Arcana Series - Strength

A Normal Day

Three boys died that day.

It was common for such a thing to happen inside the Sanctum. Just as normal as the sun’s rise over its tall walls. Just as normal as the beatings which everyone receives. Just as normal as the sound of the crackling whip and the screams of the poor boys who falls victim to this. Just as normal as the sound of blades clashing against each other. Just as normal as the unified responses of the Acolytes whenever the Jurors ask them things.

Yes. Every bit of this is normal inside the Sanctum.

“A bunch of scrawny weaklings! That’s what you are you pathetic excuses for acolytes!” Gerard screamed. A juror just as wicked as any other.

The man has black crew cut hair and brown eyes. There is a perpetual look of annoyance over his face. As if every action of the acolyte was a sin against him. He wore a dark brown shirt tucked under his black trousers and, he has black combat boots protecting his feet. The same pair of shoes he uses to kick the acolytes whenever he wanted to.

On his hand is the whip which the acolytes feared, And even more so did they feel this at that moment because, they knew that someone had to deal with the corpses. Someone who could potentially get beaten up by the juror.

The acolytes didn’t let this show but, they were actually nervous. As they swung their blades and fired their arrows, they could feel their hearts thumping so loudly that, they felt like everyone else could hear it. Their bodies were also reacting to this fear. Making their scars burn up, as if these were newly inflicted wounds.

“Please don’t pick me.” One boy thought.

“I don’t want to get beaten up. Please don’t chose me.” Another acolyte hoped.

“I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die.” Was another acolyte’s thoughts,

With all of them being trained for war, they have yet to get accustomed to the mistreatment of the jurors. And nobody could blame them. They’ve all been sent there when they were just five after all. Sold to Sanctum by their own parents or, brought there by force.

There was no time for them to learn how to play. There was no time for them to act like children. Ever since the day they stepped foot inside Sanctum, they have received nothing but cruelty, beatings, and hellish training. Each and every day. Without pause. Without rest.

That’s why their bodies and minds have been conditioned to fear the jurors. They have been conditioned to obey every order. But they feared this nevertheless because, what usually accompanies the orders of the jurors is a world of pain. Something which a single unfortunate acolyte couldn’t escape from as, Gerard finally called his name:

“Hey Damian! Get these bodies to the side!”

“Yes juror!”

The boy named Damian has a great figure. Despite his age of only sixteen, he was already well built. With all the muscles in his body being finely cut and ripped that, he would even be the envy of the gods. But he wasn’t. Because together with these well toned muscles are the scars he got from training. Those left by the whip which clung to his skin, tearing it of and stealing it. Those left by the sword during spars and mock battles. Those left by the arrows which he needed to dodge.

The boy only looked straight as he walked towards the bodies. The other acolytes were already pitying him but, they didn’t stop in their training. Meanwhile, Damian’s deep black eyes focused on the task given to him by the juror – making sure that it is done right. Walking as quickly as he could until he was finally in front of the corpses.

There they were, children just like him who haven’t even reached the age of eighteen. Boys who were forced to train inside Sanctum. There is a twisted expression frozen in their faces. One brought about by the harsh and cruel training that took away their lives. Blood and sweat mixed, drenching their clothing and, there was even one corpse which had piss on its pants.

Damian didn’t even know what their names were. All he knows is that they are corpses. One. Two. And Three.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Carry them dammit!” Gerard commanded. His hand already eager to lash at the boy if he responded any second later.

This didn’t happen though as, Damian tied the feet of the corpses together. He then dragged them; their blood painting the cobblestone filled grounds. He felt no remorse for them nor did he care how the dead were treated. All he knows is that, these dead bodies are in the way of his training and so, he moved as quickly as he could. Bringing them right where the juror instructed and, leaving them there.

Meanwhile the other acolytes were busy swinging their blades and firing their arrows. They all saw Damian in the corner of their eyes of course but, they didn’t dare stop in their training. Knowing that just a slight lag in their movements will instantly lead to a lashing. The same thing which Damian wanted to prevent as, he walked back to Gerard.

“It is done juror.” He said, bowing his head and hoping that the ordeal was done with. But his luck was just too poor as, the fist of the juror found its way to his cheek. Sending the boy down the ground as Gerard planted his boot deeply into the boy’s stomach. Making Damian cough out blood.

“It is done?” Gerard repeated Damian’s words. - in a questioning tone filled by annoyance. He then followed this up by another kick to Damian’s body.

“Who are you to say if the task is done or not!” The juror screamed. Making some of the acolytes tremble in fear.

“Do you see how lousily those bodies have been piled up, you piece of s**t?” Gerard kicked the boy even more.

“Even my f*****g hound can do a better job than you!”

Gerard was about to give a full beating to Damian. In fact, he was just about to make the boy stand and use him for a lashing exercise. But then, the bell of Sanctum finally tolled. A deep and loud one which resounded all over the facility. One which even Gerard couldn’t defy as he froze in place.

“Saved by the bell huh.” He said – leaving Damian on the ground as he ordered the acolytes to stop in their training.

“Everyone go back to the hall. It’s time for supper.”

Just by saying these words, the acolytes began falling in line. They have been trained by the jurors to follow every instruction and every sound. To respond just as soon as these are heard because, just by being a second too late meant getting beaten up.

The group marched towards the storeroom located at the left side of the training grounds. There are two doors to this place, with the entrance in front and the exit being on the opposite side. One by one the acolytes went inside this place, leaving the swords, bows, and arrows which were guarded by another juror.

Meanwhile, Damian was still on the ground. His body shaking from the beating and, complaining from the amount of pain it was experiencing. Nobody came to assist him because, doing so would make them get the same amount of beating from Gerard.

It is every boy for himself inside Sanctum. There is no room for friendship. No room for care. They needed to save their own skin because, just this in itself is already a difficult task.

Hence Damian struggled to get back to his feet all on his own. He didn’t take long nor did he show a pained expression on his face. His body was burning up and, it was sore on the places where he was hit but, he didn’t even wince. He silently bore the pain, gritting his teeth as he went and got the sword he left in the training field. Placing it in the storeroom just like everybody else.

With this, he also got back to the line and, as soon as Gerard saw that all of them have finished, he opened the doors of the main building. Ending that day’s training with three dead boys. Ones who seemed to look at the rest of the acolytes from the cold and lifeless wall where they were placed. Their gazes seemingly wishing to be accompanied in the depths of hell.