Dark Sanity

Halvon’s Inferno

Several hours passed, and Flint woke up. However, he couldn’t open his eyes. He tried to move but couldn’t. Was he blind? He felt numb, as if he were paralyzed. Was he crippled? Moments later, he attempted to scream for help. Yet his mouth remained closed. In fact, he couldn’t even hear anything. Was he deaf? All he could do was think, and the only thoughts going through his mind were terrifying.

At last, he heard a metal door open. He was able to hear several footsteps enter the room, or at least he assumed he was in a room. The people who came inside approached him and spoke another language. He didn’t know which one it was, though it sounded like German.

Flint started to feel relaxed since he realized he wasn’t deaf after all. He thought, perhaps he would be able to move around and see in a little while. In the meantime, he tried to be patient. Then he heard machinery being activated. The sounds resembled either medical instruments or a ship’s engine. Though, since nothing vibrated, he felt that he wasn’t on board a ship. But he still couldn’t open his eyes, so he wasn’t sure. Another tool turned on, resembling a drill. The people surrounding him continued to speak in a foreign language.

Within the next few seconds, Flint was finally able to feel something. He experienced a ticklish feeling on his forearms and fists. He twitched, wanting to laugh. Yet his mouth would not open. Perhaps doctors were giving him drugs to relax? Flint wondered why he wasn’t able to breathe. But he was in fact breathing or else he’d be dead. Then he felt something in his throat. Was it a tube connecting him to a life-support machine? Why did he need it? He finally opened his eyes and saw his youthful body torn apart by what must have been caused by explosions during the war twenty years ago. Parts of his arms were missing, and the doctors were inserting synthetics into him. Flint shrieked and fainted on the operation table.

After what seemed like a week, Flint awoke inside a reeking chamber cuffed in manacles that were connected to chains linked to the ceiling. Standing before him was a paunchy warden in a military uniform.

“Where am I?” groaned Flint.

“You’re where you should have been twenty years ago,” said the military man. “Yes, all this time I should’ve been torturing you like the rest of your pathetic followers.”

“Titan?”

The man flinched and asked, “How do you know that name?” Flint didn’t respond, which infuriated the warden. He readied his whip and said, “It doesn’t matter. Either way, you’re a dead man.”

“I beg to differ,” said Flint, breaking free of his manacles.

Before the warden could react, Flint pulled on the chains, severing them from the ceiling. He then swung the loose chains at the man’s face, knocking him out. Flint strode across the room and quietly opened the door. Before escaping, he peeked to see if anyone stood there. Fortunately it was empty.

Flint assumed that his guess was correct—he was in Titan, the prison where his followers from the war had been imprisoned. The military had done him a big favor, he thought to himself. He searched the penitentiary, trying to be as stealthy as possible. Flint went up a spiral staircase of stony steps and eventually found a doorway leading outside.

As soon as Flint stepped outside, he noticed the prison consisted of four massive towers that had spire-shaped roofs. The towers were connected by bridges, and below lay a mining pit. Gazing at the pit, he noticed hundreds of prisoners were being forced to dig and find minerals. He grimaced and scouted the rest of the prison, spotting a spacecraft docked on an octagonal platform by the eastern tower.

He sneakily made his way across. Upon reaching the eastern tower, he saw a guard by the starship. Flint took a deep breath and climbed down to the side of the bridge. He dared not look down as he hung along its ledge. Luckily for him, since he had a strength that, for the first time, didn’t confuse or frighten him, he easily climbed sideways to where the sentinel stood. He then whistled, alerting the guard. When the soldier peered down to find out what the wind-like noise was, Flint grabbed him with one hand and choked him to death.

Climbing up, Flint dragged the dead sentinel into the vacant ship. He then searched the vessel, finding his hat and guns. After putting them on, he spotted bombs in a corner. When he saw them, he had a feeling that those were what had been used to destroy the rebels’ base. His face became contorted, thinking about all the innocent people who’d died. Were his steamwalker comrades also dead? That thought terrified him. He grabbed four bombs and left the ship. Trying not to be seen, he went around the outer prison, instinctively setting up the bombs. It was evident to him that he’d used them during the war two decades ago. Although he had no solid memory, being able to activate them was proof enough for him.

