CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  With the tome returned to his waist, Talas basked in the aftermath of Atlazar's power. Kaligan, in particular, struggled to wrestle his eyes from leather-bound aberration. Witnessing its metamorphosis at the hands of its master was incomprehensible. Mere moments earlier, a mere handful of tattered sheets, now transformed into a beautifully tailored tome, the light of its golden spine tinted pink by a crimson velvet sleeve. Although obscured by the Pirate King's arm, the emblem was unmistakable: a skull over crossed blades. The symbol that had ushered in the birth of piracy had returned to witness its victory.

  Observing him in the flesh was surreal; a legend torn from the pages of a fable walked amongst them, the swift defeat of the Admirals eclipsed by his magnificent appearance, a mythological aura swelling in his wake.

  Talas knelt over Volka's white-hot remains, grabbing what little remained of his disciple and pulling him close. Smoldering metal hissed as it met Talas's embrace. His touch extinguished the embers so that his friend could finally rest. Khan stared longingly. His brother was finally where he had always dreamt of being, in the arms of his King. Knowing Volka would never taste the sweet nectar of their victory weighed heavy on a heart that had long stopped beating.

  Talas stood and handed the body to Khan.

  "We will honor him once our work here is done. All who breathe will know his name and deeds." Talas said mournfully, placing a hand on the android's shoulder.

  "What you both became, what you sacrificed in my name will not go unrewarded." As he lifted his hand, the metallic shell of Khan's body tore away to reveal a layer of fresh skin beneath. Khan trembled as the carapace peeled back. The machinery retreated, chased by a blossoming tide of flesh. In a swell of rejuvenant gales, he regained his humanity, a second chance to stand with his fellow man. Khan was human once more.

  His fingers glanced over his cheeks and nose, gently brushing across his lips and through his hair. Tears fell from sandy-colored eyes, guilty for reveling in the pleasure his brother so longed for but would never be permitted. The other Lords stared in amazement. His olive skin was contrasted by long dark hair, slicked back to show thick sideburns that met in a drooping mustache. Narrow eyes with a feline sharpness stared back at them, riddled with sadness. Having never met either of the Cybel before their Transference, the Lords had only ever known the brothers as androids. Seeing Khan as flesh and blood was almost as striking as witnessing the miracle of reintegration, a feat deemed impossible by even the most accomplished scientists. They had expected their King to be beyond understanding, but what they bore witness to was the power of a god.

  "My king, your Lords await your command." With the grinding cadence of internal machinery removed, Khan spoke with an old colonial accent, foreign to this sector of the galaxy. He knelt before his King and, without hesitation, unsheathed an ankle blade. Gripping it tightly in both hands, he bore its tip into the palm of his hand and began to carve two crossed lines, eager to demonstrate a visceral display of loyalty. Malig was amused by the display, ardently plotting ways to worm into good favor with his King. Eternity would be a long time to spend anywhere other than at the top, and his peers would be acceptable collateral for his ascent.

  "Thane, leaving so soon?" Talas spoke with his back turned to the fleeing pair. Ranna froze in place, Soran's arm in the tight grip of his blood-stained hands. The hunters pivoted to face the gathering, accepting their escape attempt had been, at best, unlikely. Before they could utter a word of reply, Talas was upon them, swallowed by his mighty shadow. As his cloak descended, the intricately woven fabric pooled at his feet, miniature daggers patterning the surface.

  The man's very presence drenched Ranna in fear, rivulets of cold sweat pouring from his brow. After witnessing the dispiteous dispatch of the Admirals, stark dread suffocated any remnants of hope. Looking down at the bleak, hopeless gaze of the young boy beside him, he knew the burden of courage would be his to bear.

  "Let the boy walk; he's not involved in this," Ranna said, unaware of how he had managed to coax the defiant words. He clenched his fists to prevent the terror from exhibiting itself too openly.

  "How mistaken you are, Thane. Young Soran here is more involved than you or I could ever hope to be. He will assist us on our journey to Elyssia. A more pivotal role there is not." The deep rasp of his voice stained his convictions with certainty.

  "I'll never help you!" Soran yelled. Immediately, he was set upon by Ranna, the Captain's hand clasped firmly over his mouth. Stunned by the boy's brazen outburst, he realized the boy may not be as helpless as he appeared. Soran's naive rebellion was met with a chorus of laughter from the Lords, Talas himself contributing a chuckle of pity. Despite the sneers, Soran refused to accept the futility of his situation. Jeers of mockery filled the air as the pirates celebrated their victory, eager to exact their revenge on the traitor in their midst. Ranna had accepted his fate. Striking a bargain with nothing on the table was a position of unenviable misfortune.

