MOTF Book I: BOTE Chapter 17

Shorya stood there as a flash of green engulfed her entire vision. A feeling of hopelessness filled her heart as she knew what was coming. Suddenly a shadow passed in front of the flash. A black shape moving almost too fast to perceive. And then a loud boom, and the black shape slammed into Shorya, knocking her off of her feet, and slamming her into the ground.

Her head spun for a few seconds until she sat up and looked behind her. An earsplitting scream filled the air. The scream was her own, and the body she was looking at was Dylan’s. As the Lightor droids dragged her off, she stared back at Dylan with a gaping hole in his chest, just laying there on the ground, motionless.

Then her entire world lit up, and she was standing there again in front of the green blast. The shadow passed over it. She was thrown to the ground. A scream filled the air. She stared at Dylan’s body as the Lightor droids dragged her away.

A green explosion. The shadow. Knocked off her feat. Screaming. Staring at her friend with a hole in his chest. Being dragged off as grief consumed her.

A flash. A shadow. Falling. Screaming. Fear. Horror. Grief. Being dragged away.

Pain. Fear. Horror. Grief. The past.

A nightmare.

Shore felt her eyes slowly creep open as a white light poured into her vision, making her squint. As her eyes adjusted to the light, Shorya glanced around and saw that she was in a room. The walls were white, the ceiling was covered in an array of overhead lights, and as she tilted her head, she noticed the floor was smooth but hard.

As Shorya sat up, she noticed that there was a metal collar wrapped around her neck, and that she was clad in nothing but white garments. She turned around, and saw a set of large heavy set blast doors. This was no ordinary room, it was a prison cell!

Next to the door, there was a Lightor soldier standing in front of a bench, sifting through a bunch of items. More specifically, they were the items Shorya had on her person when she had been captured. Her blaster, her sword, her armor, her helmet- everything was there. Even- Shorya felt a tightness in her chest. A tear welled up in the corner of her eye. Even the gem Dylan had given her back in the mines. It was just sitting there on the corner of the bench as the Lightor soldier began to slide the rest of her items into a hovering cart.

Shorya would not let him take the gem too. It was the last thing Dylan had given her before- before the Lightor murdered him. Filled with fury, Shorya leapt up to her feat, and pounced at the Soldier before he even knew what was going on. She felt her arms reach around his body, and without a moment’s hesitation, she spun her body around and wrenched his body to the side before letting go. The Lightor soldier tumbled across the floor and slammed into the wall.

Shorya spun around and reached for her blaster on the bench, but before her fingers could even begin to close around it, she collapsed to the ground, a surge of electricity coursing through her entire body. As her body spasmed and convulsed on the ground, the Lightor soldier nonchalantly walked over to her, and dragged her across the room before pulling his finger off of a button on his gauntlet. Almost immediately, the torrent of electricity stopped.

It was the collar! Shorya realized. Almost immediately, her hands flew up around the collar, and she began to yank down as hard as she could, in order to rip the thing right off of her. As soon as there was any tension on the collar however, another surge of electricity raced through her body, causing her to collapse to the ground in a fit of spasms again.

“Do you really think we are that stupid?” the man asked. “We are the Lightor. We are not dumb brutes like everyone else on this planet.”

Shorya held her tongue at that remark, her eyes fixed on the gem sitting on the corner of the table as the man continued to slide her belongings into the box. She could not let him take it, but she had no way of stopping him. Desperately, Shorya began to hope that he wouldn’t notice it. It wasn’t particularly large and it was on the corner of the table after all.

Shorya began to rationalize things in her head. She was looking at the red jewel from many different angles and perspectives in her head, frantically hoping to find one that perhaps the Lightor could look with and fail to see it. Eventually however, she began to stop picturing it in her mind. Just an empty space on the corner of the table. That was what was in her mind now. She was picturing and hoping that this prison guard would just overlook it, as if it weren’t even there. Hoping that the guard would somehow see an empty space where the stone was sitting instead of the stone itself. She was filled with desperation, and all of her thought and will was bent on that one hope. The hope that the guard would see nothing and just walk away.

