In the dark once more, Lincoln opens his eyes and looks around for a familiar outline or a floating piece of metal tugging at his gut with every emotion that it is feeling. But, there is none. The isolation is giving him a sense of déjà vu.
He is thankful, however, that if it is the way he dies, at least he dies in silence. In peace underneath all the darkness.
As he surrenders to death, he feels a growing sear at his side. It burns excruciatingly painful that he goes back and forth between passing out and screaming in pain, flailing his legs, and in so much distress, he can hear his own voice echo inside his enclosure.
The voice badgers him into confessing.
"How did you get inside?" he asks, and every time he does not give him a response, he inflicts him with a burning pain just beneath his last rib. Sometimes, a whip comes flying. He pleads them to stop.
"We won't until you tell us how you infiltrated our base?" demands his torturers, and Lincoln just wants it to end. The whips. The burning. The gut-wrenching punches that they are throwing. He just wants it all to end. To go back to the life he once knows.
"I'm getting tired already," complains another voice, but it is familiar that it merits a reaction from Lincoln, but it is not long before he shuts up as soon as he realizes his mistake.
The second torturer pulls his head up by the hair, and he voices out his observation.
"It does not seem like he is going to break today," he observes further. He does not drop his head just yet as he waits for a smirk or a twitch on Lincoln's face full of blood, sweat, and grime.
His body just shut down.
When Lincoln's body does not show the slightest movement, he drops it nearly causing a dangerous whiplash.
"Tomorrow is another day then," he suggests, giving the other one an aggressive hush before they walk away. Every single step of theirs against the cobblestone floor echoes in his head as they open the door to the outside illuminating the room with a bright light, making him long for it even more.
In the dark, Lincoln hears the water droplets against the puddle it forms underneath. The eerie silence that surrounds him, and the stench of iron that is intoxicating his nose; his blood. But he cannot see anything. Only the occasional crack of light among the cobblestone walls.
(At least I haven't lost my senses just yet.)
But with all the knocking around, he seems to forget what time it already is. His eyes wander for any sign that can tell him what time it is already. Then, a familiar voice is coming from outside his door. The woman seems to be arguing with someone else.
"You promised not to hurt him!" she yells at him, after a long pause, "How is he?"
"Why are you so concerned?"
"HOW IS HE?" she screams full of anger.
"He's alright," he explains, her anger unhinging him, "Just enough to keep him through another night."
Lincoln hears her give off a huge sigh of relief, before adding, "As long as he doesn't die."
He smirks, Lincoln guesses because she tells him off before they walk away with every step weighing heavily against Lincoln's heart. The disappointment hurting even more so.
(Shyama.)
---
(Is it morning yet?)
His night is full of darkness. Far from the kind of darkness that Shinyo's or Shadow's does to him. Not suffocating nor isolating. Just void of any emotion.
Then, Lincoln jumps from a crash against his door bringing in a tsunami of sunlight into his darkroom, blinding, giving him a break from his empty void. The brightness making his vision blurry.
"Who's there?" Lincoln asks softly through his raspy, thirsty voice.
"Breakfast?" the man offers. He hears a tray slide against the cobblestone floor, but he doesn't smell anything. He desperately to sniff it with his nose for fear that he is losing his senses slowly from all the trauma to his face.
He hears him laugh, mockingly, "It's just mash," he adds afterward, "If you are looking for the spoon, it's stuck in it."
"How will I eat?" asks Lincoln, the desperation apparent in his voice.
"Oh yeah," he mocks him in the tone of his voice, "That is the part you have to figure out yourself."
He laughs even louder as he makes his way outside the door.
(So, the torture starts early.)
He stays silent, pondering on a thought that he cannot seem to put his finger on it. Then panic starts creeping in.
(WAIT! What were they torturing me for again?)
Not a single clue crosses his mind. This causes even more panic, but the hunger in his stomach is crying for food to fill the emptiness in his gut. It is even begging for water; that water will be enough. Lincoln's mind is slowly going away until another break in the darkness comes in front of him.
��Are you alright?" rushing a woman's voice in front of him. She is trying to catch her breath as she checks him for any other injuries that are not obvious with the naked eye because, now, his face is beyond recognizable.
Every part of it is double its size, but beneath it, Lincoln tries to give him a smile to show her how much delight he is feeling that she is there to help save him.
"Oh dear," her voice shaking from the concern, "How did you end up in this state?"
Shyama tries to clean whatever she can. Then, he sees her hands glow, but he stops her, "Don't. You don't want them to know what you are fully capable of."
