the floor, shuffling to the drain and leaving a mark. The guard snapped something out, stomping away once more. Rudo thought that meant he was free for a while, to cough up his blood in peace.
He was wrong, unfortunately.
The guard came in with another set of boots. They came around to his back, yanking and pulling him up by the hair. Everything injured shifted, his knees and especially arms burning as he tried to cry out but was only met with more blood he spat onto the ground. They slumped him over a stool, his breathing growing harsher as he couldn’t catch enough air and couldn’t breathe without pain.
Something cracked down onto his back, digging into the flesh. He flinched. The whip came back down again, but worse this time, as it landed onto the other lashing.
Rudo knew how this worked; he’s seen the Apostles do it to tribesfolk enough. The pain would get worse over time as flesh ripped and seared, leaving the person alone to suffer and writhe in the dirtied path.
At least he had no dirty path to clog up his wounds with.
…
Rudo cursed his durability to pain mentally.
He didn’t know how many times they had gone down on him with the whip, but it was too many. His back felt raw and wet as cool air brushed against the wounds, nothing left for him to cover up.
Breathing still felt like he was inhaling flames, too. The coughing had stopped momentarily.
He could feel the cold embrace of sleep washing over him, as he was greatly fatigued. Normally, he would ignore it for as long as possible, not wanting to see Regto’s face. Now he wanted comfort more than ever, to not be able to feel, to see his father’s face again.
He let sleep consume him.
…
He woke up to someone kicking his chest in, and he wheezed out another glob of blood. His eyes peeked open to watch the blood slide down to the drain, filling stain marks he assumed his mouth had created, but hadn’t registered. The kick had shifted his ribs further, and they found new places to burrow into his lungs.
The guard who had kicked him noted his awareness, talking to someone outside of his cage. Rudo couldn’t make out words, the pain slamming back down into him as it also realized he was awake. It felt him breathless for a moment, consciousness floating, before the shambles he had left returned to him.
The guards dragged up by his arms, sending white hot flashes of pain across his body, making him wheeze for air. They dragged him out of his room and into a chair, strapping down his legs to his seat and his arms to the table. His head rested on the face of the table, too. He didn’t have enough energy for it to rest elsewhere.
They had his fingers sprawled out in front of them, eyes them up in a manner Rudo did not enjoy. He shifted his head away as the first guard grabbed his left hand’s pointer finger, that action alone sending sparks of pain down his arm even further. They grabbed his finger in their grasp, before crushing—crushing and bending until there was a snap.
Rudo screamed, his arm screamed, his lungs screamed his back screamed: Rudo purely screamed.
He thought his arms were typically bad without the gloves, but no. When they broke his finger, the pain had amplified horribly, stabs of pain jutting through his arms to his chest that already hurt to breathe and down to his legs. When the pain came for his chest, he momentarily forgot how to breathe. He screwed his eyes shut, black spots dancing in his vision. They still had nine other fingers to go, too.
…
After they had done six fingers (Left: pointer, middle, thumb, ring; Right: pointer, middle) the boy had passed out. They dragged him back to his cell, still unable to learn anything about the Sphere. They wondered what the boy was so ashamed of to hide it for this long. One guessed that he likely couldn’t even decipher them past the pain, which was likely true, but they couldn’t find it in them to care, for they found a sickening amount of joy from this job.
The previous hypothesis was proven to be the most likely when they undid the boy’s hand wraps, uncovering dark black scars that were just peculiar to them. His fingers were crooked beyond belief, though. They were dragging him back to his cell, before another guard had stopped them in their tracks.
”Kyouka needs ‘im in another cell,” the guard challenged, hat tipped down so they couldn’t make out his face like many others, accent like the rest. They didn’t blink twice.
”Where to, then?” The one who was hauling the prisoner’s right arm said. The new guard shifted slightly.
”I got ‘im. Why don’t ya’ll go report to Kyouka? Tell her ‘bout whatever you’ve found.” The new guard commanded. The two original guards looked to each other, shrugging, and dropping the Spherite face-first on the ground, saying no further.
Doing what Kyouka wanted was their primary intention, right?
