33-18 Not all Physical scars
The young man was tied to a chair, shirtless, bruised and battered, and strands of black hair hung over his face. Pale green eyes locked on the far wall of the dimly lit cell. He spat on the floor, the taste of iron in his mouth. Outside of the cell were the sounds of two men speaking. “Are you sure we should be doing this, sir? He's just a kid he's no older than my own son, he shouldn't be in a cell like that, he should be in school, he should be playing sports with friends, he should be-” The other voice cut him off “That man in there is no child that is the Siegebreaker of Izotza I've personally seen him cut through entire garrisons of our men gleefully ive seen the aftermath dozens of men fear on their faces in their last moments, they say that all they heard before the end was the sound thunder roaring.” The other man responded, “Impossible, the Siegebreaker of Izotza is said to be 250 cm tall, bearing a face like a demon, and creates storms at will. The kid in that cell should not be in a military holding complex in enemy territory,” the other man grunted. “He is a demon. Why do you think that they haven't sued for peace despite the fact that one of their biggest propaganda pieces is lying tied up in that cell, drugged, not because they fear for his safety but because they know if he's given the chance, he will return to them likely with a trail of bodies in his wake anyways it's time to press him again.” The heavy door creaked open. A tall, bearded man with a cigarette in his mouth opened the door and walked in, followed by another man holding a small sealstone core with two cables with metal attachments on them, one red and one black.
The man grabbed the hair of the one tied to the chair. He pulled the young man's hair and slapped his face with the back of his hand. “Tell us what your people are planning, and we can work out some amnesty for you. If you help us, we can get you a nicer cell until the end of the war." The young man tied to the chair looked the man in the eyes and said, “Kiss my ass.” The man with the beard frowned and said, “Look, kid im not into torture, but if you don't wanna co operate i cant give you amnesty.” The man reached over and pulled the red and black devices from the Sealstone core. He touched them together and made a jolt of sparks between the two contact points. He walked over to the young man tied to the chair and clamped the ends to his chest. The man didn't scream, he was quiet as he was being shocked the torturer pulled back “Are you ready to talk now.” the other man in the room standing in the corner watching the scene said “Sir somethings off the rooms mana is weird i feel like im rubbing socks on carpet” the man tied to the chair coughed and the bearded man looked back at him the man in the chair had pulled his arms free from the restraints “the bearded man said, Impossible how did you the drugs should still be the shirtless young man that was battered and bruised raised a shackled hand pushing his hair out of his eyes revealing the green of unpolished jade.
The shirtless young man opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, revealing a drawing on it, a magic circle with the runes for detoxification on it. The bearded man stepped back and reached for his gun. He pulled a pistol as the young man closed the distance and placed his finger on the hammer of the weapon, preventing it from firing. The man in the corner ran towards him, attempting to attack him. The young man outstretched an arm, sending a jolt of silver gold lightning into the man's chest, sending him flying into the wall. He turned his arm and placed his hand on the bearded man's face, covering his face with outstretched fingers. The bearded man began to convulse, and the smell of burning flesh filled the room. The man fell backwards. The young man held onto the gun, inspecting it carefully before walking over to the man groaning in the corner. The man looked at him in terror. “You really are a monster, just a child, and you're the demon of the Dreynas.” The shirtless young man said, “I heard you talking about your kids. I take it the war has made it so you had to leave them.” The man gulped and said, “Yes, are you going to kill me?” The shirtless young man crouched down and moved the barrel of the pistol to the man's chest, nudging a locket hanging from his neck. “Who's in there?” the man, in fear, reached up to the locket showing two children, one a teenager and another a younger child. “My kids, the older one looks to be about your age.” The shirtless man sighed and said, “You wanna see them again?” The man on the floor shook his head, affirming yes. The shirtless man sighed and pulled at the metal tags around his neck, and tossed them to the man. They read “Maj. Lorea, Ryvr, Itzcoyotyl, D.S.O.C, 27760, O-” the shirtless man stood up and waved the gun around “Hold onto that when the cavalry runs through, tell them you need to speak with the Major, that should stop them from executing you on the spot, im going to shoot you now that way in the event that they decide to conscript you they cant, sound good?” the man tried to speak up but was stopped by the sound of a gunshot he pulled his foot close in pain as the shirtless man crouched over the man with the charred face and pulled his jacket off and put it on he ripped the man's shirt pulling it off the corpse and tossed it to the man in the corner of the room “Here make a tourniquet when my forces arrive ill have them see to you in a field hospital.”
