A Silencer In A Silent Realm

Hunger had overtaken agony as the preeminent suffering in Vraxlyn’s mind. As The Unwell One hid in her captivity, fretting at every creak and sound, her mental state degraded further and further. There had always been some measure of order. Suffer. Repent. Bleed. Recover. Slaughter.

At any point, she would be doing one of those. If she wasn’t, she was chained away in her den, hidden and hiding from the rest of the world, so that only those who had survived her rage knew of her. Whispers of fear seeped through the chasms of legend, and in time, stories of the howling, glowing-eyed beast spread across the land. Even within The Silence’s cruel grandeur, tales of Vraxlyn The Broken became the most frightening of all.

But now she was the frightened one. She wanted so much for this to be some new test. Some new form of suffering. Deep in her fragmented mind, there was a lingering vulnerability that begged for someone to come and tell her what to do once again. Days had become a week, and no one came for her. The only living sounds were her animalistic breath and the gnawing growls of her empty stomach.

Her room had once felt so much larger. When she was little, the chains seemed to raise high into the air to harness her into place. Slouching there now, shivering and weak, the mounting bracket was barely above her shoulders.

“Please… come for Vraxlyn…” she muttered, half-dead.

All around her, blades and metallic teeth of ravenous weaponry still hummed in waiting as they hovered just barely above the floor. Some had already fallen over, clanking down to the muted stone in drained defeat.

She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know where to go.

They had always given her orders and purpose. The empire was truth and light. Everything else was wickedness and shadow. Empire or Oblivion had been their command and life mantra, but now the empire was gone. And the songstress who had caused all of this had a powerful stone protecting her.

Hours bled slower than her festering wounds.

Vibration treatment may have set her bones towards healing, but nothing had been done about the numerous chunks of fur, muscle, and ligament that were missing.

Soon the fevers would take her.

She knew she had to leave her den.

She knew she had to find nourishment.

They’d told her she would be hurt if she ever did that, but if she stayed, she would soon be dead. Betrayal wasn’t something she wished to do. The Empire was the only sacred thing for her. But she had to survive,

“Vraxlyn is sorry, please do not p-punish Vraxlyn,” she whimpered as she forced herself to stand.

Consciousness stuttered and the room tilted as her body strained to discern where its movements ended and memories of motion began. The door was near. Each sacred blade hissed and slunk back to the corners, as though challenging her decision. They knew better than to leave this sanctuary. Nothing but pain waited beyond those doors.

Doubts of condemnation and concern whispered in Vraxlyn’s mind. Fractured voices told her to stay where she was. Long repressed recollections bubbled to the surface of thought, and Vraxlyn tensed in terror as she took one weakened step forward. Sizzling, crackling, hissing tools haunted her from the past experiences she tried so hard to forget.

Another step landed and her body ignited in forgotten fear.

The burns.

The brands.

The cuts.

The scorches.

Cut.

Cut.

Cut.

They always cut her and cut from her.

Stubs at the ends of her ears reminded her every day of the pieces of her body and mind that had been taken from her every time she’d failed or disobeyed. When she was younger, her ears elongated into delicate points. Now, they were severed, flattened, and hardened with scar tissue lining their shortened edges.

The door was close.

A thousand wounds banded together across her remembrances of the past and pleaded that she return to her chains. Every blood-stained weapon begged her to stay. It would be better to starve and die than to forsake her masters and suffer their merciful judgement once more.

But her animalistic drive to survive was overpowering her fear of suffering.

Another step brought her to the door’s opening, causing the voices in her head to rise to a shout as they commanded and pleaded for her to stay.

Then, a strange new sound arrived.

It was subtle at first, exhaling softly enough to barely rise above the ambient hums of the ancient tower.

Calming, gentle, delicate calls of pleasant voices and alien chimes glided along the walls from afar until they reached Vraxlyn. Every wall flickered with an unknown light that glowed from deep within the stone surfaces.

Vraxlyn had never seen such a thing or heard such sound. In all her years of captivity in the colloidal structure, she’d only known the darknened, matte corridors of unglossed rock and silent air.

Another call pulsed outward, and more light gleamed from within the crystalline hall. Noises rose into clarity and Vraxlyn swore she heard voices. Dozens, or maybe even hundreds of voices seemed to be humming notes that were both real and imagined. Their voices beckoned her out from her containment, and she followed their pull.

Something about the sound sent a wholly unknown feeling into Vraxlyn’s chest and legs and she found herself calming as she watched the otherworldly strands of glowing energy fluctuate and flicker behind the dust-covered surfaces.

Behind her, the horde of nervous weapons slowly crept out into the hall as well. Blades and barrels angled themselves in different directions, as though searching for incoming attacks from furious masters. They scraped and clattered against themselves as their weakened host’s heart pulled them behind her like a parade of partially animated corpses.

Down the hall they went, towards the origin of the voices.

But by bit, Vraxlyn drug herself into areas she’d never known. There had to be food somewhere. Some doors were sealed. Some were wedged open with the reaking, rotting bodies of fallen Empire.

Areas that had once been nothing but silent forbidden mystery to her were now opening to reveal vast corridors drowned in dim silver light. She limped deeper and deeper, desperately hoping to find some manner of nourishment. No sound existed beyond the haunting, abstract voices and the scrapes of her trailing weapons as they tore along the floor.

Hunger gnawed at her so deeply it felt alive inside her, impatiently gnawing at her healing bones and depleted muscles.