Somehow, almost as if it were a miracle, the Lightor’s gaze swept completely over the gem. Every other item that had belonged to Shorya was now in the box, except for the gem. Shorya watched the Lightor’s pupils slide back and forth, as he carefully analyzed the table several several times, in order to make sure he didn’t forget everything. Each and every time Shorya saw his gaze pass over the corner of the table. But not once did she see a flicker of recognition in his eye. The man saw nothing.

As the man lifted up the box, the blast doors slid open and he stepped towards them. As he was exiting the room, the Lightor opened his mouth to speak. “He’ll be coming to speak to you soon,” the guard said with a chuckle. “Make sure you behave better for him than you have to me.”

Five seconds after the blast doors had closed behind the guard, Shorya raced over to the table, and plucked the stone off of its corner. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she cradled the red crystal in her hands. This had been the last thing Dylan had given her. No, she corrected herself, not the last thing. The last thing Dylan had given her had been her life, but at the cost of his own.

It was at that moment that Shorya collapsed to the ground in tears. Her body was trembling, not with electrified convulsions, but with pain and grief. Her best friend was dead, and the only comfort or solace she had in this prison of emotional agony was a cold red stone in the palm of her right hand.

——————————————————————————

Dylan’s body was spread out on an operating table, with several long needles sticking out of the edges of his wound and the areas around it. Connected to each needle was a small little tube. Half of these tubes were hooked up to a reservoir containing a green fluid, and half were hooked up to one containing a yellow fluid.

The needles were all part of some Lightor medical procedure that Walton had discovered by slicing into the medical computer in the base. Basically, an array of carefully placed needles are supposed to be placed in and around the wound, half of them healing stims, and half of them growth stims, in order to ensure quick and efficient cellular regeneration. Very weak electric shocks were also sent through the needles into Dylan’s nerves, in order to stimulate his regenerative and healing biological systems. Or so Walton was told by Barre.

Walton stood there, staring at his unconscious friend who was barely clinging to life. He had been standing there for several hours. Walton and the rest of the squad had been so happy when Dylan’s heart had started beating again four hours ago. Walton had never seen the squad so relieved as when Dylan’s heart begun to beat again. Since then, his wound, the gaping hole in his chest, had begun to close and regenerate at a surprisingly quick rate.

The entire thing had been an emotional roller coaster for Walton. The disbelief upon seeing Dylan’s body from across the battlefield, the rage at the Lightor, the horror at seeing a gaping hole in Dylan’s chest, the grief of thinking Dylan was dead, the desperate hope that he was still alive, the frantic slicing when Barre told him to slice the medical system, and finally the joy and relief at Dylan’s heart starting to beat again. Not to mention the pain of watching Shorya dragged off by those Lightor.

After a long and devastating battle, and the emotional roller coaster that was Dylan hanging on the precipice of life and death, Walton had ended up a bit stressed to say the least. His body and mind had both grown weary from the events of the day, but with Dylan incapacitated, and Shorya captured, it was left to Walton to manage the squad, and he could not waver or falter in a moment as crucial as this. And he also had to be there for Dylan.

Walton felt a hand on his shoulder. “Hey Walton,” Barre began. “You should get some rest.”

Walton saw that it was Barre’s left hand that was on his shoulder, and glanced over at Barre’s right arm. Instead of flesh, he saw metal. It was cybernetic arm grafted to Barre’s right shoulder. Barre awkwardly moved the fingers on this cybernetic limb.

“Still not used to the cybernetic arm are you?” Walton asked, deliberately changing the subject.

“It’s too simplistic and standard,” Barre responded. “It’s not sophisticated enough for my taste.”

“Do you plan on upgrading your cybernetic arm?” Walton inquired.

“As a matter of fact, that’ll be the first thing I do when we return home,” Barre answered. “I may even use some specs from the Excalibur combat droid design I’m working on.”

“Oh yeah, those designs look pretty badass so far,” Walton responded. “I can’t wait to see the prototype.”

“I’m thinking about making two prototypes actually,” Barre replied.

