Casting Flames

Chapter Two

I close my eyes, trying and failing to suppress the small smile forcing its way onto my lips.

They're all so afraid of me. Afraid of what I could do to them. What I would do to them, given the chance.

"What does he want?" I ask, my voice small and low and full with as much strength as I can conjure.

He grabs my arms, pulls them behind my back, and starts to cuff me. "Don't know. But I'm sure he has fun things in store, sweetheart."

And just like that, I'm not tired anymore. My skull swings back and I think I break his nose. I hope I break his nose. Two more guards storm in and reach for me, but I don't fight them. I throw my uncuffed hands up by my head, showing them there's no need to blast me with volts of electricity.

They don't hit me, but minion number one climbs to his feet, disregarding the cuffs on the ground as he grabs his purring baton instead, and he swings it at my leg.

Pain is such a tedious thing. After a while it gets so incredibly old, but it never seems to find an end.

Other than an occasional twitch, my body is limp as they drag me to his office. After several minutes of waiting for me to recover, they finally pull me to my feet and escort me inside the blood-red door at the end of the hall.

The Warden stands in front of his desk wearing the same dull grey uniform they all wear. His, however, is accompanied by a golden badge the shape of an acorn that matches the brand on my shoulder. I have no idea what it means, nor do I really care. But I find myself staring at it, the gleam on the edges a short distraction.

When I finally meet his steel gaze , I decide I'd like to kick him in the face. But then he says, "You're being transferred." And the room around us begins to spin. They only transfer felony prisoners for one reason: to get rid of them.

Two guards hold my shoulders, steadying me like anchors as the ground rocks underneath my feet. I thrust myself against one of them, catching him unprepared. But as he tumbles to the ground and I begin to run, the other tightens her grip on my arm. She yanks me towards her, shoves me against the metal floor with a knee on my spine, and cuffs my hands behind my back in one swift motion.

A shot of sharp pain splits through my skull, the ache already blooming around the curve of my head. I keep my eyes closed even when they begin to wrench me to my feet. A groan escapes the back of my throat as they push me forward, slamming my face against the wall. I let the soldier pin me, and I tell myself it's because there's no use in fighting. But I know it's because I'm too weak.

My muscles are still sore from the baton, the headache has found its way behind my eyes, and I'm still trying to process the fact that they're going to kill me when the soldier pulls me off the wall and pushes me into a chair.

"You're not being executed," the Warden sounds annoyed, crossing his arms over his chest and blinking his disdained filled eyes.

I taste blood. I run my tongue over my bottom lip and find it's been busted open. I wonder when it happened. I don't remember any pain on the front of my face, but then again, it all tends to blend together after a while.

"The Commander has requested you."

As if anyone in the Guard, or anyone with power in general, makes requests. They only ever make demands.

Maybe it was different before. Maybe once upon a time before the air turned to smog and the oceans became acidic and the plants stopped growing. Maybe before the Casters took over half the world and left the remaining humans to punish each other on this doomed continent.