Chapter 009 – Frozen Souls
1314 Words
Zarek's boots clattered against the icy steel floor, each step echoing crisply in the cold deadness of the interminable corridor. The air was artificially cooled, nipping at his flesh under the frayed leather of his jacket. In front of him, the silent escort glided with mechanical movement—no words, no hesitation—only a shadow moving through the narrow, seemingly endless tunnel. The walls were covered with strips of cold metal paneling, so highly polished that they cast shadows of faint glimmers from the sickly blue light throbbing in the narrow crevices between floor tiles. Not light, but a rhythmic, soft pulse, such as the slow, deliberate breathing of some sleeping creature deep within the earth.
Runic symbols glowed with a faint sheen along the walls—age-old markings etched into metal, pulsating with an inner hum. They curled and sinuated, thinly glowing with a magical energy that seemed both foreign and treacherous. Zarek couldn't decipher them, but the thrumming beneath his feet was like a coiled snake waiting to strike. This place was alive—but corrupted and wrong.
No caressing breeze to bring the fragrance of grass or rain. Just the artificial pulse of the complex, vents pumping sterile, recycled air, chill enough to freeze the back of his throat. A tomb, a cage—or maybe a factory.
"This place." Zarek growled softly, "it's not like Arcvale Academy." His voice was too big, too human within this temple of steel.
The guard in front of him, masked, did not reply, even a single glance over his shoulder.
"Where the hell are you bringing me?" Zarek's voice edged, tinged with distrust.
Silence.
They spun left, then right, the road curving like the backbone of a serpent. Down a corkscrew ramp that creaked quietly underfoot, clad in pulsing pipes that vibrated with alien, barely comprehensible power. The deeper they descended, the more intense the pungent, acrid scent of burned mana became—metallic and sharp—wrapping around Zarek's throat.
Bending about a corner, massive steel doors barred their way, bearing black signs emblazoned in bold letters stamped in rough script:
CRYOGENIC TESTING
MANA EXTRACTION
ELEMENTAL MUTATION LAB
Each door hissed softly as they moved, sliding open just wide enough to leak momentary glimpses of terror waiting beyond. In a chamber of glass walls, a wyvern floated suspended in the air, trapped within a block of shining sapphire light. Its scales glimmered dimly, but its eyes were dark, empty—alive but shattered. Tubes inserted into its muscular form, sucking out pale blue essence into tanks labeled by a silver serpent entwined around a coin—the unmistakable symbol of Malrik.
Zarek slowed, catching his breath. "What the.....Fu...?" His voice broke.
Another room was stained with red light. In it, a man—or what was left of him—stood in a heavy fog of frost, suspended like in a dream. His skin was transparent, veins palely shining with unholy light. His mouth moved and paused, gasping for air that wasn't there, trapped in slow-motion terror. The mist grew thicker, devouring his scream into a empty quiet.
Zarek swallowed hard, gut writhing. He wrenched his eyes away, each muscle strained with revulsion and powerless rage.
The hall finally ended at a great steel door, reinforced by black runes that crackled with dark energy. It hissed open pneumatically to a spotless white laboratory illuminated by runes suspended above like cold stars in a frozen asterism. The air was keener here, colder by a decade at least, and heavy with the presence of enchantments—silent guardians threading through the sterile air.
A woman stood at the center. Fiddling with a floating datapad with delicacy. Her white lab coat was stitched with changing symbols—frost curling into fire—and her hair was drawn back into a tight bun. Her glasses softly glowed, flashing with streams of data.
“Dr. Selene Kael,” a cold voice announced before Zarek could speak—like a blade cutting the tension. She was the lead bio-arcanist. Head of magical synchronization. And her eyes, sharp behind those glasses, didn’t smile.
“You’re the elemental boy,” she said, voice clinical and stripped of any warmth. “Let’s get this over with.”
Zarek’s eyes narrowed. “Nice to meet you, too.”
She didn’t blink. “Strip.”
“What?”
“Shirt off. Boots off. Full mana read.”
“I’m not some lab rat.”
Her gaze hardened, fingers tapping the datapad. “You signed the contract. You’re not a rat. You’re our rat.”
His fists clenched tightly, sparks igniting along his knuckles—angry, jagged bursts of fire that threatened to break loose. Heat bloomed beneath his skin like a warning.
Selene’s voice dropped to a razor edge. “Good. Let’s test that.”
The rig was ferocious—a vertical frame that curved about him like a clawed cage, cold metal digging into his spine. Thin silver prongs inserted under his skin, ice-cold and buzzing with raw arcane energy. A violet-glowing circular lens above his head pulsed, sending a sharp, piercing energy through his nervous system that made his teeth hurt.
"Focus on your elements," Selene instructed, taking a step back with clinical detachment.
Zarek shut his eyes, feeling deep for the fire burning inside him, the solidity of the earth under his feet. But something was wrong. The air tasted thicker and colder. The machine beeped frantically.
????WARNING: MULTI-ELEMENTAL SIGNATURE DETECTED
????PRIMARY: FIRE
????SECONDARY: EARTH
????INSTABILITY: HIGH
????ANOMALY DETECTED — PARTIAL WIND RESONANCE.
His eyes snapped open. "What the hell does that mean?"
Selene’s lips pressed thin, her eyes scanning the data. “You’re not just dual-elemental,” she murmured, awe creeping into her voice. “You’re resonating with a third element.”
Zarek’s chest tightened. “Impossible.”
“Clearly not,” she replied, voice cool but intrigued. “Your mana channels aren’t acting like normal conduits. They’re overlapping, mutating. You’re a fusion model—and highly unstable.”
Zarek struggled to breathe, to grasp what this meant for him.
Selene leaned forward, interest now evident in her eyes. "No wonder Malrik wants you so desperately."
Hours passed, with restricted "non-critical" liberty in the upper wings, before Zarek was attracted to a still corridor—a narrow tunnel with no guards, no orbiting orbs of watchfulness. At its conclusion stood a single black door, secured merely by a faintly shining rune.
The rune flickered as he stepped closer, then went dark. The door slid open with a gentle hiss. Within was a room of horrors. Lines of great cryo-chambers marched off, each one filled with swirling pale blue mist. And within each—people. Villagers. Men, women, children—frozen like sacrifices in glass coffins. Tubes tapped their bodies to siphon forth glowing mana, which some brutal machine outside the walls feasted upon.
Nameplates dangled below each pod. The names he recognized. His heart all but stopped when he saw one: Derren. A market boy. Only twelve years old. His eyes wide open, unblinking, a thin trail of frost crawling down the glass like a frozen tear.
Zarek stepped backward, his body trembling—not with cold, but with fury so raw it scorched through his veins. "They....they're reaping them," he breathed harshly, voice choked with horror. "Reducing life to fuel for a weapon."
Flames licked at his fingers, warmth bursting into searing fire that spread along his forearms and shoulders, seeking to devour him.
"This isn't about contracts any longer."
"It's not debt."
"It's monsters. It's Malrik. It's all this—" he waved wildly at the chill, distorted hive around him, "—constructed upon stolen souls."
His fists clenched tight as the flames surged. “This ends with me.”
A vow whispered into the icy silence. “I swear, I’ll bring it all down.”
- Writer