  "Let's show the boy to his new quarters. His assistance will require some persuasion." Khan acted upon the command immediately. Ranna attempted to shield the boy but was thrown to the ground with little effort, his body still weak from his ordeal. Hoisted from the ground by the scruff of his neck, Soran trashed around in desperate panic. Despite being returned to his biological form, Khan remained a formidable man. Tempered through years of strife, he wore a thick hide that might as well have been steel. He tossed the boy into the now empty glass cylinder, and the dormant restraints sprang to life. The mechanized hydra clasped Soran's extremities, constricting his waist. Winded by the sudden binding, he gasped fiercely to reclaim the stolen breath. The Lords gathered around with a morbid curiosity, eager to witness the imprisonment process for themselves. Ranna, held back by Malig and Neraka with knives at his throat, was forced to watch. Soran's eyes darted around, desperately looking for a way out, distracted by the encroaching tubes. He tilted his head to avoid their intrusion, but to no avail. Coated in a gelatinous film of sterilizing gels, the black tendrils forced their way into his body. His nose and mouth were overtaken by the invasive metal vipers, burrowing deep into his lungs and filling them with rich oxygen. An anesthetic mist settled in his skull. The chemicals made quick work of narcotizing his brain, and a nauseating serenity took over. Talas produced a silken handkerchief from his breast pocket. He approached the boy and tied it tightly over his eyes, plunging Soran into a world devoid of light. All he could do now was listen as Talas spoke the final words he would ever hear.

  "Sarchogoroth." He whispered the name quickly, scared the word would burn his mouth if it lingered for too long. "A vile name for a vile contraption. Though within its confines, you are the one to fear. The punishment it will inflict upon you will be of your own design, that which disturbs you the most. Those buried fears will be exhumed and will set upon you with a ferocity most unpleasant. It's that tribulation you will be doomed to endure. Endlessly re-lived until it finally breaks you. And you can believe me when I say that it will break you. Only then, when death is a sweet melody you long to hear, will you be ready to impose my will. Prepared for a task only you and those like you are destined to fulfill."

  As his terrible sentence was handed down, liquefied fear poured from the boy's eyes. Tears fell over his cheeks and onto the cold metal bindings that crushed him into ceaseless suffocation. A viscous liquid crawled down his esophagus, filling his stomach with a freezing substance. Violently, his body convulsed. His eyes rolled back, plunging him into unconsciousness.

  Condemned to roam the dark recesses of his mind, Soran would be unable to quell the visions of misery that slithered below the surface of his subconscious. Cries for help, forever trapped in a mouth unable to scream.

  Ranna's face streamed with tears; the lump in his throat immovable, the strength to fight back extinguished. Khan and Kaligan turned the wheels on either side of the chamber, and the glass plating descended, returning to its sealed state. As they turned, the sand-filled gourd maneuvered to the tank's summit, where it proceeded to dispense its torrent of desert, burying Soran alive in a gravelly tomb. Ranna could imagine no crueler fate, cursing the name of whoever constructed the hideous contraption.

  The final grain dropped from the gourd. Not a shred of the boy remained visible through the veil of motionless sands, and silence fell upon the chamber. Talas pressed his hand against the glass, wondering if the boy would come out of the ordeal with enough wherewithal to be of any use. By reading the eldritch incantations of Atlazar, Talas was granted an obscure power, an ability beyond explanation. His essence, the soul-stuff binding him to the physical realm, migrated to dwell within Volka's tragic heart before the unfortunate capture of his corporeal form, this unexplainable phenomenon sparing him from the horrors of the Sarchogoroth. Soran would have no such reprieve and the full extent of the machine's cruelties would be unleashed upon him.

  Khan stepped forward and took a knee.

  "Galneus awaits you in orbit, my King." As his subordinate spoke, Talas's face illuminated with relief.

  "I imagined her destroyed. She sails?" He asked expectantly.

  "She sails my King." The pride in his voice washed over Talas in a warm wind of relief.

  Before taking his leave, Talas took one last look at the chamber, a farewell to the place he imagined would be his tomb.

  As they retreated, the whirring of machinery quieted, the Holo-screens dimmed, and the lights turned themselves out. Stillness reigned in the pirate's wake — the distant roar of the churning magma below the only disruption to complete silence. The sand in the tank drifted ever so slightly with each twinge of the boy's body. The visions had begun.