The betas heart: Abiagan [B×B]

Prologue

The cell was freezing cold.

They liked it that way…sterile, lifeless, stripped of light or warmth. A perfect nemesis of what they thought he was, a thing, a specimen.

a foreigner!!

A figure lay still, barely breathing that you would think that it's dead, his back pressed to the frozen steel floor that continued to burn his body like a boiling water. His arms trembled, bound above him in wooden cuffs soaked with silver and something else, something poisonous and deadly to the figure who kept on shaking and trembling from the pain. His skin had blisters, and his once radiant glow of his eyes is now a dull flicker.

He stared at the ceiling that was not there, imagining what it could be to be out in the open, flying through stars that led to vireth…

Going out from this hellhole. 

Do they still sing in the mountains?

Does the wind still hum over the glass lakes?

Do they know I’m gone?

The thought of home was the worst punishment since he had no hope of ever escaping. 

He was trapped by monsters in a human cloak and surrounded by metals that weakened it, as the day went by. Slowly stripping all his powers. They made sure of that with all the faded scars that lined his body like a tattoo. 

He could barely find the strength to open his eyes, especially now it seems like finally the end has come.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to connect once more, just one last time…to feel the warmth of the twin suns of vireth again.

For a moment, there was nothing but the motivation to see the beauty of his world. 

After sometime a low hum started, barely a flicker. He knew he might die of energy drain, but he had no choice but to keep pushing. But the moment was shattered by the wooden creak of a door sliding open.

Footsteps. Harsh, purposeful.

They were coming again.

The figures body tensed. Every instinct screaming to rise, to fight, to become a Virethian. feared only in legend. But all its strength had long been siphoned, bled through needles, through pain and torment.

The men entered, four of them this time, masked and armored.

Their voices muffled into something that couldn’t be understood. They never spoke with names, only commands that sounded so mysterious and unknown to him. The weak figure flinched unconsciously, seeing the incredible sharp tools of different sizes. Syringes. Chains. A box filled with wood.

“Try not to destroy it this time,” one muttered sarcastically, while looking at the figure lecherously. “It's still valuable.”

The figure's cracked lips curled, just slightly. It forced his limbs to move, just enough to rise to his knees. Its aura flickered, barely visible. He would not let them take more without resistance. Even if the figure knows it might be it's last fight, he would make sure to fight for his freedom.

It raised its hand. Light sparked from the palm, thin and dim, but enough to make the men to pause.

Then, one of them laughed. “Still want to fight huh?”

The first blow came hard, boot to ribs. The figure crumbled to the floor, holding his broken ribs. Another strike to the back, the jaw, the neck. The beatings came, deadly and precise, aimed to kill. 

The sparks faded, being replaced by pain.

They held it down even against its weak thrashing, a dying attempt to escape the inescapable.

“Hold still for daddy” one of the men scowled,

And then came the needle.

Long. Metallic. Cold.

They shoved it into the spine, deeper than before. His breath hitched. The fluid inside him responded. light trying to escape, to protect.” But the silver mixed in dulled it again.

Click.

“Stupid thrash, learn to be a good prisoner, else you might never leave earth alive.” the same man grunted, giving it one last kick before leaving the figure sprawled on the hard floor.

The figure lay broken on the floor, body convulsing weakly, the glowing blood drying on his skin. He could feel his life leaving him.

It stared again at the ceiling with its dull golden eyes that lacked life and zeal. This time, he didn’t imagine stars. He couldn't even find strength to think, even if that's what he desperately wished to do.

It knows that there was never any hope of him leaving here. So instead of trying to live while becoming useful to the evil captors, it might as well use its last blood and find him.

Only the face of the boy he’d seen once in a dream, blue eyes, gentle voice, is the only clue. 

But it didn’t give up hope.

A boy who had looked at it like a person. The image of his smile was the only thing that filled its vision as the figure took its final breath.

 just a whisper, a little call through the infinite darkness…

Blood sprayed from its orifices, the figure can feel the darkness creeping up to it. It's time. 

But before it let the darkness swallow it whole. It made one last final wish.

“Save me please, my Abagian…”