Lament of the Treacherous

A short story brought to you by Justin "Wolf" Joy of RikuCorpz, owned by BrotherCorpz. Enjoy!

Sweat rolled down his forehead, dripping into his eyes, burning them. His whole body ached, or rather the parts that still had feeling. His wrists burned from the thick rope that suspended him from the ceiling. His body was covered in welts, bruises, cuts, and burns. His bare chest heaved with the effort of breathing. Everything a was labor for him, even the smallest of functions. 

He thought of the events that led to him being here, his capture. Even knowing that it would come to this, he would not have acted differently. He had given his comrades the time to escape. He had saved them from certain death. He remembered the look of surprise on their faces as he collapsed the tunnel, sealing himself and their pursues together, alone. They pleaded with him, asked why he had done it. That had been the hardest, the betrayal in their voices. He had promised that he would lead them to freedom. 

He shook his head to clear that image out of his head. He moved on to the conflict. Their hunters had found him and attempted to capture him. He smiled as he remembered the fight he put up. He killed several before they had taken him, he had fought bravely. Even after losing his weapon, he stood in defiance, both as a gaunt and weary display of willpower, and as a terrible and desperate warning. 

But he was soon over ran and taken capture, bringing him here. The events that happened here were nearly as painful as the thought that he had let his men down. He had been tortured severely for information. He had tried to stay strong, to repress the information they seeked, the info that could be the downfall of everything that he had fought for. But alas, his will power was no match. There was only a certain amount of pain that a man could handle before he loses all touches to sanity, to reason. After withstanding weeks of torture he could bear it no longer and gave them everything. 

For that he was ashamed. For that he wished that he had died back in the tunnel. For that he wished he had never been born. He committed treason, betrayal of the highest level to those that mattered the most to him. 

Tears rolled unchecked down his cheek. His head hung in shame, he was ready for the end. He knew that they would dispose of him now that they had learned everything they wanted from him. 

As though they knew what he was thinking and feeling , two men stepped through the open doorway, both were dressed in black, from head to toe. Behind them came a woman, incredibly beautiful. She wore a white dress, the collar was low, offering the viewer plenty of cleavage to glance upon, it was cut on the sides, showing her long, muscular legs as she walked. 

The men moved like beasts, protecting their territory, each to one side of the woman, hands on blades. She stopped just short in front of him and eyed him up and down. 

“Had you cooperated earlier, none of this would have happened.” She spoke, her voice like velvet. “But because of your actions I had no choice but to force the information out of you.” 

He did not stir or even acknowledge that he had heard her. His eyes fixated on the floor, blank and empty. 

“No matter. I shall allow you to rest, a release from your pain.” She waved her hand and one of the men took a step forward. In the blink of an eye he had drawn his sword and had already slashed through the rope that held the man in the air. He tumbled to the ground, lacking the strength to catch himself. He was soon lifted to his knees and made to stay there. 

The other man that stood next to the woman handed her a blade, half as long as she stood tall. She lifted the blade with small effort and raised it above her ahead. 

“This is goodbye my old friend. Do know that I regret it came to this.” 

With a final grunt she swung the blood, a splatter of blood struck the wall as the man’s head was cleaved from his neck. The head flew through the, slinging blood in every direction until it came to a rest on the floor. 

The once handsome face pointed up at the ceiling, a last smile on its lips. The smile of a man who had found peace.

Author's Note

Written while listening to
Two Steps from Hell-Lament for The Lonely
Advisable to listen to the music while reading :)