Mute Hall -- Cracking

Hmm. The rating jumped from PG to PG-13 in one chapter. That's certainly a first for me; I've never ended doing something like that before. . . O_o
Started: April 1, 2002
Finished: April 2, 2002
II: Cracking
It had been countless days since he had heard a sound. Even when he was pulled out of his cell and tortured, he was unable to hear himself shout and hiss angrily in defiance. His lungs and chest still hurt from the strain, simply leaving him disturbed by the whole situation.
Despite having been in the prison called Mute Hall for numerous days, he still had no clue as to why he was there. The other prisoners of Mute Hall, whom he only saw when he was being dragged towards a torture session that did little to faze him, ranged from members of the disgusting Qu Clan to graceful White Mages of Alexandria. It did not take long for him to realize that everyone imprisoned had some connection to the art of magic.
But why were they being imprisoned?
He sat against the wall of his bare cell, contemplating all the paradoxes that seemed to come together in Mute Hall. Within the prison, he was released from all the menial matters he was normally subjected to -- eating, drinking, and even sleeping. It was as if time ceased to matter within the iridescent walls, and for once he was unable to decide whether that was a good thing or not. He had no distractions other than the ripped and dirty clothing he had been wearing when he was pulled from his "deathbed" on the Iifa Tree. Even those were hard to look.
His thoughts of death brought him back to the question lingering in the back of his mind: Why was he still alive? Garland had stated quite bluntly that he would not survive once Zidane reached a mature age, and yet here he was -- rotting away in a cell like some common criminal.
Of course, there was the unusual fact that the entire area was blanketed with a very thorough Mute spell that annoyed him greatly.
Under the constant effects of the Mute spell, he was faced with the undeniable truth that he relied far too much on his magic. His magic had allowed him to manipulate the Mist into machinery and create Black Mages, brainwash that elephant-queen of Alexandria, and even harness the souls that had been vacuumed up by Invincible. Even though he had honed the skill to a level no one could surpass alone, magic had been his only way to effectively fight. Pathetically, a simple spell taught to beginning White Mages could render him helpless.
If I ever get out of here, I'll make sure to learn how to use a weapon. Something light, of course; it's dreadful enough that I have to use those barbaric tools of ineffective slaughter. . .
His thoughts were interrupted by a light slicing into his morose cell. He raised his sharp blue eyes, frowning at the two figures that had entered.
At first glance, the two might have been mistaken for humans; they had similar body structure and limbs to the residence of Gaia. However, these strange aliens guarded their identities with full-body armor of black and green, close-fitting helmets and masks hiding their faces from Kuja. Their unseen eyes came to focus on him in the cell; he could feel their gazes even before he saw them. The Genome shivered, still unused to the helplessness he felt before them.
He tried to shove the first guard away, cursing when his wrists were caught and he was held until his fighting ceased. Body taut with aggression, Kuja continued to struggle for several moments. It was all futile, he knew, but it certainly wasted a few moments otherwise spent in boredom. The torture sessions were never enough to hurt him more than superficially; scratches and bruises, although painful, did not last very long on his Genome body. Part of him always wondered why he was tortured if it did not effect him for more than a few days.
Like many times in the past, he was led down the corridor to a room that, unlike the prisons, had white walls. A steel table was bolted to the floor in the middle of the room, wicked restraints waiting patiently for their victim. His wrists and ankles were locked to the table, much to his displeasure. He shut his eyes, awaiting the punches and whatever else the guards were to do this time around.
Unfortunately, nothing of that type of torture was served to him. The young sorcerer was startled by movement at his hips, his eyes fluttering open as he realized he was being relieved of his ruined hakama. He cursed in horror, unable to stop the two guards from removing his armor and the remains of his silk shirt. His head was trapped by one guard as the other slipped a strange ornament around his forehead, much to his dismay. It felt like a circlet or some sort, thin and dipping down nearly to between his eyebrows.
"It is time to up the experiments a notch or two, Sir Kuja. Farewell."
And then there was mind-splitting pain.
And all he could do was part his lips in a soundless scream.
Well, I guess I'm continuing this. *_* Don't worry, this thing won't be slipping into R at all. Remember: Kuja didn't lose all his clothing in those last few paragraphs . . . and he won't be raped. Don't even go there. Thank you for reading!
Onto Part 3 Back to Part 1 Back to Mute Hall