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(continued from part 5)

The sounds came first, slowly seeping into his consciousness. Vague whimpers, a guttural, inhuman language Xanatos didn't recognize, and the sounds of blows, echoing in a sizeable space. His ankles hurt, but he couldn't move them. As he instinctively reached for the Force, a wave of dizziness and nausea washed over him. Someone moved closer, a swish of clothes.

"No need to pretend, Jedi." The voice was smooth, the accent hard to place. At least he spoke Basic; Xanatos had a feeling his translation skills would not be at their peak at the moment. He felt as if his brains had been stirred with a spiked stick. He scrambled to remember what had happened, to explain his current circumstances. The recent past was jumbled, but he remembered playing with Fawks, thinking there was no harm in having a bit of fun as Lariso Meenk. He had been hit with something, a dart, maybe. Obviously drugged. Head pounding, he concentrated on what his body could tell him.

An energy field surrounded him; he could hear it humming. Something made of metal, unnaturally cold, encircled his throat. There were heavy bracelets around his wrists and ankles; his feet were bare, though he was otherwise clothed.

"You're attached to a brainwave monitor – I know you're awake." Same smooth voice, close enough to smell the rotten breath.

Xanatos opened his eyes with some difficulty. He was almost upright, but slightly reclined. Off balance. A round, pink face filled most of his vision. White hair, florid complexion, strange accent. "Decided to join us, have you?"

Wherever he was, Xanatos realized he could not move from the neck down. His captor matched Qui-Gon's description of Orima, the suspected Kleranom smuggler, perfectly. This could be bad.

"I hope the inhibitor isn't too uncomfortable," the man said, with a piggy grin. "Between that and the immobilizing field, my techs have assured me that I am safe from any Jedi tricks."

The man moved away a bit, as if to take in the sight of him more fully.

"Jedi?" A laugh croaked through Xanatos' dry throat. "I'm Lariso Meenk, Captain of the Furlan. Where's my ship?"

"No." The man met his eyes again, cold and dark. "You are Xanatos T'Crion, Jedi Knight and former student of one Master Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn." He held his right arm in front of Xanatos' face. A mechanical prosthetic from just past the elbow down.

"Your Master gave me this."

"You're delusional." Xanatos tried to slow his breathing, release his sudden fear into the Force. The pain in his head spiked; his stomach clenched.

"Feeling well? They say that a Jedi attempting to access the Force while wearing one of these collars will experience neurological feedback. Quite uncomfortable, I'm told. Feel free to vomit whenever you wish."

"Ser, you have confused me with someone else." Xanatos let his voice sound weak and a little frightened. "I'm no Jedi – they aren't this easy to catch."

"They are if you have the right information -- and deep pockets." Xanatos glanced at his surroundings, still vaguely aware of the sounds of distress that had awoken him. The room was very dim; he could see that there were dark curtains separating the place he was from a larger space.

"Where am I?"

"How rude of me!" The man smoothed a hand along his rich, white clothing, with a smile designed to make a lesser man's blood run cold. "I am Orima Durante, Ser Jedi. This is one of my recreation facilities; you are my guest."

The man had given Xanatos his name, which meant he either had no intention of letting him go, or considered himself beyond the reach of the Jedi. "How many times do I have to tell you – you're mistaken. I'm no Jedi."

"Really? Hmm." Orima drew his remaining natural hand out of a pocket in his robes. "We searched your ship. Know what we found?"

"Various kinds of contraband, I assume," Xanatos deadpanned. "I am a smuggler, after all."

Orima raised his hand, letting a slim, white braid dangle from his pudgy fingers. He draped it over one ear. "Does it suit me, do you think?"

Orima's own white hair was much less lustrous than the sleek braid; it shone against the dull, short-cropped fluff that covered his head.

"Not at all," Xanatos muttered, controlling his anger.

‘What is it, then?" Orima stepped closer, allowing the braid to trail across Xanatos' chest. "A lady's favor?"

Xanatos snorted, doing his best to look disinterested.

"Not a lady, I think, unless the circumstances of your capture were not what they appeared." He put the braid back in his pocket, and ran his mechanical hand over Xanatos' tunic, tweaking his nipples through the fabric. "It looks to be a lock like the baby Jedi wear."

"Surely you don't think it's mine," Xanatos sneered, pushing away his revulsion.