“Any idea what you’re going to name them?” Walton asked, still eager to keep the topic of conversation away from him sleeping. Walton didn’t hate sleep like Dylan did. He wasn’t the type to pass up a night of rest just to wander around in the black of night doing whatever it was that Dylan did when he was alone.

“Actually yes,” Barre responded, with almost a hint of glee in his voice. “I’m thinking of naming them ‘King Joker’ and ‘Dionysus.”

“Sounds cool,” Walton continued. “So when do you plan on making them?”

“That’s difficult to say,” Barre replied. “Maybe a few years.”

“A few years?!” Walton responded shocked.

“I have to make sure everything is perfect,” Barre replied defensively. “This is probably going to be the coolest thing I have ever created. The programing and design are going to both be really complex, and I have to make sure every detail is perfect.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” Walton replied.

“Oh it is,” Barre responded. “This may just be the greatest thing I will ever design and construct in my life. If everything goes according to plan, the Excalibur elite combat droid will be even more deadly than the Lightor combat droids.”

“Well I look forward to it,” Walton said, turning his head back towards Dylan.

“Walton,” Barre said. “Go to bed. Get some rest please. You really need it.”

Walton looked up into Barre’s eyes and froze. In Barre’s eyes, he saw the same look he saw in his own when he stared into the mirror. Fear, hope, desperation, stress, and exhaustion.

“You need some rest too,” Walton noted. “You’ve spent the past several hours administering this treatment, and you lost an arm today.”

“I can’t,” Barre responded. “I have a duty to perform. Dylan needs our help, and I’m the only one who understands this medical equipment well enough to administer this treatment. I can’t sleep when Dylan’s life depends on my work.”

Walton looked into Barre’s tired eyes for a few seconds then hugged him. A single tear rolled down the side of Walton’s cheek as he embraced Barre in his arms.

“Then you know why I can’t sleep,” Walton began. “With Dylan knocked out and Shorya captured, it’s up to me to oversee this squad.”

“I’m a unit leader, I could do it,” Barre offered.

“No,” Walton replied as he let go of Barre and stepped back. “You are too busy with Dylan, I couldn’t distract you from saving his life like that. And Sullivan is busy maintaining our perimeter. Besides Barre, I’m sure you could use the company.”

“Thank you,” Barre responded.

“You know what Dylan would say if he were in either of our positions right now?” Walton asked.

“No,” Barre replied. “What?”

“Where the hell is the blaze blossom?!” Walton answered. The two friends laughed for the first time since the battle, both of their spirits lifted as their friend and leader was on his way to recovery.

——————————————————————————

Shorya had no idea who was coming to speak to her. The last thing the guard had told her was that “he” would be coming to see her soon. Could it be a General, an interrogator, perhaps the Lightor who captured her, Shorya didn’t know. Shorya only knew that whoever was coming to speak to her was coming soon. She had to regain her composure, she had to steel herself. She slowly stood up and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

Dylan had been invincible, unbreakable, resolute and unyielding. His life had always been in his own hands, and never those of the enemy. He forged his own path, walked his own way. The enemy couldn’t kill him. The only way he could die was by choice. He had died to save her. He chose to save her life at the cost of his own. The last thing Dylan had given her was her own life.

Shorya’s grip tightened around the red jewel in her right hand. One last tear rolled down her cheek. Dylan had given her life at the cost of his own, so Shorya had to reflect that value. She had to treat her life as if it were Dylan’s own. She had to be resolute and unyielding when faced against whoever was coming to speak to her. She would not give up, she would not surrender. She had to stand for everything he stood for; the squad and the Shadikill.

The blast doors started to open. This was it, this was when she had to be the bravest. Against this interrogation, or torture, or whatever it was she was about to go through, she had to be strong for Dylan, she had to be strong for her squad, and she had to be strong for herself.

Shorya quickly tossed the crystal into the corner of the room so whoever was coming in wouldn’t notice it. She felt her body tense up as the blast doors slowly slid open. She was ready for whatever came through those doors.

