Page 26 of Captive
The distant vibrations pulsed through the ground again. Sebastian's fangs descended involuntarily at the sensation, a predator's response that made the guards tense. Even wracked with pain, even with failing systems, he remained what he was, a creature designed to hunt. To feed.
"Look at him," Thornmaker said, his voice tense but controlled. "One horn blast and his true nature shows. We shelter a predator in our sacred spaces, feed it our blood, and expect-"
"I know exactly what he is," Boarstaff replied calmly. He hadn't moved from his position near Sebastian. "And what he's becoming."
The words struck deeper than steel. Sebastian tried to summon some remnant of dignity, but another surge of magic tore through his systems. His back arched as brass fought against bone. The sound that escaped him held nothing noble, just raw agony that echoed off crystalwalls.
"Their non-mechanical scouts are establishing search patterns deeper into the forest," the orc by the entrance reported. "Working in pairs now. Like the old hunting formations."
"They remember what they were," Boarstaff said quietly, his eyes never leaving Sebastian. "What they still are beneath all that brass and steam." His gaze was steady, observant but not cruel. "Just as you begin to remember now. Don't you?"
Sebastian wanted to deny it. To cling to two centuries of careful regulation and artificial control. But the taste of pure blood lingered on his tongue, calling to something deeper than improvement. Something that remembered what it meant to hunt. To need. To feed.
"The blood burns through more systems," the witch said, her magic probing the failing components. "The transformation,"
"Accelerates with fear," Boarstaff finished. "With hunger." His hand moved to his wounded wrist, and Sebastian couldn't stop his body's response, the ache of needing to feed.
"Warchief," Thornmaker warned, "you test him when we don't know if,"
"I need to understand what he's becoming," Boarstaff replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. "As does he. The question is whether he understands what he is without his improvements to hide behind."
Sebastian's laugh held a bitter truth that needed no enhancement. "Hide? You think we hide from what we are?" Mist rose around him as the remaining brass seared into the flesh and bone that replaced it and pushed it out of his back. "Everything artificial. Every improvement. Every careful regulation. All designed to make us more efficient predators. More precise hunters. More-"
Another convulsion hit before he could finish. Magic surged through dying systems, stripping away more artificial control. The chamber's crystals pulsed red with ancient power, their light harsh against brass.
When the seizure passed, Sebastian found the council members had drawn closer. Their weapons ready, but not threatening. Observant rather than aggressive.
"Efficient?" Boarstaff asked, his voice thoughtful. "Precise?" Hisfingers traced the rough wound Sebastian's uncontrolled feeding had left on his wrist. "Yet look what you become without artificial control. Without synthetic precision."
"Enough." Sebastian tried to make it sound like command. Like something other than the plea it was. Pale yellow mist trickled from his collar in desperate patterns as more systems failed. As more carefully regulated truths burned away.
"Not nearly enough," Boarstaff replied, his voice low but not unkind. "You need to learn what you are. What you become without artificial bounds. Without careful regulation to protect you from the truth."
The distant horns sounded again. Sebastian's fangs descended fully, not a conscious choice, but pure instinct that made the guards shift their positions slightly. The air grew thick with tension, predator and prey, noble and savage, all categories suddenly insufficient.
"The brass in his eyes is changing faster than before," Ochrehand observed, her magic crackling with concern. "That transformation is the most delicate. If it tears free before his organic systems adapt,"
Sebastian's vision faded away as pain seared through his eyes. He blinked rapidly as something ran down his cheeks. It felt like tears, but burned in ways that tears never had.
A soft cloth pressed against his cheek.
"Quick, another cloth," Ochrehand snapped near Sebastian's ear. "Before it cools and scars." She pressed a fresh rag to his cheek, deftly absorbing the molten brass before it could harden against his skin.
"Are all of the brass parts doing that even deeper in his body?" Boarstaff asked as a rougher hand pressed cloth to his other cheek.
"Maybe, it's hard to say," Ochrehand replied as the softer touch kept moving across his skin. "There are puddles under his back that might be the copper that isn't needed for whatever the magic is transforming him into."
The pain subsided, but Sebastian's vision was still dark.
"His collar is more organic," Boarstaff said. "But here around his eyes, it's like his body can't handle any of the brass remaining."
"What was even the point of putting brass into his eyes?" another elderly female voice asked, perhaps the one they'd called Doechaser. "Eyes are complex to begin with. Eye injuries often leave people blind.If they did something wrong, it could've done so much damage."
Her words brought back images of servants who'd been left deformed by his father's artificers. How many times over the centuries had Sebastian tried to block out the screams from the labs in the depths of the citadel? Sometimes it took years to master a new improvement before it was implanted in one of the nobles.
He thought suddenly of the little girl with her wooden doll, waiting in the cold chambers of his father's citadel. If he failed here, what improvements would they force upon her innocent body? What screams would echo through copper pipes as they carved away her humanity piece by piece?
Slowly, the light of the chamber seared through the darkness the changes in his eyes had left. Gracefully, the light shifted from bright white to a gentle blue. The cooler color helped mend the spaces where the brass had been.