The concern in Lincoln's voice makes her cringe and pull away.
"What's wrong?" Lincoln asks her. She shakes her head in response.
"Anyways," he continues, "You should go before they catch you. With Birch and The Others, you will be able to take down the Renegade. You wouldn't need me for that."
"But I don't know where they are meeting?"
"They should be at the outskirts of the barren land where this tower stands," Lincoln explains, "I saw how different the terrains is between the two. You would know where they are when you see it."
"When?"
Lincoln pauses, trying to come up with the answer, "I believe it should have been yesterday, before dusk."
Shyama stands up, looks through the castle window where the sunshine normally comes for Lincoln's room. Then, like clockwork, an explosion echoes throughout the field. Lincoln jolts, perks up, and looks around.
"That should be them," he suggests. He feels a sudden rush of breeze brush against his face.
(Off she goes.)
He hears the screaming of the Renegade soldiers charging the company that is with Birch. Every time, he only hears the cries of defeat from the former.
"We are getting out of here alive m'boy!" he hears Birch scream, faint, but he is there.
The light continues to shine through the window.
(Ah! Wonderful sunset shine!)
Then, it crosses his mind.
(Where there is light, there will be shadows.)
Another clockwork in motion, and before he knows it, Stygian is already hovering over his shoulder. A grin on its faceless body.
"Hello there," Lincoln greets the black piece of iron. Without a word, Stygian immediately starts cutting through the ties that bind his hands, until a soldier comes in his room to check on him.
"Orders from the commander," he screams, his maskless face showing an eyebrow-raising, suspicious of what Lincoln is doing, "Just checking up on you."
He has his eyes intently on Lincoln, until another soldier calls for him. He pulls his mask down, closing the door behind him.
Stygian is through. Lincoln breaks the door down, with the help of Stygian, bringing it down is easy.
Lincoln makes his way around the maze of the tower. Sneaking behind corners and taking out soldiers when necessary. He also keeps a close watch for any of the Scouts roaming around the hallways because they may be few in numbers, but if their encounter with them both in the temple and in the wasteland outside the tower is any indication, underestimating them is the last regret you will have in this world.
He avoids detection by the Scouts as he finds himself in the field. Swiftly, he makes his way behind the trenches where Birch's company is catching their breath. However, he does not make a sound enough to alert them that when he sneaks upon them by accident, he nearly catches the attention of the sharp edge of their blades.
"Mmmm-laaax," Lincoln announcing his presence, his hands up to show how his harmlessness, "It's just me."
Everyone raises cocks their necks to different sides, and raises their eyebrows, and in unison, "WHO?!"
"Mmmm-con," he answers.
"I think that's Lincoln guys," Scoot voicing out his observation.
Stephan is the first to walk forward, brandishing his scythe, "If you are Lincoln, where are the others?"
"I was separated from everyone when they locked us up during our capture," he explains.
"Argh," Stephan moves forward, ready to strike his frustration out on to Lincoln.
"Enough!" Scoot warns Stephan, pushing him away from Lincoln, whose swelling on the face is miraculously going down, "He had enough of that as it is."
"But we have two more to worry about now then," Stephan argues, "When in the beginning, it was only Shyama and him."
"Where are they?" asks Scoot.
"They should be somewhere inside," replies Lincoln, his swelling is now gone which surprises everyone.
"How?"
"Shyama," and with one word, everyone seems to understand, except Lincoln who adds, "As thanks, we have to save her."
Then an explosion blocks their view of the tower and from within emerges Birch who flashes forward to the trench where everyone is gathering.
"Any signs of Dirkan inside?" he asks, his eyes' attention all on Lincoln. An intense stare replaces his warm look, but this version gives more of a reassuring feeling than ease.
Birch looks over to where everyone's attention is, to the tower that lies ahead of them.
"Good," he whispers loudly.
"Lincoln," he orders, his tone firm, a completely different Birch, "You'll go with Stephan. Both of you will oversee rescuing our three other comrades."
Stephan nods. Lincoln agrees in silence.
"As for the rest of us," he looks over to everyone else, The Others slowly appearing around them, "We will hold the fort out here until they recapture them."
Some nervous looks pass over the younger members of the group.
(These must be The Others.)
"C'mon now," Birch now warmer in his tone, "Where's the confidence that you always wear on your sleeves?"
All of them laugh, then confident grins follow before composing their faces, their resolve back.
They gave Birch a firm nod.