ATLANTION - LAYLA BOOK1

Part 27 Farrar

From the panoramic office window, Farrar watched the brilliant lights of laboratories and craft shops that dotted the Ironton, the Craftsman Underground City. The highest spot in the neighborhood afforded a bird's eye view of the bustling city. Herrannuen remarked, "The bulbs do not represent the city light. It is the faith that flows from our hearts." The golden dome of the city was a sight to behold, and Farrar longed to be part of it. However, his childhood experiences with the Magic Guild had twisted his mind, and he had done dreadful things to win their approval. He had since discovered that they conducted gruesome experiments to enhance their powers.

Farrar's den was a small, cramped space that he had been given when he was younger. It was early morning when a loud boom rattled the entrance. Startled, he jumped out of bed and stumbled over his boots in the dark. A man punched him in the ribs, and he doubled over in agony. The man's fist connected with his jaw, but he managed to catch the man's arm as it was intended for his temple. They grappled on the floor, and a vicious knife dug into his side. Shocked, he wanted to scream but gathered all his strength and twisted hard until it produced a loud, disgusting sound, and the struggle ended. A heavyweight now lay upon him.

"Shit, he killed Minas," a female voice shrieked in the dark.

The foyer was dark; they had shattered the bulbs. Warmblood soaked Farrar's clothing, flowing over the skin of his abdomen under the belt of his trousers. The loss of blood made him dizzy.

His residence was cramped and offered him an edge. He snatched the armchair at his desk and flung it forward. Another yelp sounded, followed by a mighty crash. He used the moment of commotion to grab the second figure in the dark. She squirmed under his weight and snickered.

"You moron. Get off me!" A cold metal thing pressed against his mouth. He knew what he was handling now.

"One bad move, and I blow your brains," the woman shouted, trying to mimic confidence.

Farrar felt her pounding heart, a trapped bird ready to explode with fear. If they wanted to kill him, they would have shot him already, but they kept him alive even after he twisted the neck of their comrade.

"I don't think so," he replied and head-butted her.

It was a gamble. The witch could have shot him out of pure rage, dread, or just a muscle tremor. But, instead, his brain buzzed and thanked his father for the metal plate implanted in his thick skull. He lunged for the lighter, and his eyes shuddered in pain when brightness exploded. It blinded the two crimson hooded men entering the room; at their back was a tall, beautiful woman he had met that evening. She was a secret black witch and an inquisitor. Her enormous eyes bulged, and her lips crooked in a wicked satisfied expression.

"Farrar Green, we accuse you of covering illegal entrances in the Underground of Illusion. You shall come with us until we decide your fate," yelled the inquisitor woman.

Feron was leaning by the door, talking with other soldiers. His face contorted with anger. His eyes were cloudy, and Farrar hoped his twin would not do something foolish.

 With bare feet, they took him to the Underground inquisitor's transporter. In a corner sat Layla with owl eyes and a purple bump on her forehead. 

Farrar reached out and gently squeezed Layla's trembling hand, his mind racing with worries and regrets. He cursed himself for not being more careful, and he cursed Herrannuen for not being there to help. The cramped transporter offered no comfort, only an uncomfortable bench to sit on. Muffled voices came from the driver's section, but Farrar couldn't make out any words over the screeching of the rails.

As they traveled deeper into the prison section through secret tunnels, Farrar took in the walls covered in brown spots, scratches, and dents, evidence of the struggles of previous prisoners. Security was tight here, with massive metal gates separating each guarded area. Farrar counted at least twenty gates before they finally arrived at their destination. He couldn't help but wonder what would become of his brother now. Would Herrannuen go savage again? The thought sent a chill down his spine.

Farrar's mind wandered to his own darkest fear: could his brother be behind this betrayal? He quickly pushed the thought away. He couldn't bear the idea of his own flesh and blood being responsible for something so heinous.

Despite his love for Ferron, Farrar could never comprehend his brother's malicious behavior. Ferron was an evil and twisted individual, and it pained Farrar to acknowledge this fact.

The influence of the dark witch blood within them would always manifest in its unpleasant ways.

As he sat there, contemplating his fate and that of his brother, he understood why Herrannuen hadn't come to his aid. She was the master of a Guild, and any involvement in illegal activities could result in a serious guild war. Farrar could only hope that Herrannuen would find a way to help him and his brother from afar.

As Farrar sat in the uncomfortable bench of the transporter, the pain in his side was becoming unbearable. He knew he needed a miracle to escape, but with each passing moment, it felt like his chances were dwindling. The blood from his wound was flowing down his abs, warming his stomach, and trickling along his leg. He looked bad, but he felt even worse.

His mind raced as he tried to come up with a plan to save himself and Layla. He couldn't just sit here and accept his fate. He needed to fight for her, to protect her. The thought of her being hurt or worse was too much to bear.

As the transporter rumbled on, he could feel his anger building. How dare they take him and Layla like this? He was going to make them pay for their mistake.