Chapter 35 - Cain
Cain stood in the shadows of the observation room, watching through the thick glass as Aren sat motionless in the center of the room. Her hands were bound, her body rigid, and her eyes unseeing in the complete darkness. This method of torture was designed to break the mind, to strip away everything except fear. The isolation, the silence—everything that made the world real—was gone. All she had was her own thoughts, and in this complete stillness, they could be her worst enemy.
Cain's gaze shifted to the display panel next to him. His cybernetic eye flickered to life, connecting him directly to the sensors monitoring Aren's vitals. Her heart rate was elevated, her breathing shallow and erratic. The data was clear: her body was struggling, but it was the mental strain that was the true test. Her brainwaves were unstable, teetering on the edge of something that could break her completely.
His fingers twitched, a habit that he couldn't shake, though he never acted on it. His cybernetic eye zoomed in, providing him with a closer look at Aren's state. Her pupils were dilated, twitching sporadically as though her mind was playing tricks on her. Her pulse rate spiked again, a signal of the anxiety that must have been overtaking her. Cain's lips curled into a faint, cold smile. This was Elohan's true cruelty—putting a person through endless moments of psychological torment until their will was reduced to nothing.
Cain's own experience with the system that created him, the Ascended Army, made him appreciate the devastating power of such an approach. His body had been rebuilt, upgraded to the highest standards of strength and efficiency, but it was the mental programming, the psychological control, that had been the most brutal. Watching Aren suffer brought an unsettling clarity to his own memories—the sense of helplessness, the fractured reality that had once threatened to consume him.
He found his hand tightening around the railing in front of him as he watched her struggle. Despite his cold detachment, despite the lessons drilled into him by the Ascended, a flicker of sympathy twisted inside him. He couldn't afford to acknowledge it, though. Elohan needed her alive—at least for now—but that didn't mean she would be kept whole. Torture was a means to an end, and Elohan never hesitated to use it.
Cain's attention was drawn back to the doorway as Valkyrie stepped silently into the room. Her presence was like a shadow, barely registering until she was standing beside him. He didn't need to look at her to know she was there; her quiet aura of control filled the room. She had always been one of Cain's Most trusted.
Without looking at her, Cain murmured, his voice low but steady, «She's close to breaking.»
Valkyrie tilted her head slightly, her gaze flicking toward Aren. «I see what you mean.»
There was something in her tone—perhaps a quiet acknowledgment of the toll this would take on Aren, or maybe just a simple observation of the situation. Valkyrie was a calculated woman, never revealing more than she needed to. But Cain could see the faintest flicker of something else in her eyes—perhaps even a trace of pity for Aren, though Valkyrie would never admit it.
Before he could respond, Valkyrie's voice interrupted his thoughts, sharp and precise. «Abel called for you.»
For a moment, Cain simply stared at the sensors, watching Aren's heart rate drop again, dangerously close to the point where it might become irreversible. He knew that Elohan had a vested interest in keeping her alive, but the question was how long that would last. Elohan was never predictable.
Finally, Cain turned his gaze to Valkyrie, his expression unreadable. «I'll go. But make sure she doesn't die. Elohan still wants her alive.»
Valkyrie nodded, a quiet acknowledgment of the directive. «Understood.»
Cain's gaze lingered on Aren for a final moment, watching her unravel. A part of him wanted to do something—anything—but he held back, letting her suffer under Elohan's watchful eye. His own emotions, buried deep under layers of control, stirred again, but he silenced them with the cold practicality he had cultivated over years of training.
Turning, he walked away without another word, the weight of his brother's call hanging over him like a storm waiting to break. Whatever happened next, Cain knew that he would always be caught between the two things that defined him—his loyalty to Elohan and his unrelenting need to escape the shadow of his brother.
When he arrived, Abel was leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed, a faint smile playing on his lips. His golden hair was perfectly in place, and his aura radiated effortless confidence. It was the kind of charm that made people trust him, even when they shouldn't. Cain hated it.
«Cain,» Abel greeted warmly, pushing off the frame and stepping forward with open arms as if he were genuinely happy to see his brother. «I'm glad you could make it.»
Cain's lips pressed into a thin line. «You called for me,» he replied flatly, his tone as cold as the cybernetics that saved his life.
