Break and Enter

It was dark in the room, as I had dimmed the lights earlier to create a terrifying claustrophobic effect on the subject, so that when her fear began to corrupt her presence of mind, the walls and shadows would seem to cave in and entrap her - I would be the only thing left in her world, promising to bring her back to reality if she would but tell me one tiny piece of information.

In this dimness, and the slight mistiness which I had also conjured for the same purpose, I could barely make the contours and visage of her broken, ruptured form make sense. It was like a human body, but with jutting bones and slobbering organs that made it clear that this was no mere corpse, but evidence of a viciousness found only in the lowest amorality of human violence, in the dimmest shadows of human experience.

It was about that time where I began to wonder about the notion of truth, and how we could make sense of it through analogy - particularly to the opposition between light and dark, as well as the vagueness found in between.

I mean, it would be a hell of a thing, wouldn't it? I mean to go to sleep in one's bed, in one's tiny village, next to the tiny little temple with all its insignificant monks and sages of arcane and divine matters, protected by infinitesimally small guard forces, and all this being the entire truth of her reality - cast open into the light for all who cared to see to understand. Her abduction, torture and death, however, would be noticed by a mere speck of human existence, human reality, or human truth. Less so within the paradigms of other races and species within the Kingdoms. Yet the reasons behind her abduction, torture and death were more real and more true of her than anything else about her or her surroundings.

She would wake up in a dark room, full of mist and the rusty, acrid smells of blood and machinery. Suddenly, the light shines on an entirely different aspect of her experience - one she had no familiarity with. Her eyes widen with surprise and fear as she realises how I have restrained her to a chair using a bit of arcana I had lying around the place.

Everyone is so obsessed with arcana and the energies it can summon that practically nobody important is looking at all the traditional ways we have held power over each other. Force and fraud would continue to exist in a world without the gems which fuel such energies, and I intend to exploit all available methods of force and fraud until I gain what I desire.

Those insignificant monks, hm? Turns out that they had a secret. A secret so deep, so dark, so rich in its prospects, that its communication was considered a divine revelation, a prophecy, amongst their otherwise insignificant little cult.They have found a way to use people as a way to locate such stones, by amplifying the life energies of young children who seem to have naturally healthy or enthusiastic responses to arcane energies. Those children grow up and become attenuated to finding sources of significant quantity. It is the tiniest ray of promise before this interference, but they mould and shape it into a veritable beacon by the age of twenty. The monks then kidnap the hapless subject, use their ancient rites to possess the body, tap into their consciousness, and drain it of the relevant information of all points of interest, which are then recorded in empty gemstones and used to find more.

The subject is then brought back to their home and the whole experience feels like it was a dream. Just to be sure, they leave a bit of code in the brain to cause bleeding and swelling a few years after their little visit. Cutting off leads, I suppose - it's not for me to question their most sacred calling of manipulating and violating innocents to secure their power. Just to be a thorn in their sides would be sufficient.

The only reason I know any of this, or where to find such people, is because of their almost complete trust in the power of arcane energy to keep their records safe. Turns out that, after six months of posing as a wayfaring monk, my credentials were good enough to get a peek. A few prayers with a blue belt and suddenly I'm holy enough to be entrusted with evil - to know the dim shadow behind their sacrosanct light.

Now I don't have enough monk friends to put together a possession ritual, but what I do have are enough interesting methods of torture to inspire subconscious programming to make itself apparent for long enough to be recorded. Fortune had smiled upon me that day, as I had kept her alive long enough to record a map of everything within a day's ride in any direction.

It's entirely a different hell of a thing to wake up, bound to a chair, with a man like myself staring at you, not even wanting anything from you until you have experienced enough suffering for an unthinking, reflexive response to the sheer pain which racks you from the inside out.

What happens after that is unimportant - I have what I need, or I don't. In this case, I do. I have to think about that - the idea of a truth that you don't know anything about, that is nonetheless as much a part of you as who your parents were, or whether you've broken a bone before. The notion that someone can hunt you and commit violence on you to get at it.

That you can shine a light on some secrets, but others, other truths, you have to extract from the innocent flesh of other people's ruthlessness.

As for my ruthlessness?

I've now got more weapons to fight this war. One day, if I can stop those who do this on a systemic level, to assuage their own selfish desires, I won't have to worry about any of it. Until then, I descend into the darkness completely, with nothing but a torch of good intentions to guide my way.