It was a man. A man clad in white robes with golden trimmings and buttons. His hair was short and blond, but it was his eyes that drew her attention. His eyes were the same green as the flash from the cannon that almost killed her. The cannon that killed Dylan.

“Hello there little one,” the man began to say. “Believe it or not, I am not actually here to hurt you. I am here to help you.”

“I have a very difficult time believing that,” Shorya coldly responded.

“Oh, you’ll learn to trust me in time,” the man responded. “It is actually very fortunate that my son brought you to me, because I believe we can help each other out.”

“Well ‘your son’ killed my best friend!” Shorya shouted, barely containing her anger.

“You need to learn to control your anger child,” the man responded.

“Oh believe me,” Shorya replied. “I am. Otherwise one of us would be dead already.”

The man chuckled. “As is the way of the Shadikill, the Bladewrath, the Blastidonez, and the Speartons. War, violence, conflict, and misdirected passion.”

Shorya could feel her hands tightening into fists. This man was infuriating her. He held no regard for the lives of her race, or any of the other Innamortan races aside from his own. To this man, every Innamortan who was not a Lightor was just a dumb brute. An animal.

“Well your son had no problem eagerly jumping into the middle of the war and killing people,” Shorya spat back, vehemently.

“He fights for peace and his people,” the man responded. “It is the other Innamortan races who worship war, who create all of this conflict, violence, and death. We fight now so we will not have to fight in the future. It is not the way of the Lightor, but the way of every other race that lead to your friend’s death.”

“It was not the Shadikill or Blastidonez that had their finger on that trigger,” Shorya replied.

“And it was not the Lightor who fired the rocket that killed General Sopex back on the coastal base all those months ago,” the man responded.

Shorya felt herself tense up even more. That day at the base on the coast where she had lost her squad had been the worst day of her life, that is until Dylan got shot down by this man’s son.

“I want to show you something,” the man continued. “I want to show you the world under Lightor rule, as it should be. I can show you a war without war, without violence, without death. Nobody you care about will ever have to die again if you cooperate.”

“What gives your people the right to rule over everybody else,” Shorya asked.

Instead of answering, the man walked over to the corner of the room and picked up the red gem. Shorya froze. She was helpless to stop him as he held the stone in his hands.

“It is very curious that out of all things, you managed to hang onto this,” the man said as he stared into the crystal. “You know the guards we use are trained to perfection when it comes to finding and taking every item a prisoner has on them, yet somehow, you managed to hold onto this.”

Shorya didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to do. This man held the only thing she had left in the palm of his hand.

“You must care about this little stone very much,” the man continued.. “You would do anything to hold onto it, and against all odds, you did manage to hold onto it.”

The man took a few more steps towards Shorya as she continued to stand there, speechless.

“All I want is peace and prosperity for my people,” the man began. “And I would do anything to get that, and I would do anything to hold onto that.”

Still completely silent, Shorya watched as the man stepped even closer to her and grabbed her arm.

“Maybe you and I are not so different after all,” the man said as he placed the stone in her hands. “Maybe you and I are looking for the same thing. But your passion is misdirected towards war.”

“I fight for my friends and for my people,” Shorya responded defensively.

“Your people fight for war,” the man replied. “Your people, the Blastidonez, the Bladewrath, the Speartons, they all worship war as an art form. We are not so barbaric. We are architects, scientists, dreamers, visionaries, we are not violent warriors. We seek a brighter future.”

Shorya rolled her eyes. She had heard the Lightor propaganda before, though this man was admittedly very good at it. Better than any she’d ever seen before.

“I know that as a member of the Shadikill prince’s personal squad, you must have some very valuable intel,” the man continued. “And I don’t expect you to reveal it to me now, but just remember that you are not the only one who seeks to hold onto something. We are all trying to hold onto things, and only through the path of peace and knowledge can we all hold onto them. Sooner or later little one, you will comply.”

Shorya still said nothing as the man walked towards the door.

“How rude of me!” the man said turning around before he reached the door. “I never properly introduced myself!”

Straightening himself up and standing at full height, the man said, “My name is Barrus.”

