The Stolen Star

8

There’s nowhere to go. I run in circles until I can’t take another step. They’ve had to run, too. They’re breathing hard, sweating darkening their crisp uniforms. They’ve stopped yelling at me to stop. The bigger man is gone, so I can only assume he’s circling around to head me off.

I don’t know where to go. Hopeless sinks my spirits. For a brief moment, I carried the bright hope that I could get out. Opening doors was as easy as touching them. If I could find the front door, I could--

The door directly in front of me hisses open and he’s there, the larger Ghiatam male, muscles rippling, jaw clenched and eyes blazing with anger.

And excitement.

Something in me reacts to that. A wave of energy wells up, eclipsing the exhaustion. I leap, instincts kicking in. The need to make contact, to strike, to inflict pain, is overwhelming. I know his weak spots as well as I know my own. Everything about him streaks through my consciousness. He’s a soldier, bred and built to fight. But he’s missing his armor, and he’s vulnerable.

I fling myself higher than I would have thought possible, a day earlier. My knee makes contact with his jaw. It’s a bad move, I realize. He swats at me. His hand connects with my head. It’s a lucky hit; I hit the floor hard. Stars flash behind my eyes, but I’m up, propelled by this new thing blooming to life within my brain and body.

I love the rush of energy. The way it makes every sense scream with awareness. Every hair, every cell, every molecule of my being burns bright with the need to move, to fight. I roll away from his grasping hands and fly to my feet. Like turning on a light, heat flashes through my muscles. Electricity zaps from neuron to neuron, showing me everything that might happen in the next few seconds.

Like a computer, I narrow in on the most plausible. Given his size and the narrow corridor, he’s limited. His best option is to grab for me.

And he does, as I predicted, and I’m able to leap high, plant a foot on his shoulder, and flip over his back. I’m off and running, so giddy I could laugh aloud.

The door at the end of the corridor doesn’t react to my touch. The Ghiatam warrior thunders towards me, Ikyrus and Saia close behind.

The Ghiatam slams into me. He hits me with the force of train, cracking my skull against the door. Ribs crack and buckle under the pressure. One ankle twists, caught behind the other, and the pain of the bones breaking steals my breath, steals the very light from my world.

Rough hands grip my shoulders and sling me to the ground. The giant kneels on me, one knee on my chest. He grips a handful of my hair and jerks my head sideways.

Ikyrus objects and the giant relaxes his grip slightly. Lightning bolts of pain cease to shoot through my strained neck. The giant rolls me over. The bones grind in my ankle. I can’t help by scream. Ikyrus kneels over me and pulls my arms behind my back. He’s stronger than me. His fingers dig into my flesh.

“Stop fighting,” he growls.

Cold metal bands clamp around my wrists. Sharp edges dig into my skin. Metal rattles against metal.

The giant rises and hauls me to my feet. The second my weight rests on my ankle, I scream again from the pain. My knee buckles and I hit the floor again.

“She’s damaged,” Saia grumbles.

Ikyrus’s hands slip down my bare leg to my ankle. He presses gently. I bite back another cry.  “Broken,” he says. “That wasn’t necessary, Serah.”

“I didn’t exactly choose to break my ankle,” I snap.

“Running,” he says simply.

“It would be much easier for you if I just acquiesced, I’m sure.” He reaches out and turns my face to the side. Pain creeps into my jaw. I’m aware of the copper taste of blood in my mouth. The taste sparks anger and I lean forward so we’re face to face. “I will not be disposed of like a piece of garbage. I will fight.”