Ryvr shot out of the bed, sweat beading his forehead, heart pounding, stomach in a knot, he struggled to catch his breath. Two arms wrapped around his exposed chest, soft skin pressing into his back. Eshara's voice cut through his hyperventilation, “Hey, hey it's ok, we're here, nothing is going to hurt you.” Ryvr looked down at his hands, callused, with small nicks and scars on them. He looked at his arms and chest healed scars and cuts on his body. He looked around the room, the large bed, all five of his wives wrapped in the sheets. He slowed his breathing before leaning back his head, falling directly in front of Eshara. She pulled him closer, “If you don't mind me asking what that one was about.” Ryvr inhaled. “It was in the days leading up to the Elurra massacre, the battle that made me, the battle in which Major Ryvr Itzcoyotyl Lorea died, and the king consort, First fleet. Commandant Admiral Lorea was born.” Eshara pulled him closer. “Do you want to talk about it?” he frowned and said, “No, there isn't much to talk about there, the only thing left there is to mourn the dead. I led my men into a half-baked plan because I was following orders.” Eshara let off a gentle, reassuring smile. “What happened then?” He breathed in deeply and exhaled.
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“We were sandwiched. The lines were going to collapse in the city of Ellura. It was a months-long campaign to even get to the city. To lose the city would've forced us into an uphill fighting retreat; we would have been massacred. They had their destroyers hanging in the skies above the city, cutting off our ground forces from air support. Our soldiers, my men, were starving, brutal house-to-house fighting, paying dozens, if not hundreds, of lives for one city block. The destroyers would shell the city at night, making it impossible to sleep. I was recovering from a gunshot wound in the basement of a bar, when we arrived at the city, my squad numbered 14. By the second week of the battle, we were just 6. After another two weeks, it was just 4. Me, Coco, Yuuki, and Jameson. By that point, I was the highest-ranked through attrition, probably in the whole city. I remember walking through the streets, ashes and snow, gunfire in the distance, bodies burning, children crying for their parents that would never come back, until one day a contingent of Elurra’s defenders walked past our refuge. What I did was dirty, but it needed to be done to survive. We stalked them until nightfall until they inevitably had to rest. We were careful when we cut their throats so as not to get too much blood on their clothes. Coco, Jameson, and Yuuki put on their uniforms, and we pretended to be members of the enemy forces. From there, we put on a show; their flagship hung in the sky, supplying their forces with food, fuel, and ammunition. But it also had the key to the end of the battle, their commander. The enemy wouldn't pass up on recapturing one of the key pawns of the Dreynas Propaganda machine alive, too valuable my life alone would be enough to guarantee the release of hundreds of their prisoners. We hitched a ride into their flagship, their commander interrogated me while Jameson snuck into their magazine and set some surprises, while Coco got onto their bridge and Yuuki into their fire control. Yuuki turned their guns against them, gutting their own ships with main cannon fire. Coco set the ship on course to ram their carrier. On the way out, I took the head of their commander, Coco lost an eye, and Jameson got shrapnel to the spine. Yuuki had to carry him out; that crucial moment allowed Dreynas' forces to take the advantage in the skies over the city. Most of the fighting slowed after that, without a core mind in their defence strategy, what was left of Izotzan high command came to the negotiation table to agree to a ceasefire. It was no high and mighty war, won just two depleted war machines, two starving dogs separated by a chain link fence. I watched friends die, watched my soldiers turn to their gods in their final moments, begging for their lives as the end fast approached. Watched families torn apart for the sake of imperialism, too much blood for too little gain.”
Eshara frowned. “Do you regret it?” Ryvr shook his head, “No, I should, though, I should feel dirty, I should seek penance for what I did.” Eshara pulled him closer. “You were just a child.” Ryvr looked at her through his eyes of unpolished jade. “I cut through them, you know, that's why I held such a high rank at such a young age, every battle I tore through them like a raging storm unbridled, they gave me titles, used me as propaganda i had one of if not the highest individual kill counts on the front 954 confirmed kills by hands directly even more at the hands of those under my command.” he went silent for a moment “but things are different now even my magic is different it used to be jagged uncontrolled pure electron fury, but having the five of you around has made me refine it elegant smooth and sharp from a sledgehammer to a scalpel.” Eshara smiled softly, “I'm the oldest. I still remember when you would scorch the ground off of basic casts during training. Having you nearby some days would cause my hair to frizz on contact.” Ryvr smiled. “I might just literally be the god of storms then.”
Rosario, Senarre, Carmilla, Ryvr, Eshara, Itzel, Ayame, Nysa, and Xue sat at the long table. At the head sat Yaren, flanked closest by Ryvr and Rosario. Yaren said, “Apologies for the late arrival, everyone.” She continued speaking as Ryvr whispered under his breath, “And I had to arrive late because of everyone else, too.” Yaren looked at him furiously and said, “Is there anything you would like to say to the table, Ryvr?” He shook his head and said, “No, mother.” She cleared her throat and resumed her speech, “Good morning all, I hope you all slept well with the exception of my smart ass son, i wished to have a nice breakfast with everyone before we head off in our own directions for the day, personally after were done here i plan on getting a nice cigar and hitting the high roller tables.” Rosario tapped on her shoulder. She turned to look at him as he handed her a crumpled-up napkin with writing scrawled on it that read “Can you teach me your technique ?-S.”She looked over to Senarre, covering her face with her hands. She hastily pulled out a pen and wrote a simple word in one flowing script, “Perhaps -YIL.”