"A keepsake, then?" Orima looked cold, despite his winking, porcine grin.

"I got it off a Jedi pup, after I had him, if you must know." Xanatos wasn't even trying to hide his anger, now. "It's a far cry from fucking a Jedi to being one."

"I see." Orima paused, considering. "So when you said Jedi ‘aren't this easy to catch,' you spoke from experience?"

"I said I had him. I didn't say I forced him." Xanatos indulged himself in hatred, an emotion as dangerous as it was satisfying. "It's a wide Galaxy, Durante, and there are those in it who are not so repulsive that they must buy their pleasure or take it by force."

Xanatos felt a thrill of triumph as he saw his words find their mark. He had succeeded in making his captor angry. Maybe not the smartest thing he had ever done, but it pleased him nonetheless.

"And just how would Lariso Meenk know whether I buy my pleasure or not?" Durante sneered, perhaps thinking he'd caught Xanatos in a reference to what Qui-Gon saw on Iptura.

"That should be obvious to anyone who gets a good look at you," Xanatos said through clenched teeth.

His face flushed a little pinker, but Durante swallowed his rage. He moved even closer, gripping his captive's chin with prosthetic hand.

"It's the best money can buy," he whispered, running a cold, metallic thumb over Xanatos' lips. "Almost as sensitive as the real thing."

"It's definitely your best feature."

The hand struck quickly, splitting his lip. The blood ran.

Durante caught a red droplet at Xanatos' chin and licked it off his finger. Turning toward a small screen set in the wall, he called up an image. Xanatos recognized himself, clean shaven and in Jedi robes. His mouth moved, though there was no sound. It looked like a com message. Below the image, green scrolling symbols identified him as Xanatos T'Crion, of the Jedi Temple, Coruscant. A Temple Com code – one that was supposed to be secure.

"My information is excellent, as you can see." Durante moved to one of the thick, heavy curtains, pulling it aside with deliberate slowness.

"I am going to enjoy breaking you, Ser Jedi."

Bruck opened his eyes, still slumped by the luminous tree where he had collapsed. The light was stronger now; he looked up through the branches but could see no sun in the sky, giving its light.

He couldn't see any sky, either.

Pressing his face against the silvery bark, he closed his eyes again. It felt rough against his cheek, though he knew it was actually quite smooth, as bark went. So like his master's.

The leaves above him shook with a sound like the silvery laughter of a Lentrebi. He stood.

"Master?" His voice was barely a whisper, unsure if he could trust himself not to repeat the hysteria he had experienced before his collapse. He burned with shame at the memory of his tears, his weakness. What would Master Leem think of his newly-Knighted apprentice if he had seen him? Maybe he had. Perhaps he had died and this dream wood was his punishment for failing to serve the Force.

Turning in a slow circle, he saw more trees, but none as silvery-bright as the one that had been his refuge. Bruck swallowed hard to clear his throat before speaking again.

"Master?"

The sound that answered him was a deep, humming rumble. "Ah, my tender sapling!"

Bruck spun on his heel, once again facing the tree that had comforted him in the darkness when the Sith's taunts had tormented him. It had changed. "Master Leem?"

The tall tree before him was still firmly planted in the soil, but in other ways it had begun to resemble his master. Bits of moss and an arrangement of knots suggested a face. No, there were eyes. His master's eyes. He fell to his knees. "I'm hallucinating."

"Yes, young one, but I am with you, even so."

Bruck looked up into those kind, alien eyes, and felt for a moment that his entire world had gone topsy-turvy, that the ground was not down and he might go falling into the branches at any second.

"Master?"

The tree did not answer, but only looked at him mildly. That was when Bruck knew for a certainty that this was his master. Whenever he had become agitated to the point of repeating himself, Master Leem had always ceased to answer him. When Bruck had worked up the courage to ask, his explanation for this had been that humans often ask questions without expecting answers, and that he was happy enough to oblige. He thought for a moment before he found a question he really wanted to be answered.

"I thought you had passed into the Force, Master. I stood by your pyre." Bruck settled more comfortably onto the ground, as he might have on the soil of their living quarters. He felt quite calm as he asked the question, though he was not certain he was prepared to hear the answer. "Have I passed into the Force as well?"

