No Freedom for You

“Come on,” he grunted, clenching his teeth. “Come ON!”

The sound of chain crashing against the stone floor echoed through the darkness, accompanied by a cry of agony. His good arm, his right arm was finally free. The chain cuff that had bound him to the damp, cold wall had all but stripped his hand to the bone and fractured most bones in his wrist, but he did not care. He only needed it to function for a little while longer. The dirt and debris burned like fire as he planted his bloody, barely living hand on the ground, and the bone chips grinded deeply in his shattered wrist.

Once he reached the state of shock and the pain started to be blocked out, he began scanning the room. He was alone in the dark and damp dungeon, aside from some rotting corpses and a rat or two. He could see a little, as the burning city forced small amounts of light through the cracks in the well-barred dungeon door. A small rat scurried over and began to nibble on his raw, exposed hand. Like lightning, he snatched the rat in his grasp and held the poor creature in front of his face. The light reflected off of the rodent’s eyes as it seeped in, revealing a look of terror.

“Looking for a snack, are we?” he smirked, slowly moving the rat from left to right. He liked to see every aspect of his prey before making a kill. “Don’t you know how sinful it is to feast upon a live servant of God?” he shouted at the small creature. It squealed, desperately trying to free itself from his mighty grip.

“Death to all sinners!” he roared, squeezing the rodent as tight as he could. The poor rat’s innards made their way out of its rear while the brain blew out through the eye sockets. He tossed the small corpse aside, sending it flying into a nearby wall.

His eyes returned to searching the ground around him. He was running out of time and he knew it.

“That damn [Krillin] army has most likely slain half this castle by now. It won’t be long before they learn where I’m being imprisoned.” He thought aloud, his vision now starting to blur. “They cannot have me alive! They mustn’t.. They shall not be allowed the knowledge I hold,” he muttered observing a grounded corpse nearby. “The world is not ready yet. The [Krillin] line, of all people, is not ready…”

He tilted his head, still staring at the corpse. It was mostly bone at this point, but there was a slight glint that shown as the light flickered. Were his eyes playing tricks on him?

“A sword!” he was ecstatic – just what he needed to fix everything. He reached out towards the body, and the reflection he thought to be steel, with all of his strength. His efforts were in vain, as he flung back, his left arm still bound to the wall. His head smashed brutally onto the stone surface which held him.

He spat furiously. He was not going to give in, not after having come this far. The clash of steel-on-steel and other shouts of war could be heard from just outside the dungeon door. He was out of time.

More gently than before, he crawled towards the corpse, as far as his chains would allow, and reached towards the shine. His now other broken wrist sent waves of pain throughout his bound arm, but now was no time to let silly pain get in the way. He could not grasp the object he was after, but he managed to scrape it with the bone of his raw fingers. It fell to the ground with a loud smack and rolled within reaching distance.

He now held the object in his hand, though it was not quite what he had expected. Instead of a sword or any similar sharp weapon forged from steel or iron, it was the end of some sort of staff or scepter. The orange orb at the end now began glowing as he rotated it in his hand, as if responding to his touch. The emitted light pulsated seemingly in sync with his heartbeat.

\“What the hell?” he was dumbfounded. He looked up at the door; the roars of battle were now even closer than before. He was out of time and he knew it. “No matter,” he muttered, turning the object upside-down to reveal the other end, wood, snapped at about half its normal length. A sharp, wooden spike was left where the handle or grip should have been.

“Perfect.” He grinned.

The dungeon door began rumbling as if someone or something were trying to break it down. Just as the door fell and soldiers began pouring in the darkness, he plunged the staff’s broken shaft deep into his heart. Everything went black.

“At last, I finally have freedom. The freedom that I’ve always wanted. The freedom that every good man deserves.” His thoughts echoed as his brain seemed to slowly shut down.

“No freedom for you…” a sinister voice crept in, as the brain’s processes seemed to start up again.