CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Soran's violence-induced slumber dissipated. The raucous inner workings of the Dreadnought shook the boy awake, bringing stark attention to the most unbearable pain. Enveloped by the mother of all headaches, searing agony shot from his eye socket and down through his jaw. His mouth had swollen to twice its regular size, and a mixture of blood and saliva slowly dribbled onto his chest. In an attempt to wipe at his mouth, he realized his hands were bound with a razor-sharp wire, its barbs digging deep into his wrists. Imprisoned in a medieval contraption, a crosshatch of steel bars possessing fang-like extrusions intruded from every angle. The cage door sprung open, breaching his solitude. Two pirates entered, each grabbing an arm and hoisting the boy to his feet. Understanding resistance was pointless, he refrained from hostility, allowing the stench-afflicted men to tear him from his cell.

  The thoroughfares of the Gallowmare were suffocating. Crimson residue, deposited by diesel fumes, coated the rusted metal, soaking every surface with a thick layer of viscous filth.

  Soran was forcefully escorted to the lower decks and dropped before a crudely constructed vault door. His chaperons stood to either side and began to crank aged iron wheels embedded into the wall. The gears groaned as the door spiraled upward, revealing an atrium that looked out onto the vast cavern. A throne stood as the room's centerpiece, constructed from various iron bars bent into the shape of a gaping maw, with bladed tusks nailed in at unsightly angles. Curled at the base of the throne were two Thistlegore pups. Despite their shrunken stature, they were no less intimidating than the nightmare he had faced with the Horizon crew. The foamy saliva coating their tooth-filled snarls told the boy it had been too long since their last meal, and he hoped his purpose here was as something other than a snack.

  Discarded onto the ground like a used rag, Soran landed on his restraints, the serrated edges digging deeper into his flesh. He lay on the ground, blinded by the intense light suspended above the throne. His right eye had swollen completely shut, abandoning the left to endure the bleak surroundings. A monolithic shield obscured the lurid fluorescence a few feet before him. The blockade grew closer, morphing into a humanoid silhouette. A blurred mess of features emerged from the shade, and Soran felt metallic fingertips brush over his cheek, wiping the blood from his gaping mouth.

  "Fresh-faced and ready to serve. I'm sure the pleasure is all mine," whispered an eloquent voice. Stepping back, the shadowed figure slumped into the throne. The man's frame filled the chair, muscular arms draped over the sides, each bursting with a labyrinth of bulging veins. Soran shakily pulled himself up to his knees, blinking the haze from his functional eye. Light glistened amongst the folds of the man's flesh. More metal than meat, the previously identified veins were, in fact, wires; what he mistook to be a man now exposed as machine. A Nanoalloy exoskeleton made up the entirety of the man's body; the only thing that separated him from the androids was his human head, attached to his body by a clasped collar.

  "Admiring my evolution?" He asked, combing his fingers through a honey-marbled slick of silken hair.

  "The Navy saw fit to relinquish my flesh during my stay in the Hive. How one deems a man too dangerous to possess a body, I do not know. You can appreciate the implications of having one's head glaciated for decades. It can have certain, unexpected effects on the mind. It transforms you. Molds you into something more. Something better." The man gestured theatrically with his hands as he spoke, talking with an obscure fondness of the horrors he endured at the government's pleasure. Appearance alone was enough to solidify the man's identity. Kaligan was fearsome in stature, standing almost the height of two adult men. His eloquence, however, was that of a professor or scientist, possessing a lustrous cadence typically reserved for the learned and privileged. He swept a length of crisp blond hair behind his ear, pushing his face forward and gazing into Soran's eyes.

  "Do you have what it takes? To become one with the Gallowmare and live your life to serve him, and him alone." Kaligan said, gesturing to the pirates that stood outside. A body flopped onto the ground beside Soran. He swallowed deeply, tasting blood as it slid down his throat. Despite being clothed in familiar attire, the man's face had been beaten into a jumble of distorted features. A hideous collection of violet wounds seeped thick streams of black blood onto the ground; a swollen tongue protruding from the broken slit that was once a mouth the only reason the boy recognized it as a face at all. His limbs resembled broken branches, splayed out like a discarded marionette. Shallow breaths slipped through cracked lips; the pain he continued to endure was audible in every pitiful sigh.

  Soran couldn't fathom the brutality required to inflict such injuries. What crime could solicit such a punishment? He averted his gaze momentarily, greeted with a childlike smile strapped across Kaligan's face. He was gleeful, waiting patiently for what Soran assumed was some sort of praise for the barbarism he had witnessed.

  "The Navy developed the Nanoalloy used to craft the glorious body I now possess. It imbues its adopters with an unparalleled level of strength. Our friend Captain Hallow here had the pleasure of a demonstration just mere moments before our fortunate meeting." Kaligan stood up, flexing his inorganic superiority into the pose of some ancient godlike statue, reveling in the perceived magnificence of what he had become. The mastery to craft such a body, however monstrous its wielder, was indeed a marvel of engineering. Soran was in awe of the statuesque behemoth that towered over him. Truly, he had surpassed the limits of humanity, and whatever he was now, Soran knew of no man even close to his equal.

  Kaligan reached into one of the pockets sewn into his military-style pants and retrieved a small blade. He admired the antique design of the handle before tossing it toward the boy. It slid over the blood-stained tiles of the floor, coming to a stop at Soran's feet and spinning in place. Its blade was short and blunted, not a killing instrument, but one purposed to inflict pain.

  One of Kaligan's subordinates appeared from behind and severed the boy's bindings, freeing his bloodied hands. The restraints had cut through the material of his suit and dangerously deep into his wrists. Vermilion droplets streamed over his shaking fingers, pooling at his knees and snaking toward the Captain's mauled body.

  "Captain Hallow has no more information to aid our operation. Though it appears that he remains adamant about clinging to his putrid life," Kaligan spat, tilting his head with a perplexed look.

  "Preparations must proceed, so I grant you a most precious gift. This honor is the envy of my entire crew. It was, you see, Captain Hallow that aided in my capture all those years ago," He said, a hint of hostility creeping onto his face.

  "As you can imagine, the thirst for retribution is all too insatiable, but this gesture of allegiance will put you in good stead with the rest of your brothers. Please assist the Captain on his journey to Vorhenna, where the abundance of vile actions committed in this life will be repaid in flesh." Kaligan returned to his throne, anticipation flowing from his every pore. Soran's gaze cemented to the weapon. Despite a feverish reluctance, his hand shakily reached down. It seemed his subconscious had decided for him. He came to the chilling realization that the only way to retain his own life was to commit the unthinkable: to take another.