"I have not joined the Force completely, young one," the low susurrus of Master Leem's voice was sweeter to Bruck's hearing with each syllable. Bruck concentrated, but still found himself lulled by the sound. "We Lentrebi differ from your kind. Even your eldest are so very young. Your thoughts and movements are swift and sudden; you do not know the ages as we do."

"I saw your ashes scattered to the wind." Bruck felt tears drying on his face before he knew they had fallen. He was unashamed.

"Part of me remains with you," sighed the old Lentrebi. "I beg your forgiveness, Knight Chun."

"You have done me no wrong. I could not save you from the Sith – it is my place to ask forgiveness."

His master gave a groaning sigh. "You do not understand. Your thoughts jump ahead. So young. The young always think they know so very much."

Bruck knew better than to say anything to this. Obviously, he had missed something. When had his master ever had cause to apologize to him? He could not recall a single instance when the Lentrebi had ever slighted him. His master belonged to a slow, methodical race; he had never known him to do anything in haste. Except die. That had been a very rushed affair, as Bruck remembered it. He lowered his head, awaiting his master's explanation.

"There was little time. I did not ask your leave. The graft was the final hope, but humans are not ideal for such things."

Bruck looked up, suddenly able to see the situation with clarity. "I am dreaming, but you are not of the dream. You are truly here with me." His master said nothing, and he knew he had it right. "How long have I been here, dreaming?"

"There is no time, here. This is a place of thought alone."

Bruck jumped to his feet, which he noticed were bare. "Then maybe there is time to save him. Master, you must help me! I have to wake up. I have to help Xan."

"Xanatos T'Crion?"

"Yes, Master. I have seen visions of him…in pain. I must help him."

"He is a Knight. Why should he need your help more than any other?"

"He is my lover, Master." Bruck felt the blood rush to his cheeks. Sexual relations among Jedi were no cause for shame, but he had used terms of possession.

"This is not the way of the Jedi." The old Lentrebi groaned again, considering. "This is my failing. I saw that you went to this Knight, but I thought, ‘Humans give their affections lightly, this will not cause him to falter.' I was wrong; I had forgotten that your hearts crave touch as much as your flesh." He gave a long, leafy sigh. "My kind find our connection with all things through the Force, whether we sense it or not. The human way is alien to me."

A branch-like limb stretched down to brush Brucks' cheek. "I should have touched you more often; perhaps you would not have been so starved for sensation that you would break the Code."

Bruck felt the wooden caress carding through his hair, and noticed that it had grown very long while he spoke with his master.

"I have not broken the Code." His voice trembled with confusion. He felt so lost.

"You have formed a bond with Knight T'Crion, else you would not know his pain. Or have you seen visions of every other Jedi in danger?"

Bruck wanted to deny it, but he did not know how. How could he form a bond and not know it? "I saw visions of Xanatos in pain, and this is evidence of a bond?"

"It is evidence that you care for him more than others."

"But I cannot allow a fellow Jedi to be killed, if some action of mine could prevent it. Is that not also the Code?"

"Visions may mislead, young one." The Lentrebi shook, his presence here more tree-like than he had been in life. "I will go dormant, soon, but you will still carry what remains. You must deliver it to Lentrebi Prime, while there is time, or I will bear you away with me, into the Force."

"You cannot not help me." Bruck could see it now; Master Leem was a Force presence in his mind and little more. Whatever remnant he spoke of was not exactly physical yet not entirely spiritual. This was part of what made the Lentrebi so unique in the universe; their existence was both more varied and more unified than any other race. They had physical existence, spiritual existence and something else that was both and neither. Master Leem had done something to him as he died, left some part of himself within Bruck. This was the cause of his illness, the sudden strange power he could not fully control. He was not like the cool, luminous being who had trained him. All humans are, by nature, creatures of passion. There was a reason the Force had only given such power as this, the power to bridge dimensions, to beings like the Lentrebi.

It would break Bruck into a thousand shards before it killed him, each piece less sane than the last.

"I have not the means to wake you, Knight." Master Leem said his new title with quiet pride; the immense power of all things green breathed through Bruck's dream wood, calming him. "The task set before you is difficult, and I have not given you the opportunity to choose. For that I am sorry, Padawan."

"I forgive you, Master." The tears were flowing again. Bruck saw them drop onto the tunics he wore, which were as white as the hair that lay upon his shoulders. "Had there been time for you to ask, I would have agreed to it willingly."

Master Leem considered this for a moment before his eyes closed slowly, a gesture of acceptance among his people.

