Read Online Markram Battles: Omens of Doom (Part II) by M.C. Muhlenkamp - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: M.C. Muhlenkamp
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out of the hall, down the glossy corridor, and into our awaiting transport. Once inside, no one speaks, no one moves, no one responds to anything in particular. We are machines. Machines of war surrounded by silence. It is absolute. Unchanging. It binds our armors. It binds our minds. The space shuttle doesn't even creak in protest of our somber spirits. Instead it honors our fear, wrapping us inside its bowels and holding us close. We are its children. The children of death.
After what seems like endless hours in torturing stillness, the shuttle stops. Seven stands, rigid and commanding. We know the drill. We have done it many times before. Our bodies react to his action in hasty unison, standing erect and bashing the shielded end of our swords on the metal floor. The harmonious clank reverberates through the walls of our mother, acknowledging our commanding officer.
The shuttle doors open to a metal enclosure, our steel keeper before the battle. I’ve never seen the arena at the Markram Capital. There are no windows in the transport and only one door. Fighters call it the door of glory. I call it the door of hell. The shuttle leaves, taking the army officials with it and sealing the wall behind us. I turn to look at Seven and see his hand wrapping around the hilt of his sword, asphyxiating the handle between his pale fingers.
I walk forward, stopping next to him, my eyes focused on the door before me. “Most people picture hell as a fiery inferno of darkness. But they are wrong. Hell is white, white as snow. Spotless. Stark. Incandescent. A sandy cage of crystal glass where strangers come to gloat at the monsters they have created.”
Seven’s voice comes out flat. “You are not a monster.”
“Are you sure about that? We kill for a living. Thrust our blades into the souls of our rivals only to satiate the blood thirst of a crowd that wouldn’t enjoy anything more than to see us die.”
He lets out a grunt, barely loud enough for me to hear. “We fight to live.”
“We fight to survive. This is no way to live.” I drop my head and look at the metal floor before me.
“What are you saying?”
For a second I don’t think I am strong enough to answer, but when I open my mouth, my words come out in a whisper. “I’m saying maybe this isn’t worth it.”
Seven leans closer. “I think we are worth it.”
My eyes snap back up, tears pooling at the edges of my vision. “I think we are damned.”
Seven grunts in disapproval and I turn my eyes in his direction. My lips curve slightly at his wrinkled forehead. I don't think I've ever really smiled at him. I’ve laughed with him over trivial matters, but never really smiled. The thought makes my insides flutter and I want to suppress the feeling, but I can't. Pain stabs my chest as the longing inside me clutches every inch of my mind. It is easier to suppress the way he makes me feel when I know he can't sense it behind his soldier wall. I shove my thoughts aside before he can grasp their full meaning, but the warmth emanating from him pries me open. I am not sure if he knows how detectable his Markram ability can be, especially when it derives from the considerate man and not the brutal soldier.
His mental touch wraps around me like ribbons of fire, traversing through my mind and decoding every emotion. I turn my attention back to the wall, concentrating on keeping the one emotion I don’t want him to find tucked inside the most secluded corner. Seven leans closer to speak in my ear and his breath brushes against my neck. Chills spread down my spine at the caress of his lungs, doubling the speed of my heartbeat.
"Thirteen." I try to bury my treacherous feelings deeper into my core, even though I know he already sensed them. "Thirteen." My neck moves instinctively at his commanding tone, but my eyes won't set on him. They hesitate, scared, exposed, fragile. "Look at me."
The pleading sound of
After what seems like endless hours in torturing stillness, the shuttle stops. Seven stands, rigid and commanding. We know the drill. We have done it many times before. Our bodies react to his action in hasty unison, standing erect and bashing the shielded end of our swords on the metal floor. The harmonious clank reverberates through the walls of our mother, acknowledging our commanding officer.
The shuttle doors open to a metal enclosure, our steel keeper before the battle. I’ve never seen the arena at the Markram Capital. There are no windows in the transport and only one door. Fighters call it the door of glory. I call it the door of hell. The shuttle leaves, taking the army officials with it and sealing the wall behind us. I turn to look at Seven and see his hand wrapping around the hilt of his sword, asphyxiating the handle between his pale fingers.
I walk forward, stopping next to him, my eyes focused on the door before me. “Most people picture hell as a fiery inferno of darkness. But they are wrong. Hell is white, white as snow. Spotless. Stark. Incandescent. A sandy cage of crystal glass where strangers come to gloat at the monsters they have created.”
Seven’s voice comes out flat. “You are not a monster.”
“Are you sure about that? We kill for a living. Thrust our blades into the souls of our rivals only to satiate the blood thirst of a crowd that wouldn’t enjoy anything more than to see us die.”
He lets out a grunt, barely loud enough for me to hear. “We fight to live.”
“We fight to survive. This is no way to live.” I drop my head and look at the metal floor before me.
“What are you saying?”
For a second I don’t think I am strong enough to answer, but when I open my mouth, my words come out in a whisper. “I’m saying maybe this isn’t worth it.”
Seven leans closer. “I think we are worth it.”
My eyes snap back up, tears pooling at the edges of my vision. “I think we are damned.”
Seven grunts in disapproval and I turn my eyes in his direction. My lips curve slightly at his wrinkled forehead. I don't think I've ever really smiled at him. I’ve laughed with him over trivial matters, but never really smiled. The thought makes my insides flutter and I want to suppress the feeling, but I can't. Pain stabs my chest as the longing inside me clutches every inch of my mind. It is easier to suppress the way he makes me feel when I know he can't sense it behind his soldier wall. I shove my thoughts aside before he can grasp their full meaning, but the warmth emanating from him pries me open. I am not sure if he knows how detectable his Markram ability can be, especially when it derives from the considerate man and not the brutal soldier.
His mental touch wraps around me like ribbons of fire, traversing through my mind and decoding every emotion. I turn my attention back to the wall, concentrating on keeping the one emotion I don’t want him to find tucked inside the most secluded corner. Seven leans closer to speak in my ear and his breath brushes against my neck. Chills spread down my spine at the caress of his lungs, doubling the speed of my heartbeat.
"Thirteen." I try to bury my treacherous feelings deeper into my core, even though I know he already sensed them. "Thirteen." My neck moves instinctively at his commanding tone, but my eyes won't set on him. They hesitate, scared, exposed, fragile. "Look at me."
The pleading sound of
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