All the while, the voices and pulses pulled her forward.

Every chant felt as though it was being formed by mouths she had known long ago. Every vein of light seemed to write messages to her spirit in languages she didn’t know yet could still comprehend. Radiance flowed like arteries through bodies.

She may have wandered for days. It was impossible to know. Delirium was robbing her of her sanity, and sunlight was nowhere to be found within the windowless structure. Still, she continued.

Eventually she was so deep in the tower, the rooms began to change. Machina upgrades and manufactured paneling faded, giving way to strange, organic form. Ceilings arched so high they faded in the darkness, with nothing more than threads of crystalline light hinting where walls ended.

Colossal metallic structures climbed walls like snaking vines. Some rose like trunks; others sprouted up and out like reaching hands, opening rounded ends to the empty halls. Shimmers of light blended with low vibrations. The voices never got louder, but it seemed as though they became more refined as she went.

At one point, Vraxlyn reached out to touch a curved, fluting pipe for support as her leg buckled. When she did, it responded with a mournful, shattered tone that snaked upwards in a slumbering sigh. The moment frightened her, but the sound once again made her feel something akin to calmness.

Food was never found.

So she turned back and left the alien chambers of intimidating shapes. Her only hope was to break through any of the locked doors and be rewarded with supplies.

“Hellllpppp!!!! Anyone????!!!” Vraxlyn screamed out.

Only silence answered her, but she was hoping it would have been her Silence. Instead, she found nothing but isolation.

Until one floor greeted her with an open hangar bay.

Light from the outside world cut into her eyes like knives and she screeched at the burning brightness. She had not even noticed the small airship.

When she finally caught a glimpse of the imperial craft, relief flooded her veins and she limped forward towards the vessel.

“Help!! Vraxlyn is still here! Vraxlyn needs help!!”

The ship’s doors opened and a small group of imperial soldiers stepped out in caution. Vraxlyn’s face lifted and her pace quickened. Her parade of pathetic weapons sped along behind her, toppling over themselves and sparking as the scraped the ground.

Only when she got close did she see that her comrades were not raising their arms to embrace her. Concerned, pensive barrels lifted towards her.

“It is Vraxlyn. Vraxlyn is Empire. Vraxlyn is s-safe,” she stammered in confusion.

“Blood mother, The Unwell One is still here…” one voice muttered into its communication crystal.

Vraxlyn’s head twitched at the tone.

“Vraxlyn needs help…” she whimpered.

None of this made sense to her. Barrels remained pointed at her, whispering energy-charged threats with their faintly glowing red chambers.

One soldier eyed the weapons behind her, then looked to her limp, crooked leg.

“She is… damaged. -Beyond repair.”

“Understood,” a feminine yet cold voice replied.

“That broken beast is too much of a risk now…Extinguish her and continue your search.”

Survival shook itself to life in Vraxlyn’s mind. The commander had deemed her extinguishable. But she wasn’t. She was good. She was safe. She was Empire. She had only ever done what they commanded and mutilated her to do. Nothing felt right.

“W-what?” she spoke, but it was too late.

Red ignited and the barrels roared before she could fully realize or accept that her former comrades were now being told to execute her.

Hymns of dissonance raged from polished chambers and beams of wrath tore forward to sever her from the tethers of existence. The last bastions of energy in her shield apparatus activated and the blasts were absorbed as Vraxlyn fell over herself in fear.

“No!!” she begged as she tried to crawl away.

But her leg was too weak to be agile.

Panic soaked her as charges hissed. Another burst was coming. None of this was right.

Screams of wrath echoed out in the silent hangar, and enough damage struck the barrier, finally breaking it fully. Stray streams of hate burned through the shattering coverage, and Vraxlyn was hit.

Pain exploded in her leg and back as the weakened attack landed. Even after the dampening, the blasts were still strong enough to tear deep into her flesh, sending a new wave of horror foes cries bursting from her throat.

None of this made sense.

None of this made sense.

Her masters had punished her before, but never tried to extinguish her. Charges began their countdown. One second of rejuvenation was all the slayers needed. She would be dead in one second. None of this made sense.

Barrels stayed locked on her. Death was here.

Then her own weapons rose from their haze. Terror had awoken them, and now they remembered their purpose. A guttural, murderous growl bellowed out as two dozen destructive blessings scorched across the floor to save their host. Before the Silencers could even process they were being attacked, the hurricane of jagged, sharpened metal was swirling around them and into them.

New screams sounded out, but only for a second. Limbs ripped and snapped. Throats tore. Bones broke. Spines cracked. Life force sprayed across the sides of the vessel. Then it was over.

Her former comrades were extinguished, reduced to piles of dripping pulp and twitching nerves. As for Vraxlyn herself, shock and agony blended with pain, breaking her mind further. None of this made sense.

“Why? W-Why? Why is this happening?” she cried.

All she could do was weep to herself as suffering further stitched itself into the fabric of her soul. She finally gave up and prayed to the nothingness that death would arrive soon.

Soft hums around her told her that her only friends, the weapons, had gathered over her to shield her. As she closed her eyes, blood-soaked blades rested on her shoulders in comfort, and the sky burned with golden pink.

She could not even hear the return of the voices as they softly sang to her from realms lost in time. Nor could she see the floor pulsing with brighter power as it sent ripples of vibrant red towards her crumpled body.