"There are things you must understand about this place, if you are to escape it. Help is coming, but you and I are not alone here."

"The Sith." Bruck had no sooner whispered the words than vines grabbed hold of his wrists and ankles, hauling him off the ground. He was hanging doubled from the branches above. The vines were black and oily. They bit into his skin and he could not struggle free. He could hear the Sith's laughter as he approached, running through the wood.

"Master!" Bruck screamed, then he went suddenly still. His thoughts were jumbled by fear. "He is really here… it wasn't a dream?"

"What I did when I died left you vulnerable, Padawan. Some part of him followed me here, but he has no power."

"He killed you, Master," Bruck saw the vines grow thicker as they trembled with his fear. "He almost killed me."

"Yet this is your dream, Padawan. He has no power save what you give to him." The Lentrebi's voice was calm, as if he were leading Bruck in basic meditation.

Bruck realized that that was indeed what he was doing. He forced his heart to slow its beating and metabolized as much of the adrenaline as he could. This is MY world. I am master here. The vines seemed to shrivel, and two of them released him. He still hung doubled, right arm and left ankle ensnared in the toughest of the vines, though they were weakening. He was getting closer to the ground when he felt the hands on him.

"I am not that easy to be rid of, Jedi." The Sith's breath was hot against his cheek. Bruck's first reaction was to struggle, but he managed to suppress it. That would only make the vines stronger. He must not fear. He must not fear.

The leather-clad hands moved over him, leaving smudges like thick oil on his white tunics. "Dressed up for me, did you? Love the hair."

The Sith jerked Bruck's newly-long hair, pulling his head back so that he saw the monster's face upside down. The Sith revealed his sharpened teeth in a grimace of triumph. "I will make you suffer so… It will be delicious."

The Sith was bluffing. Bruck felt it like a sudden splash of cool water on his face. He only had what power Bruck gave him, and he knew it. Bruck smiled.

"You'll try ." It seemed to Bruck that his movements had acquired the speed of thought. He grabbed the Sith's tunics with his left hand and used them as an anchor to spin himself around. His right foot connected with the Sith's face, sending him sprawling.

The vines had turned green. The one holding his right arm loosened and the one holding his left foot formed a loop. They shortened at his thought, hauling him into the high branches. It was ridiculous to flee, but Bruck realized he still felt fear. The oily smudges on his tunics remained, and his hair felt heavy is if streaked with mud. He could still smell the Sith's breath, still feel the hands on him as more than an unpleasant memory.

"Leave me be!" He did not shout, yet his voice carried. This was his reality, after all. "You have no power here."

"I will make this dream your nightmare," hissed the Sith. "You cannot be rid of me any more than you can will yourself awake. You are trapped with me in your own eternity, Jedi brat. How long can you hold your fears at bay?"

The Sith smirked up at him, and Bruck felt it -- the cold stirring of terror in his heart. The memory of that final duel with the Sith, when he gave over everything he had to the Force, knowing he might die…

"Stop that, Padawan," Master Leem's voice spoke softly in his ear, from nowhere. "Dwelling on your fears is not helpful."

Bruck closed his eyes and began to meditate on the nature of reality, as his master had taught him. The vines wove together to support him in a meditative pose. It was hard to close his eyes on the sight of his enemy below, but it helped when he realized there was no wood, no ground, no trees. Only his dream, a remnant of his fallen master, and a piece of an enemy that only had what power he chose to give him. He heard the Sith's haughty laughter echo through his mind.

He hoped the help Master Leem had mentioned would come soon.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Here's a link to a sketch I did of Bruck in this part of the story, if anyone's interested:
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v602/AsatoMuraki/Drawings/Bruckrevised.jpg

WARNING: This section is probably the darkest, squickiest bit of the story. Just a final warning. There's gore and stuff, and a complete lack of fuzzy puppies and kitten whiskers. If you want you may skip to the next section.

It took Xanatos a moment for his brain to make sense of what he was seeing once the curtain was fully drawn aside. There were several tall, silver-skinned humanoids with their backs to him, surrounding something. Something hanging from chains.

Durante barked a word in a language Xanatos couldn't place. The humanoids turned to face him, then bowed and backed away. Xanatos could see that they were covered in a shimmering layer of scales, and wore no clothing. Xanatos thought he should recognize the species, but he was not thinking clearly. Their large eyes looked out from the sides of their heads, cocked at a strange angle as they beheld their master. The lidless regard of those huge, unblinking eyes did not seem to trouble Durante.