«What do you want, Abel?»
Abel's smile didn't falter. «I thought you might want to see how the other side works.» He gestured toward the door, his movements fluid, unhurried. «You've been spending a lot of time with Aren, haven't you? Watching her fall apart in that dark little room. But that's not the only way to break someone.⟩
Cain narrowed his eyes, his distrust sharpening. «Is this another one of your lessons?»
Abel chuckled softly, the sound infuriatingly genuine. «Something like that.» He pressed his palm to the biometric scanner, and the door slid open with a soft hiss. «Come. I think you'll find this enlightening.»
Reluctantly, Cain followed him inside. The room was a stark contrast to Aren's prison. It was warm, almost inviting, with soft lighting and comfortable furnishings. Liora sat in a cushioned chair near the center, her posture relaxed, a faint smile playing on her lips. She looked up as they entered, and her expression brightened when she saw Abel.
«Abel,»she said, her voice light, almost fond. «You're back.»
Cain's stomach twisted at the sight. Liora wasn't wary, wasn't guarded. She didn't look like someone being held captive. If anything, she seemed… at ease. It was unnerving.
Abel crossed the room and crouched beside her, his movements graceful, deliberate. «Of course, Liora,» he said gently. «I wouldn't leave you alone for long.» He reached out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. «How are you feeling today?»
Liora nodded, her smile growing. «Better. The tea you brought last time helped.»
«Good,» Abel said, his tone warm. «I'm glad.» He glanced back at Cain, his smile shifting into something sharper, more knowing. «You see, Cain, people are much more pliable when they trust you.»
Cain's fists clenched at his sides. «Trust? She's a prisoner.»
Abel rose smoothly, turning to face his brother. «Ah, but that's the beauty of it. The illusion of freedom, the illusion of choice—that's what creates loyalty.» He gestured around the room. «Give them a comfortable space. Treat them with kindness. Make them believe they have some control, and they'll give you everything willingly.»
He stepped closer to Cain, his gaze steady, almost challenging. «Fear is a powerful tool, but it breeds resentment. Distrust. Break someone with fear, and they'll hate you forever. But break them with kindness? They'll thank you for it.»
Cain's jaw tightened further, his anger bubbling beneath the surface. «And that's what this is? An act?»
Abel shrugged, his smile faint. «Everything's an act, Cain. The question is whether they believe it. Liora here?» He glanced back at her, his expression softening. «She doesn't see me as her captor anymore. She sees me as her friend. And because of that, she tells me everything. No darkness. No screaming. No blood.»
Cain's gaze flicked to Liora, who was watching them with curious eyes. She didn't look broken. She didn't look like someone who had been interrogated at all. And that, more than anything, unsettled him.
Abel leaned back against the edge of Liora's chair, exuding a casual confidence that only deepened Cain's disgust. «You'd be amazed what people will offer freely when they think they're in control. When they trust you.» He gestured toward Liora with a small flourish. «Liora has told me things the Godhunters would die to keep secret. Things she wouldn't have whispered in her own thoughts, let alone under torture. And all it took was kindness.»
Liora smiled faintly, her gaze soft but alert. She was not mindless, nor broken, and that disquieted Cain more than if she had been sobbing on the floor. Her composure was worse—a testament to how deeply Abel had infiltrated her mind.
Cain stepped forward, his voice colder than the room's warmth. «Kindness, or manipulation? What do you call this? Friendship?»
Abel didn't miss a beat, his smile unwavering. «Does it matter? The result is the same.» He crouched beside Liora again, his tone gentle but pointed. «Liora, I hope you know I don't want to hurt anyone. I just want to stop the bloodshed, to find a way for everyone to live in peace. Don't you want that, too?»
Liora nodded hesitantly, her expression conflicted. «Of course I do.»
«Then you'll keep helping me, won't you?» Abel said softly, placing a hand on her arm. «Because you know this is the right thing to do.»
Her hesitation melted under his steady gaze, and she nodded again, this time more firmly. «Yes, Abel.»
Cain's stomach churned as Abel rose and turned toward him with that same infuriatingly calm smile. «Do you see now, Cain? Breaking someone doesn't have to mean destroying them. Sometimes, you build them into something new. Something useful.»