…
Zanka found little issue with breaking into the Hell Guard building.
It helped that he knew their mannerisms, their building, and… well, everything. He was going to go straight for Rudo, but side-tracked to get his gloves.
Now, he had the unconscious boy shoved into a sack so he could escape without many glances.
Hopefully.
When Zanka had first scooped him up, he was horrified, to say the least. He was no stranger to the torture chambers and the people that ran it, but it still shook him to his core to see a kid he knew very well at this point bloodied and, simply, dying. It would be a slow death at least—hopefully long enough to get him to Eishia. The poor thing was so cold, but couldn’t shiver. Deep lashes marred his back, blood pooling from his mouth and nose in small dribbles. The beginnings of bruises formed on his chest. Zanka didn’t know what happened to his arms to the point where they should be black like that—he didn’t think the Hell Guard had technology to do it—but they looked painful. His fingers were crooked in ways they shouldn’t be, either—his arms were broken, too, but he knew that was from Mymo.
Zanka originally dragged Rudo into a hidden hallway, hopefully from prying eyes and ears. He slumped the boy against the wall, catching sight of his ragged breathing. He patted the kid’s cheek, trying to get some response.
”Rudo. Hey. Turd-slinger,” Zanka bit out in his normal agitated tone he typically greeted Rudo with, but the kid wouldn’t wake up, face sweaty and twisted in a grimace. He wanted to rub the red off of his face, but didn’t want to stain the uniform and have to deal with that.
”Rudo.” He said gentler, flicking the kid’s temple. He got a shift in expression as he grimaced more, mumbling something so slurred Zanka couldn’t even begin to make it out. “Come on, kid. You’re almost there.” Zanka murmured, shaking Rudo’s head gently.
Dazed red eyes peeked open, glazed with layers of pain and confusion. Zanka sighed, resting his hand on the kid’s sweaty forehead.
He was just a kid, Zanka realized. Something he and a lot of people seemed to forget. Just a kid and going through… this.
Zanka could tell that Rudo wasn’t really with him, and kind of wished he had just let the kid be in his passed out state. It was horrible to look at him—he was so pale and sticky with sweat and blood, pain laced in all of his expressions.
Rudo passed out as Zanka had started to get him into the giant sack he had found nearby to carry him out. In total honesty, he wasn’t expecting to snab Rudo today, but the chance presented itself and Zanka was getting his mentee out. Once he was confident the bag wasn’t moving too much, Zanka slipped the sack over his shoulder gently, making his way out.
He was almost free now, Rudo unmoving at his back. He was, quite frankly, scared for his apprentice. The sack was airy and easy to breathe through (he assumed), but the kid had troubles breathing before hand, too.
Zanka felt a pang of relief jitter his frame as he got out without issue, rushing back to the car outside of the city. He continued without issue for another thirty minutes, until he reached the car.
He really wished Eishia had come with, but Enjin still needed care, and once more, they didn’t think that getting Rudo out was happening today. He merely came because he begged Gris to drive him to find information, not the actual boy.
He opened the back door, slipping in. Gris didn’t recognize him originally in his new outfit, turning around to look at what he thought was a Hell Guard with wide eyes, until Zanka took off his hat.
”Oh. Zanka. What are you… wearing? Where are your clothes?” Gris asked, defenses and shoulders lowering. Zanka set the sack down gently.
“In the bag,” he said, gently undoing the top. “Get to driving, Gris, I don’t know how much time we have.”
”What? What did you find?” Gris asked, blinking rapidly but turning back to start the car. He looked at Zanka in the rear-view window as he pulled out Rudo’s gloves. Gris paled. “Did you steal those?”
”’N more.” Zanka growled out angrily, bitter as to what they did to his apprentice. He wanted to drive away more before he uncovered Rudo. Gris still seemed confused. “Faster, Gris. Please.” Zanka begged, and the supporter obliged. With Gris speeding, Zanka felt comfortable to check on Rudo, undoing the top.
”What the fuck Zanka?! You stole him?! Is he dead?!” Gris screeched looking back in horror, staring at Rudo’s white hair. Zanka panicked.