As the creatures retreated, Xanatos began to make out the figure suspended in chains. A human, arms and legs shackled. There was another chain, which seemed to be connected to the man's hips. It was a man; he was naked, coated in a sheen of sweat, blood and other things. Wounds gaped along his sides, dripping slowly. They had either been careful to avoid major blood vessels, or very lucky. Wisps of smoke drifted off him, though it seemed too warm for wounds to steam.

Durante held up his fine, white robes, so as not to drag them through the mess on the black-tiled floor around the prisoner. The other prisoner, Xanatos thought.

The man was conscious – his breathing sounded choked and irregular, either struggling for air or weeping. One of his arms was obviously broken, though it still bore its share of his weight. His hair was dark and short; his head hung limply from the curve formed by his over-stressed shoulders.

Durante took hold of the short, curly hair and lifted the man's head.

"Recognize your little playmate, Captain Meenk?"

One heavy-lidded brown eye looked out of the blood-covered face at Xanatos. The other was swollen shut. Fawks pressed his bruised, bloody lips together, holding back a scream of pain.

Xanatos watched mutely; his voice choked off by the sudden rush of impotent rage. The boy didn't deserve this. Xanatos was a Jedi -- he knew the risks of undercover missions. Fawks could not have known what he was getting into, even if he had known he was part of a trap.

"We've made a few improvements. I see that you don't approve." Durante chuckled. "He's a brave one, though – haven't had a good yelp out of him, yet."

Durante jerked on Fawks' hair causing his whole body to sway in its chains, twisting his broken arm. The young man's body began to shake. Durante let go of his hair and stepped away just in time to avoid having his expensive shoes spattered with vomit.

Fawks' body spasmed and went limp. Xanatos caught a glimpse of gleaming metal hooks disappearing into Fawks' body at the hip. They were connected to the chains holding him level. He felt his gorge rise, but fought it. He was a Jedi; he was master of his own body, if nothing else.

"He had nothing to do with this," Xanatos whispered when he had recovered control of his voice.

"He has everything to do with this," Durante said. "He's here, isn't he? How obnoxious of you, to assume the boy's torture has nothing to do with him. I assure you, Jedi -- there is nothing more personal than pain."

Durante snapped his fingers and a med droid rolled out of the shadows with a hypo spray.

"Can't have him skipping out on us, before I've had my fun." Durante's eyes unfocussed, anticipation of things to come casting a haze over him. His movements were slow, dreamlike as he turned Fawks' head so that the droid could reach his neck with the hypospray.

Xanatos shook off his horror. He had to stop this, somehow. "It's me you wanted; not him."

"I have you both. Exactly what are you trying to bargain with, Meenk?" Durante winked when he said Xanatos' alias. "Or do you admit you are a Jedi, after all?"

Xanatos, hesitated. Did Durante actually doubt that point? He couldn't read him without the Force. No harm in a bit of a gamble.

"If that's what it takes." He didn't have to fake the fear in his voice. He didn't want to be where Fawks was, but he was a Jedi. Jedi protect the innocent however they can; it is their duty to the Force, for the gifts it has given them. "I'm a Jedi, if that's what you want."

Durante laughed, a flabby wheeze in his throat. "This," he said, spreading his arms to indicate both Fawks and Xanatos, "is exactly what I want. You, my young Knight, have nothing more to offer me than your flesh and your pain. These I will have, in any case."

Fawks jerked awake, shocked by the drugs into renewed awareness and pain. Xanatos could almost feel the other man's heart pounding as he writhed, then forced himself to stillness. Every breath was a gasping whimper.

Durante had moved off to the side, barely within Xanatos' range of vision. He began to disrobe, taking great care with his garments.

"No one's had his hole since you, Jedi," Durant taunted. "Those fellows in whose care he was earlier are called Ichthilins. Not terribly bright, as a rule, but they make excellent servants. They are of peculiar use to me, in this place."

Xanatos' captor moved closer, now completely nude. Pink flesh trembled loosely with each step, vulnerable and unprotected, but Orima Durante walked as leisurely as before, secure in his safety. Perhaps his intention was to accentuate Xanatos' helplessness.