Shorya watched in silence as Barrus, King of the Lightor turned around and walked out of the cell before the blast doors slammed shut behind him.

——————————————————————————

Walton sat there, holding Dylan’s sword in his hands. He was caressing the cold black blade with his fingers, sitting next to Barre, watching Dylan. It had been a couple of hours since the hole in Dylan’s chest had finally closed, and an hour since Barre had removed the stims. Physically, Dylan had recovered, but mentally, he was still trapped in a coma. Now all there was to do was wait.

Barre shook his head in disbelief. “According to the specs on this medical technology, Dylan’s body healed five times faster than it was supposed to.”

“Just one more way our droogie has surprised us over the years,” Walton responded with a chuckle.

“That’s not all,” Barre continued. “Chase got a full sensory recording of the blast on his HUD glasses. According to the energy output of the blast, Dylan shouldn’t have even been in one piece. His heart should’ve been disintegrated and his limbs disconnected from the rest of his body.”

“Then how did he survive?” Walton asked with curiosity.

“I don’t know,” Barre responded. “Chase says the energy must’ve somehow been diffused.”

“How is that possible?” Walton asked.

“That’s the thing!” Barre responded. “Me, Chase, Dirk, the rest of Tech- we have no idea!”

“Wow,” Walton said incredulously.

“Just one more way our droogie has surprised us over the years,” Barre repeated. “I’m gonna go get Sullivan. He’ll want to be here when Dylan wakes up.”

——————————————————————————

Darkness. A long stretching ever-present darkness. But in that darkness was passion, love, pain, and anger. Passion had flowed through him before the darkness. Swirling through him, invigorating him, strengthening him. Then he felt the energy. It wasn’t just heat or pain, he could actually feel the flow of the energy and it almost felt as if he could control it. And that’s when the darkness took him. But amidst that darkness the passion still stirred within him. There were only two thoughts. Shorya, and the Lightor who shot her. Two thoughts, and the rest was passion.

His passion was the darkness. It wasn’t just the darkness of unconsciousness, it was a tangible shadow inside of his very soul, drawn forth from the deepest part of his spirit by his passion. It wrapped itself around his mind, body, and soul like a blanket. Protecting him, invigorating him, shielding him from harm. It now enveloped him like a cocoon as he started to recover.

Slowly, he felt that darkness, that shadow, receding. Thoughts slowly started to bubble up to the surface of his mind. Ever present among them though was Shorya, and the boy who shot him. He longed to hold Shorya in his arms again like he did in the Lightor base. And he longed to rip that Lightor’s head from his body and splatter his brains all over the ground.

He felt a soreness in his chest, a tingling in his arms, the need to stretch his legs. He heard a few voices around him. He saw light rushing into his vision as he began to open his eyes. He leaned forwards and stood up. He heard one of the voices cry out, “he’s awake.”

Before Dylan knew it he felt three pairs of arms around him. He blinked his eyes a few times, and when his vision adjusted, he saw Walton, Barre, and Sullivan standing around him embracing him.

“Where are we?” Dylan asked, glancing around the room.

“We’re in the Lightor base,” Walton replied.

“Walton carried you all the way back here once the two Lightor soldiers retreated with a few of their droids,” Sullivan replied.

“Thank you,” Dylan said turning to Walton. “Thank all of you, for everything!”

After a few more seconds, the group hug broke up, and all four of them took a couple of steps back.

“Where’s Shorya?” Dylan asked after a brief silence, his mood slowly darkening.

“Dylan...” Walton began, with a very concerned and worried tone of voice.

“Where is she?!” Dylan cried out.

“The Lightor captured her,” Walton sighed. “They took her to one of their bases.”

Without saying a word, Dylan walked over to where his katana was leaning against the wall, his every thought filled with rage and hatred. He lifted the katana with his right hand, staring into the blackness of its blade.

“What are you doing?” Barre asked.

Dylan turned around to face his men, his eyes filled with hatred. “I’m going to find Shorya. I’m going to find the Lightor who took her. And I am going to kill every single one of them!”