”Da road, Gris, da road!” He demanded, and Gris, recognizing his mistake, snapped back into staring at the road.
”Is he alive?” Gris asked again, breathing shaky, but not looking at them anymore.
”He was when I put ‘im in there,” Zanka mumbled, slipping him out further. He checked his breathing, to find it more agitated. Shit.
Rudo’s chest tried to heave, blood dribbling from his mouth, his chest stopping as he made a gagging noise in his unconscious state.
Oh shit shit shit shit shit—
Zanka let out a noise of panic, pulling his limp body further out of the bag. He hoisted his clammy body onto his lap, clamping his fists together and firmly slamming them below Rudo’s sternum. Rudo coughed up blood, spewing it down Zanka’s stolen pants and the floor of the car. Gris cringed.
”Still alive.” Zanka replied grimly, laying Rudo on his side. The bleeding from his mouth came more rapidly. Something must have moved when Zanka got him to stop choking, but at least he was breathing (harshly) again. Gris didn’t respond, too horrified already to look.
…
On the way to HQ, Zanka had slipped Rudo into his discarded uniform because he was so cold. He had his head resting in Zanka’s thigh, just needed to feel the boy breathe next to him no matter how shakily. The poor child was loosing too much blood, and Zanka was getting sketched out. His breathing had just gotten harsher, Rudo being unable to breathe properly.
He had woken up, dazed and not at all there, saying slurring words or calling out for his dead father. While unconscious, he whimpered and cried out at bumps. All of the noises Rudo presented made Gris and Zanka flinch.
Zanka had found his hand in Rudo’s hair, trying to make him feel slightly better. His blackened hands twitched and spasmed aggressively, and Zanka didn’t know how to get it to stop. He’d never seen anything like that before, and nor had Gris. The sight shocked them both, apparently.
Once they got back to HQ, Zanka let Gris scoop the boy up, excess clothing Zanka had thrown on top of him slipping off as they ran inside. They left the car doors ajar, just scared and panicking. They rushed inside past Semiu, who blankly stared at them and Rudo as they ran by before alerting Eishia as the two others had.
They zipped through the hallways, Gris making a mad dash as Rudo let out ever weakening whimpers. He murmured assurances to him, as his pain would have to wait; he was bleeding out and clearly didn’t have much energy left. Zanka tagged behind Gris, not wanting to be in the way. He was exhausted, too, but wanted to see Rudo through this.
”Eishia!” Gris called desperately, holding the fragile boy in his arms as they made their way to the infirmary. Eishia rushed out, blanching at Rudo’s state. She rushed back inside, followed by Gris and Zanka. She pushed machines out of the way to the nearest bed, where Gris laid down Rudo.
Enjin, who was napping nearby in his own bed, was startled awake, drowsily staring at Rudo, watching him shift around weakly and coughing up a spasm of blood before he realized Rudo was back, sitting up and panicking. Eishia sent him a withering glare that screamed for him to stay in his bed, but his legs were already swung over the sides and he was sitting up. He did raise his hands in retreat though, no longer moving but staring at Team Akuta’s youngest.
Eishia connected to Type:Heal, pumping anima into the boy. His eyes flickered open, causing the room to wince as he moaned with pain, stiff hands scratching at the bed. She went for his chest first, healing the snapped ribcage, then the lashes at his back, his arms, and then finally his fingers. Rudo stayed awake through the whole thing, whimpering. Eishia panicked when his scars wouldn’t heal.
”I can’t—Zanka, what do they do? The Hell Guard can do that?” Eishia murmured, looking over at her team member in horror.
”Eishia—“ Enjin tried, ignored.
”I don’t know. Can you not heal ‘em?” Zanka bit out, horrified and so, so angry. Gris stayed by Rudo’s side, brushing back his pale bangs. Eishia didn’t know if she should step away. She wanted to put him out into a blissful sleep, but she didn’t want to disconnect from her Jinki if he could still be healed.
”It’s not healing…” she mumbled, trailing off.
“His gloves—“ Enjin tried again, ignored once more.