After setting the last bomb, he put the detonation chip in his pocket and made his way to the southern tower from where he had originally escaped. He was hoping to find other prisoners. When he entered the tower, however, an alarm went off. Flint froze for a moment and then ran up the stairs, trying to hide. Several guards found him, at which point he pulled out his magnums and shot them. Guards continued to enter the southern tower, firing at him. Flint was running out of bullets to defend himself. He eventually felt that he had no choice but to hide again. Although he had no idea where to go, he went down a seemingly endless spiral staircase until he reached a floor containing a tunnel. Upon seeing the passage, he entered it.

Even though the path was dim, Flint saw a map chiseled on the left wall. Based on what he could see, the area he stood in seemed to be a passageway to other towers. And an arrow on the stony map indicated that across from him was the northern tower. He swiftly made his way through the tunnel, hoping to find Gunthrel or his daughter. When he reached the other side, a loudspeaker in the dungeon activated.

“Flint Cross,” said a voice through the loudspeaker, “you impressed me when you found a way off Earth. But now I am agitated and tired of the tribunal’s game. I have all of your pesky rebels outside, lined up and ready to die. If you do not turn yourself in within the next minute, I will start to blast them one by one.”

Flint gritted his teeth and ignored the threat, thinking the man was bluffing. He walked around, noticing empty cells. The tower was silent. There were no guards here, causing him to feel uneasy. He tried thinking of a plan but nothing came to mind. When a minute passed, he heard beams and horrid shrieks via the loudspeaker. Flint felt nauseous, realizing he’d made one of the biggest mistakes in his life—assuming he knew the warden’s level of tolerance—and tried to find the tower’s exit.

He continued to hear dimensional beams, as well as the outcries of his comrades. Frantic, he sprinted ahead. Finally, after searching nearly every corridor, he found a door and approached it. Upon opening the metal door that led outside, he noticed myriad prisoners lined up along the side of the long, wide bridge of the northern tower. And in front of him were at least a hundred guards wielding dimensional weapons. One of them was dressed in an elegant military uniform rather than the rags that the others wore. He smirked, leisurely walking over to Flint.

“Ah, the legendary Flint Cross has surrendered,” he said. “My name is Bartholomew, and I have been in charge of Titan for the last twenty years.”

“I’m happy for you,” said Flint.

Bartholomew struck Flint across the face with his hand. “Don’t be too happy,” he said. “Today is your execution, and I’ve gathered your loved ones here to witness your death.” He laughed with a wicked smile. “Yes, that’s right. Today is the day it all ends.”

“I wish it were.”

Once again, Bartholomew struck his face. “With a mouth like yours, I’m surprised the tribunal kept you alive. Eh, I suppose they made the right choice. It was better to have let you withered away on Earth than to have made you a martyr. But now it no longer matters. People are tired of hearing about you. This execution will only make you a martyr to these pitiful prisoners, and they’re going to rot here.” Bartholomew cackled, pointed his gun at Flint. “Any last words?”

“Well, since you’ve asked, I was hoping to say a prayer.”

“A prayer?” replied Bartholomew, laughing hysterically. “My goodness, you really are as insane as the Commandant had said. In just a few days we shall be the ones being prayed to.” He sighed and added, “This truly is an end. Today will be the last day man reaches out to a god.”

Flint gave a faint nod, pulled his hand out of his pocket, and joined his palms, clicking a tiny chip. “In the name of the Father—” The eastern tower suddenly detonated. “In the name of the Son—” The western tower exploded. By now the guards were panicking. “And in the name of the Holy Spirit—” The southern tower blew up. Witnessing mass hysteria, Flint produced a demented grin. “Doesn’t anyone want to pray with me?”