The Jedi calmed himself, hoping for a miracle, some sign form the Force to show him a means of escape, a way to protect Fawks and save them both.

"The Ichthilins are an unusual species. Fascinating creatures. The females' eggs are encased in a chitinous husk, so the males release a quantity of acidic fluid to weaken the shell so that he eggs can be fertilized. Afterward, the males carry them in a pouch in their throat until the hatchlings emerge. A most inconvenient way to reproduce, if you ask me. I suppose I've rather corrupted them, as they don't seem to mind skipping that part."

Durante approached Fawks, carrying a length of tubing connected to panel near Xanatos. "This should neutralize the acid. I don't want to get burned, now do I?"

Xanatos choked back his rage, for that was what it was, now. Black, consuming rage that Durante could be so flippant about his torture of Fawks, so devoid of what some called "human feeling." Xanatos had already seen too much in his life to use that term without irony, but most beings had a reason for their atrocities -- a rationale as to why what they did was for the best for themselves, their followers, or their gods. Evil deeds were often done by beings who thought themselves righteous.

This man was not one of them. Xanatos had often been told that beings hate what they cannot understand. He might not know the man's place in all this, but he understood Durante well enough, and it would be no chore to hate him.

As Durante let the liquid flow over Fawks, Xanatos fought his negative emotions. He was a Jedi, and a Jedi's strength is in the Light. He drew a trembling breath, to calm himself. Force help me.

Fawks breathed deeply, calming somewhat. The fluid eased his pain, but it was purely for the convenience of his tormentor. Durante put on gloves, and slipped his fingers inside Fawks' wounds, along with the neutralizing wash. When his wounds had been bathed, the smoke ceased rising off him.

"There now," Durante cooed in Fawks' ear. "Isn't that better?"

"Leave him be!" Xanatos knew speaking up would probably make matters worse, but he couldn't help himself. "Just… get it over with, you bastard."

"'Over with'? I've barely started." He shut of the flow of neutralizer and reached for a vibro blade offered him by the nearby Med droid. He tapped the end of the handle against his chin. "Should I cut out his eyes? I'd hate to mar that lovely face, though."

Durante circled Fawks, slowly. "He's been well-beaten, but hardly cut at all."

Fawks said nothing, but lay in his bonds, quietly weeping.

"He won't mind, will you, boy?" Orima squatted next to Fawks' face, lifting his head by the hair. "Ask me to stop, and I will." His voice was quiet now, like the whisper of a lover, but Xanatos could still hear it. Fawks said nothing, his open eye downcast.

"No? Hmm. That's too bad."

Xanatos realized he was missing something. Without the Force, he couldn't tell what either of them was feeling, but he honestly doubted that it would clear things up. Why didn't Fawks ask him to stop? Xanatos wasn't certain that he wouldn't be begging for mercy at this point, were he in Fawks' place.

Unless the boy had been Orima Durante's toy before, and he knew something Xanatos did not.

When Durante chose to strike, he moved more quickly than Xanatos would have expected for a man his size. The blade flashed as it sank between Fawks' ribs. The boy jerked with the shock of the blow, and cried out weakly as the movement renewed his agony.

Durante turned his round smiling face to Xanatos. "Don't worry, I missed his heart. Lung's probably collapsing, though."

"You'll kill him." Xanatos could barely whisper, shocked by Durante's sudden violence.

"Maybe," Durante shrugged. He pulled the blade partway out of the wound and ran it along Fawks' side, opening a wide gash. The wound between his ribs bubbled. It took longer than Xanatos expected for the blood to run. "I'd best hurry, then, shall I?"

The white-haired man moved casually around Fawks, trailing the vibro blade along the boy's skin. He forced his bulk between Fawks' chained legs, lifting him slightly by the hooks in his hips. Fawks struggled for breath, pulling himself up with his unbroken arm. As Durante entered him, the boy began to cough up blood.

"Stop it!" Xanatos screamed. Once he'd started, he couldn't stop. Durante was a monstrosity, not a man. If the Force granted him life and freedom after this, he would kill Orima Durante. He would chase him to the ends of the universe if he must, but kill him he would.

As his climax neared, Durante reached around Fawks' body with the vibro blade. A quick gash spilled the boy's intestines; he still lived, though he had no breath for screaming.

Xanatos closed his eyes and screamed for both of them.

Continue to part 7