(Originally posted by Rodge the Linkbot on Tue Jul 28, 2009)
“What’s going on outside?” Click asked, hearing the noises.
“It doesn’t matter.” The Old Man stated.
“If I say it doesn’t matter, then it simply doesn’t.”
Slate nodded as his armor fell back off.
“Where were we before that beauty showed up? Oh, yes, as I mentioned your greatest opponent in a battle is your fear of pain.”
“Not sure how that works-”
“If you are afraid of getting hurt you’ll flinch, you’ll run, you may not even fight at all.” The Old Man explained, “Now go sit in that chair and close your eyes.”
“I don’t like where this is going.” Slate said.
A scream came from outside.
He turned to look out the window.
“Slate. No, you’ll do as I say.”
Slate walked to the chair and sat down in the chair closing his eyes. “Now what?”
In a quick movement he felt himself get blindfolded, his wrists handcuffed, then his ankles.
“Okay, now I really don’t like where this is going.”
“You shouldn’t.” A new voice was suddenly with them.
It was a young man’s voice, the Old Man’s Son. He still sounded angry.
“How did you get here?”
“My dad called me, said I would finally get the chance to beat the crap out of you.”
“So, still ticked?”
“Ticked? ‘Ticked’ doesn’t begin to describe it.” He heard his footsteps coming closer.
“OHCRAP OHCRAP!” he jumped up an started bouncing away as fast as it ensnared feet could take him, “OHCRAPOHCRAPOHCRAPOH-” a blast of pain slammed through him as he hit something, falling to the ground squealing like he had just been shot.
He could hear the feet stomping towards him. Then a dark, barely human growl.
That’s when the beating began.
The Young Man was kicking in him the stomach, chest, face, stomping his head and arms, and yelling the entire time. Slate squirmed and yelled in pain as the torture continued.
“STOP!” Slate yelled.
“DID YOU STOP?! DID YOU?!” he felt the large hand of a young blacksmith force his head up, “No. You didn’t.” He slammed his head into the wooden floor, “You never did take enough from me.” He pulled his head up and slammed it into the ground, Slate screamed in pain and fear, “First my toys when we were little.” He slammed him down again, Slate screamed more. “Then my horse.” Again the Young Man slammed his face down, again Slate screamed. “Then you stole my money out of my pocket.” Again. “You broke into my house and stole everything I owned, three times!! THREE TIMES!!!” Again. Again. Again. “You stole everything I owned and sold it all. THREE TIMES!!!” Again.
“Then. You. Slept. With. My. Wife.” Then he just started slamming his face into the ground quickly, repeatedly, over and over again. The entire time Slate was screaming in agony.
Then the screaming stopped.
The pounding continued.
“Hold it.” The Old Man stated. “Slate?”
After a silence, he coughed, drops of saliva and blood scattered on the floor, “I’m.” He paused coughing up more.
The Young Man pulled him up, slamming his back against the wall, “Your WHAT?! Your what?! Daddy’s favorite?! Or, oh, I know, CLICK! The OH-SO great and noble HERO!!” he felt a hand around his throat started squeezing. He couldn’t breathe. Slate gasped for breathe.
The grip loosened, after a pause the hand left. Before Slate could say anything he felt a fist tunnel into his stomach, “YOU’RE WHAT?!?!
“I’m. Sorry.” He whispered. The contents of his stomach shifting. “I am so sorry, for everything.”
“You’d say anything to get me to stop.”
“Yeah. But, I’m being honest, here.” He swallowed, trying to fight his lunch back down, “I am really sorry.”
“Liar.” The Young Man pounded him in the face a few times before dropping him. Slate collapsed the ground, could up his lunch, blood, and a tooth. He could hear the Young Man as he walked away.
Slate simply laid there for a second, rolling up into the fetal position.
“Do you know what happened to your parents after you left?”
He couldn’t respond.
“Because I don’t. They were just gone, maybe they left like you did. Or, maybe not. Maybe something else happened, I don’t. I hope nothing bad happened.
“Or how about the twins? They went back to their homeland and fought with the other elves against Xeranad. I actually did get a letter back about them, from their commanding officer. He was sorry for our loss.
“I already told you about Mable, she’s off fight for her life, that is, if she’s lucky enough to still have it. You know, it’s funny, when she left, she promised me that she would find you if it was the last thing she ever did. After one of her nightmares about the battles, she said if she found out you were dead, then, well, she would try and kill Xeranad, especially if that was the last thing she did.”
Slate’s limp body just laid on the floor.
“Why would she want to protect you , anyway? I mean, look at you. A lying, cheating, stealing conman that’s in way over his head. A mockery of heroes, a pain, someone that hurts everyone else. You are terrified of dying, you always run from a fight before you’ll stand for something.”
The Old Man simply picked the unrecognizable piece of human garbage up, “We better get you some medical attention before you die.
“Even if that would make the world a better place.”