Upon asking, the northern tower exploded. Just as the explosion sent him into the air, he pulled out his magnums and blasted Bartholomew with all twelve rounds. Bartholomew didn’t even have a chance to scream; his body simply blew into pieces, and whatever remained of him fell into the super pit. Flint landed in a roll onto the bridge’s cement, holstered his empty guns, and picked up Bartholomew’s dimensional cannon, blasting the frantic guards with one hundred percent precision.

Many of the prisoners were cheering and praising Flint in disbelief. They then took up arms, fighting alongside Flint. Several of them were being disintegrated by the dimensional beams of the remaining guards, but the survivors counterattacked with their beams. Then a starship emerged from below. Flint jumped on the front of the vessel, bashing its hood so hard that it dented, causing the engine to malfunction.

The starship started to explode. Flint, meanwhile, performed a back flip onto the bridge and recharged his dimensional cannon, blasting a few starships descending from the gray- and crimson-tinged sky of Halvon. A deadly blaze surrounded him as he sprinted across the bridge, firing at other vessels rising from the pit.

“Let he who is god-worthy strike me down!” he roared with a mad look in his eyes.

A fleet of starships were now descending from the scorched sky. This, however, didn’t stop the madness of Flint Cross. He simply picked up a second dimensional gun and fired both weapons at the approaching ships that attempted to shoot back at him. Each vessel disintegrated from a single zap. Although the battleships were nearly millions of feet away, Flint didn’t even have to aim once. Before any of the pilots could get a lock on him, violet beams pulsed through them, disintegrating them along with their spacecrafts.

Despite the fact that there were no more vessels, Flint continued to fire skyward, roaring like a complete maniac. The sky was filled with flames and particles of what used to be dozens of starships. Flint did not stop firing until he heard a soft voice that saved him from losing his sanity.

“Father, stop!” shouted Sarah, approaching him. “They’re dead. They can’t harm us anymore.”

“Sarah?” muttered Flint, no longer shooting.

He turned around, dropped his weapons, and hugged her while crying. Jake, Brock and Bas Panzo, and Yeramba approached him.

“Anangu regain spirit.”

“Yeramba,” said Flint, startled. “I am sorry they brought you into this.” He calmed down, embracing the others. “I’m so glad you’re safe. I don’t know what I would’ve done if something had happened to any of you.”

“How did you do all this?” asked Jake.

“I don’t know,” replied Flint. “It’s like a demon took over me.”

“No demon,” said Yeramba. “Angry spirit.”

Flint laughed. “Yes, an angry spirit.” He then looked ahead and noticed Gunthrel limping over without his power suit. “Gunthrel!” Flint ran to his comrade and helped him stand. Never had he seen Gunthrel look so weak; he’d been so used to seeing him as a colossal titan in bulky clockwork armor that he’d forgotten his best friend was still human. It looked as though he’d been tortured over the past week. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll live,” said Gunthrel frailly.

“How did we get here?” asked Flint.

“It was so sudden,” responded Gunthrel. “Unfortunately, I was right. We were simply the bait to prove the military’s suspicions. The bombings—the explosions—everybody died that day except me and my men. Our armor protected us. But we couldn’t fight. There were thousands of soldiers. We had to surrender. Then they made us remove our armor, shackled us on a ship, and brought us to this wretched place. I didn’t even think you survived.”

“Gunthrel,” said Flint apprehensively, “please tell me that you contacted Soalace before this insanity happened.”

For a brief moment, Gunthrel had a stern face. Then he looked at Flint and smirked. His devious grin was the answer Flint was hoping to get. Shortly after, Brock and Bas helped carry Gunthrel to a safe area that wasn’t burning while Flint hugged his daughter again.

“I’m so relieved to see you again,” said Sarah.

“I thought I’d never find you,” said Flint emotionally. “I nearly searched everywhere in the Vorilian quadrant for you.”

“Joey and Steve betrayed us,” said Jake. “Can you believe it?”

“Steve is singing a new hymn outside his church,” said Flint.

“But what about Joey?” asked Sarah.

“He’s still out there,” said Flint, gazing at the charred sky. “Though, after what I just did here, I’m sure he’s going to come out from the shadows. In the meantime, we’d better get out of this hellhole and wait for Gunthrel’s reinforcements.”