A Simple Chat (Capper) Aug 2, 2017 20:29:09 GMT
Post by Lord Xylo on Aug 2, 2017 20:29:09 GMT
[PL: 352,629 | Emperor's Will (x32P) Active! Current PL: 11,284,128]
The quiet rumble of the ship's engines was one of few sounds that could be heard from the medical station within Xylo’s spacecraft. That, and the sound of cheering soldiers on the opposite side of the wall. Despite how loud their laughing and joking and singing was, their celebration was comforting. The Mazoku Lord smiled, for he’d come one step closer to his goal to prove the Mazoku Caste’s worth in combat.
The Namekian stared downward, his eyes drawn to the stasis chamber near-silently thrumming at his fingers. The stasis pod was active, and its occupant was a Namekian warrior with a blackened hole where his stomach once was.
It was none other than Xylo’s own son, Digeri.
A frown returned to the Lord when he gazed upon his child’s corpse. He never thought he’d be forced to live through the next few days; burying his own children. He hoped they’d outlive him, though technically his family had done that already, if only for a few months.
”You didn’t deserve this…”
His hand grazed the glass dome resting at the top of the bed-shaped cryo-pod, as tears began to roll down his face. He knew the boy would be revived one day, but that didn’t take the sting away. It was a consolation prize; like if someone stabbed you in the chest before patching you up.
The Namekian King simply sat there for a moment. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d entered the room, nor how much time would pass by the time the ship took off, but he didn’t care much. He’d sit here until his boy came back if he could, but there were other things to attend to.
As he turned to leave the room, the door slid open, revealing a Kabochan soldier on the other side. He saluted his lord, and spoke in a plain tone. ”Sire! Preparations have been made to deposit the Prisoner back into Beppan territory, as you requested. You said you wished to see him off before we sent him away.”
Xylo nodded, moving past the messenger and into the dull metal hall. ”Thank you. I’ll make my way to the brig, then.”
As the Namekian turned the corner, he heard the Kabochan’s voice call out.
”Sire, would you mind if I spoke out of turn for just a moment?”
Xylo turned on his heel, facing the soldier, and nodding. His curiosity was piqued. ”Speak your piece.”
”I know it’s not my place to ask, but… Why not keep him, lord? He could serve us as a spy, or perhaps we could interrogate him to learn secrets of the Empire. Letting him go seems… Wasteful.”
”There’s only so much you can gain from a grieving son. What would he know that any other higher ranking prisoner wouldn’t already spill? He’s not a warrior, and he’s learned nothing from us that the Solar Empire didn’t already know. Letting him leave loses nothing, and gives up even less.” He turned his back to the soldier, before continuing. ”The best he can give us now is his pain and sorrow, and I’ve already drunk my fill of Hofferson grief for a lifetime.”
The Namekian King walked away, hearing one last shout from his Kabochan subordinate.
”Then why speak to him instead of just dumping him in a field, sire?”
The Brig was a simple place. It was a short hallway with four cells on each wall. It was well lit, painted a deep purple, and had large metal bars keeping the prisoners captive. There was only one prisoner today, however, and it was a little Saiyan boy who was missing a tail.
He was wounded in the battle for Beppa. He’d have been tended to by the Namekian Mystics, but the emotional scars were untreatable by any magic Xylo knew of. The boy had seen nearly as much sorrow as the Mazoku Lord had, and in a tenth of the years.
The door on the far side of the room would slide open, as well as the gate to Capper’s cell. Should he exit his cell, he’d find Xylo’s imposing form in front of the door to the brig, sitting down at a magically conjured table. There was one empty seat on Capper’s side of the table, which the Namekian motioned to.
His face was stoney; expressionless. Whether he was angry, sad, smug, or giddy, it was hard to say. He spoke plainly, his hand still pointing towards the empty chair. ”Take a seat, boy. We need to talk.”