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PostPosted: Thu May 12, '11, 7:19 pm
Lune watched as an ominous cloud of black smoke filled the horizon, his mouth set in a firm, straight line. There was no doubt in his mind that the biomonsters under his command had destroyed his Orakian targets, but leveling the village sent a message that was unmistakable in its intent. Laya's former general and closest confidante had finally been awakened after one thousand years of exile and he was angry. Someone had to pay.

He turned to the small group of soldiers that accompanied him. “Let's go see what treasures we can find,” he ordered with a slight smirk.

As they made their way towards the ruins of Satera, Lune's thoughts traveled back to his sister. Alair had been kidnapped by the Orakian residents of Divisia in retaliation for his attacks, and her abduction had only increased his outrage. The Divisian army was strong and Lune and his followers had so far been unable to retrieve her, but giving up was not an option. Satera was weak and had no strong ruler or military forces and was the perfect target to serve as a warning to the other Orakian kingdoms. The weapons, armor, and supplies Lune and his men would retrieve would strengthen their power and allow them to attack Divisia more efficiently.

Another team of soldiers greeted their commander at the remains of the gates of Satera. The smell of smoldering wood and charred corpses didn't seem to bother Lune as he addressed his troops. “You left the stores intact?” he inquired.

“Yes, just as you instructed.”

“Good. Once we're done searching them, we'll finish burning this place to the ground. Take anything that could be of any use to us.”

The men split up and Lune entered the building closest to him. Its grimy, damaged sign stated that it was a weapons shop; even though he scoffed at most of the Orakian weapons, he thought it was possible that there could still be something useful inside. He immediately grabbed the stack of meseta behind the counter and was in the process of rifling through the store's shelves when he heard a noise above him.

He immediately stopped what he was doing and stood perfectly still, listening closely. A few minutes later, he heard the sound again: a creak in the floorboards on the second story. Someone was upstairs.

Not bothering to conceal his presence, he quickly ascended the staircase and looked around. He stalked about the upper level of the building, his steps ominously thudding against the wooden floor. Turning a corner, he came face-to-face with a man and woman crouched next to each other against the wall, quivering in fear.

With his fluorescent green hair that wildly cascaded past his shoulders and the silver robes that covered much of his body, the tall Layan commanded an intimidating presence for the young couple cowering before him. They both stared up at him wide-eyed, neither one saying a word, silently begging for mercy. The man held a small knife in his shaking hand, but the expression on his face belied his confidence in his ability to use it.

Lune swiftly kicked the knife away with his heavy boot, sending it clattering across the bare floor. Standing directly over the two people huddled at his feet, he reached for the slicer hanging from his belt. His weapon was originally designed to be thrown at a group of enemies, but the former military strategist had always been praised for his creative mind and his ability to think beyond obvious solutions to various situations. With his free hand, he grabbed a handful of the man's dark hair and yanked his head back. The curved blade glinted in the diminishing light as he raised it to his victim's throat.

Somewhere, deep within the recesses of his ancient memories, Laya's law of “kill no living thing” echoed in the soft, yet firm voice of his former leader, but her decree, along with the screams of the woman beside him, went ignored as he drew the slicer across the pale flesh, spilling thick crimson fluid over the man's clothing and down to the floor. His body went limp nearly instantly and Lune let him drop. “Filthy Orakian,” he muttered, spitting upon the dead body. Turning his attentions to the woman, he raised the bloodstained slicer again and she covered her face with her arms, waiting for the fatal blow as her body shook with her frightened sobs.

Before he could inflict the sharp edge of his weapon upon her, something stopped him, despite his bloodthirsty rage. When nothing happened, she cautiously peered up at him through the thick, reddish hair that had fallen into her eyes, entirely unsure at that moment if she was going to live or die. “Get up,” Lune growled at her, roughly grabbing her by the elbow and hauling her to her feet. He half-led, half-dragged her down the stairs and back outside, where the rest of his men were waiting with their loot.

“Bind her hands,” he ordered. “The Divisians aren't the only ones who can take prisoners around here.” One of the soldiers produced some rope and tied the woman's wrists together behind her back. “We'll head back to Dahlia with our prizes,” Lune said, gesturing to the men he had arrived with. “As for the rest of you...finish what you started. Let Satera be an example to the others of what we are capable of doing.”

The journey back to the shuttle in Aerone was a long one, but Lune refused to stop and rest for the night, even after the sky had grown dark. He led the way through the passage between Landen and Elysium and continued on to the point in the village from which they would take off towards the purple moon of Dahlia. Throughout the entire trip, the woman's cries and sniffles were wholly tuned out, and she managed to drift off to sleep once they had boarded the small spaceship.

Upon arriving at the desolate sphere that was now his home, Lune pulled his prisoner to her feet again and pushed her out of the shuttle. Exhausted and dazed, she was silent and put up no struggle as he dragged her down an isolated hallway in the spacious stone and glass palace that was his domain on the satellite and the base of his operations. He pushed open a door at the end and carelessly flung her inside, her body coming to rest against the cold wall of the small cell. Her soft cries continued as the tears resumed flowing down her dirty face, and she closed her eyes as she leaned her forehead against the cool stones.

“Go ahead and cry,” he sneered at her. “It won't do you any good, nobody knows you're here and all your people are dead.” She didn't answer and Lune let out a low chuckle, pleased with himself for having leveled the playing field with the Orakians. He crossed the tiny room until he was standing right next to her and bent down to whisper directly into her ear. “You are a prisoner of war,” he murmured. Her face was still turned away from him, her eyes still closed, and he grabbed her chin and jerked her head around so she was forced to face him. “You will pay for the crimes committed by your Orakian brethren.”

The panicked look in her eyes only further fueled his intense strength. Though he should have been tired from his travels, a combination of adrenaline and satisfaction at having asserted his dominance over one of the Orakian kingdoms heightened his senses. He could feel the blood coursing through his body, filling him with power, filling the room with his presence, and he felt a strange combination of being both unrestrained and in control of his forceful energy.

He grabbed the neckline of her dress and pulled her away from the wall, ignoring her pleading whimpers. The blood-encrusted slicer still hung from his waist and he reached for it again, using the tip to cut through the thin fabric. She yelped as he tore the garment away from her, exposing her skin to the cold night air. Her pleas for him to stop went unanswered as he shoved her across the small room, watching her stumble and fall backwards onto the bare cot that was one of the few accommodations provided for prisoners on the moon.

He watched her for several moments; she was trembling like a trapped animal and burying her face in her hands, clearly horrified by what she knew was coming next. The longer he waited, the louder her sobs became, her terror nearly tangible as she braced herself for the inevitable. As the level of her distress increased, so did his feelings of empowerment, until he could resist proving his authority to her no more.

The Orakian woman screamed as Lune advanced towards her and he made no effort to silence her, as he knew there would be no response to her cries for help. Her shrieks of anguish echoed off the stone walls of the confining chamber as he pinned her down, completely immobilizing her. Seething with thoughts of revenge for all the wrongs he believed had been inflicted upon him, he took out one thousand years of anger and frustration on the poor creature that was now his captive, a slave to his will and command.
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