Cain's fists clenched at his sides. «And when she finds out the truth? When she realizes you've been playing her?»
Abel tilted his head, his golden hair catching the light. «She won't. Not if you do it right.» His voice dropped, smooth and deliberate. «The illusion of freedom, Cain—the illusion of free will—that's all it takes. People don't need to be free to feel free. And when they feel free, they'll trust you. They'll follow you. They'll betray their own for you.»
Abel's words lingered, their weight sinking into the space between them. Cain wanted to argue, to deny the logic, but the sight of Liora—smiling, at ease in her captor's presence—made the words impossible to refute. Abel had made her pliable, useful, and worst of all, willing.
Abel clapped a hand on Cain's shoulder, breaking his thoughts. «Come, brother. Let's talk outside.»
Cain followed Abel out of the room, the door hissing shut behind them. The warmth and comfort of Liora's chamber were replaced by the cold sterility of the corridor. His jaw clenched as he turned to face his brother, the faint hum of the lights above casting harsh shadows across Abel's perfectly composed features.
Abel leaned casually against the wall, his arms crossed, that same maddening smile still lingering on his face. «So,» he said lightly, «what did you think?»
Cain's fists tightened at his sides. «I think you're a manipulative bastard.»
Abel chuckled softly, unbothered by the insult. «That's fair. But you can't deny the results.»
Cain took a step closer, his voice dropping to a sharp, biting tone. «She's going to find out. Sooner or later, she'll realize you're not her friend. What then?»
Abel's smile softened, but his golden eyes held a glint of something darker—something calculating. «By the time she realizes, if she ever does, it won't matter. She'll already have done everything I needed her to do.» He tilted his head slightly, studying Cain like he was a puzzle to be solved. «You still don't understand, do you? This isn't about Liora. It's about the Godhunters. She's already given me everything I need to dismantle their operations, piece by piece.»
Cain's stomach churned. «You mean she betrayed them.»
Abel nodded, the motion almost imperceptible. «Not directly. Not yet. But she's given me enough to make them vulnerable. Locations, patterns, weaknesses. She thinks she's helping me bring peace.» He paused, his tone growing softer, almost contemplative. «And in a way, she is. Just not the way she thinks.»
Cain's breath hitched, anger bubbling beneath the surface. «You sound just like Elohan.»
Abel smiled faintly, his voice tinged with something almost nostalgic. «Perhaps. But Elohan and I differ in one key way. He takes. I offer. People hate being forced, but they'll give you everything if they believe it's their choice.»
Cain turned away, his cybernetic eye scanning the corridor as if it could distract him from the weight of Abel's words. They sank deep, clawing at something he didn't want to acknowledge. Because as much as he hated to admit it, Abel was right. Fear bred resentment. Kindness bred loyalty. And trust, however manufactured, could turn even the strongest into willing participants in their own downfall.
Abel's voice broke the silence, softer now. «She's already started leading us to the Godhunters. Little breadcrumbs, just enough to follow without suspicion. A base here, a supply line there. It's only a matter of time before we have them cornered.»
Cain spun back to face him, his anger spilling over. «And when you're done with her? What then?»
Abel's expression darkened, the warmth slipping away entirely. «Then we end it. Quickly, cleanly. She won't suffer.» He paused, his tone softening again. «I'm not a monster, Cain.»
Cain barked a bitter laugh, shaking his head. «Could've fooled me.»
Abel didn't flinch, didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he placed a hand on Cain's shoulder, his grip firm but not forceful. «You and I are tools, Cain. We're not here to decide what's right or wrong. We're here to do what needs to be done. Elohan knows that. You should, too.»
Cain shrugged off his brother's hand, his disgust palpable. «Don't compare us, Abel. We're nothing alike.»
Abel stepped back, his expression unreadable. «If that's what you need to believe, little brother.»
With that, he turned and walked away, his steps echoing down the corridor. Cain stood there for a long moment, his fists clenched, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. Abel's words lingered, wrapping around his thoughts like chains. The illusion of freedom, the illusion of choice—it was a bitter truth, one Cain wished he could reject. But as he thought of Liora, smiling, trusting, and unknowingly betraying everything she stood for, he couldn't deny its power.
And that terrified him.