Fugitive (sequel to Becoming Atlantian)

Fugitive - Chapter 2

Tiberius's head was bent towards the floor. His top had been torn from his flesh and lay in the blood and bile which littered the floor around him. The smell of his blood and vomit combined was so thick and heavy, the warrior felt almost suffocated by its stench.

Panting heavily, he tried to breathe through the aches and pains within his battered body. A hundred cuts littered his skin. There would only be another nine hundred to bear before he would finally be taken to his cell. A thousand a day he would have to bear until death claimed him – that was the punishment he had been given. Blood seeped from his wounds and dripped onto the floor. Tiberius could feel his lifeblood as it flowed from cuts but his eyes were swollen closed so he was blind to all that was happening around him.

Despite the weakness which threatened to overwhelm his body and his mind, Tiberius forced his back straight and breathed through the dizziness. Sweat poured down his face, mingling with the sticky blood. They were watching him from the shadows. Dozens of other Atlantian's watching his torture like grim spectres. Only one man appeared to be enjoying it. The Matriarch's pet had his hood over his face to his expression but his glee was buzzing through the air.

"Are you ready to give in yet?" The man asked, stepping closer to the bound man.

Tiberius kept his head bowed, not even dignifying the answer.

A second later there was a tell-tale whoosh as a fist came hurtling towards him. With as much agility as his wounds could afford him, the man bowed backwards, his muscles tensing with the effort. He moved out of the way but just not enough and the blow glanced off of his already battered face.

The hooded figure shook his head and then waved his hand at the proud man before him.

"You will live long enough to regret that decision Tiberius," The voice murmured condescendingly before turning away. "Continue."

The command issued, several scarred Atlantian's detached from the wall, blades held aloft. Their faces were blank as they circled the blinded and vulnerable man. And then it began, one sword striking out after another in quick painful slices which tore through Tiberius' already battered flesh.

* *

Gasping, Aubrey shot up out of the seat before the hand stretching towards her could even make contact. The chair fell to the floor behind her but she was already in motion, spinning away from the outstretched limb before coming to a stop in the perfect defensive stance while a feral growl escaped her lips. Tiberius would have been proud. The though came unbidden and brought a wave of sadness to the red head as she kept her eyes focused on her enemy.

Even as the man came into focus, all Aubrey could see in her mind was her mentor and friend being tortured.

"Oh my," a woman's voice murmured drawing Aubrey from her horrors.

The woman who had been so kind to her before, was now pale faced, both hands clasped over her mouth. Horror was written all over her face as she stared at the fiery haired stranger standing before her. It hit Aubrey with startling clarity – Deirdre was afraid.

Gulping, Aubrey forcibly relaxed her taught muscles and pushed a smile on to her lips. It was more difficult than anything she had done for a long time. All of her concentration was needed to loosen her stiff body muscle by muscle. It took at least a minute for her to fight back her instinctual need to fight and to regain some semblance of calm. Only when the sharpened bread knife almost fell from her hand did Aubrey realise she held the blade before her like a weapon.

With wide eyes, Aubrey glanced up at the man who now stood on the other side of the dining table and felt true horror sweep through her. He was tall, taller than Tiberius was but he was skinnier Dark hair was shorn close to his scalp but his face was kind. But there, across his cheek, was a thin line and as she watched it started to weep crimson liquid all over his skin.