”You can’t do anything?” Gris asked. Eishia whimpered and shook her head, tears gathering.
”They are scars! They do not heal!” Enjin snapped, shaking the other three from their shocked stupor. “He’s had those since he was a baby. Eishia, please do whatever else you have to do but wrap his arms and get his gloves on.” Enjin shook his head, rubbing the uninjured side of his neck. Eishia paused, before getting to work, followed by Gris who grabbed wrapping and Zanka pulling out his gloves. Eishia grabbed a blood transfusion, sticking him in a brachial vein first with some drug that sent him out like a light. She hooked up a tube of oxygen to his nose and slipping him an IV with the blood his pale body was lacking.
Gris, meanwhile, went to wrapping Rudo’s hands. He no longer whined at being touched, his body limp, making Gris feel better. Zanka slipped on his gloves when they finished.
Enjin just started the whole time, fear coursing his veins. He was pissed.
Pissed at the Hell Guard, pissed at this situation, pissed at the danger rescuing their kid had caused.
Enjin, once they were done and talking amongst one another, shifted over to a closer bed, dragging his own IV along with him to watch Rudo. His breathing was coming easier with each breath, although it still sounded like it costed too much energy.
Enjin wasn’t about to lose the boy he thought akin to his little brother. He’s thought of him as such from the moment he laid eyes on him fourteen years or so ago, just a little baby with blackened fingers, Alto clearly not mentally there.
He was so glad to see the Surberec child again, although, he was confused as to how and where he found Rudo. But that was his little brother, so he did not care.
The others eventually came back to looking at Rudo, awkwardly looking at Enjin as they wanted him to rest, too.
But there was little rest for Enjin with Rudo in critical health, so they did not scold him.
…
Rudo awoke to the feeling of cold.
He ached horribly, his arms, despite the gloves he knew he had on, screaming with pain. Did he forget to put them on somewhere?
He shifted, groaning. Someone else nearby shuffled in a stiff manner, plopping down heavily into a chair nearby. Maybe Regto?
”Kid? You there?” Came a gentle voice and giant hands that pushed back his bangs. He felt grimy and wanted a bath to feel better.
“Re’to..?” He slurred, not wanting to peek open his eyes. A familiar chuckle filtered through his ears, his eyes blinking open slightly.
”Nah, Rudo. Just Enjin.” The blonde said, his head peeking into Rudo’s line of sight with a gentle smile that seemed to relieved. Rudo recognized he himself looked a little pale, a wad of bandages on the side of his neck.
Rudo at this current moment couldn’t remember much. Not that Enjin was supposed to be dead. Not that Regto was dead. All he knew was that he wanted his family.
He whimpered as he moved a stiff arm, clinging to Enjin’s shirt. He wanted to twist to him, but he felt so heavy. Enjin seemed to get the memo, though, frowning. He looked around, before sighing.
”I’m going to scoot you over. I’m probably not allowed to do this, so Eishia might yell at me. I apologize in advance for that, K?” Enjin murmured, shifting Rudo’s numb body over, moving his IV to behind the bed, shifting his own to where Rudo’s was. He lifted up the sheets, a cold waft of air smacking his delicate skin. He shivered, Enjin shushing him gently as he climbed into the empty space, an arm wrapping around the boy. Rudo shifted over to the place of warmth, feeling a wave of comfort. Enjin curled up against him, so relieved that this boy was awake.
”You’ve been out for a few days, bud. They’re letting me walk around without me having to be watched finally.” Enjin murmured, stroking his hair. Rudo hummed, memories returning in blinks and flashes. He was still confused, but had some idea of what had happened, some clue that he was injured.
But his head felt foggy, and he felt warm and loved. He couldn’t really want more at the moment, letting the feelings blanket him. Enjin started to hum a familiar tune, his own voice warping into something that reminded Rudo of Regto, changing his reality.
He clung to what he thought was his father’s chest, sleepy and exhausted from a battle he couldn’t identify. But he knew he was safe.
He closed his eyes again, knowing the next time he woke up, he could worry.
But for now, he had warm arms around him to keep him safe.