Ezra Echelon Liberation System

Chapter 4: Know Pain

Ezra's last sight before darkness enveloped him was his father's head hitting the blood-stained ground.

 

A scream tore through the quiet plains, Ezra's voice raw and endless, filled with a loss too heavy to bear. No one rushed to calm him.

 

The soldiers lingering near the execution site exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions hardening. They were familiar with death and despair; this was just another victim in the ongoing cycle of power and betrayal.

 

Yet, Ezra's cries were different. They weren't the desperate pleas of a man seeking mercy or the broken sobs of someone succumbing to grief. His voice held a primal quality, a pain so profound it erupted from him, raw and unstoppable. It resonated in the ears of those around, a haunting reminder of their actions.

 

A few soldiers began to whisper among themselves, their discomfort showing in their restless movements. "Someone shut that kid up," one grumbled, masking his unease with irritation. Another scoffed, spitting on the ground. "What's the use? He's done for. Let him scream until he can't anymore."

 

But Ezra continued. His throat burned, his voice strained, yet he kept screaming. His hands, still tied to the post, twisted against the ropes until they bled. It was as if he believed that his cries could somehow reverse the horror he had just witnessed.

 

His sisters' faces flashed in his mind, clear and bright: the silent pleas for help before their lives ended; his mother's fierce look as the blade came down; and his father, once so strong and mighty, now just a lifeless form, his head rolling in the dirt like it was nothing.

 

Then a soldier approached him, his face twisted in irritation. "That's enough," he growled, slapping Ezra hard. The blow turned Ezra's head sharply. His cries paused for a moment, but only for a moment. They resumed, rough and raw.

 

"Stubborn little brat," the soldier grumbled, shaking his hand as if Ezra had hurt him more than he had been hurt.

 

They cut him down from the post, and Ezra fell into the dirt, his body weak and unresponsive. His voice was gone, reduced to a pitiful wheeze. The soldiers showed no care; they dragged him by the arms, his legs scraping the ground, kicking up dust that settled into the fresh cuts on his wrists and knees.

 

"Still crying?" one mocked, even though Ezra could no longer make a sound. "Pathetic. No wonder Lorrin let him live. No fight in him. Just a whimpering little pup."

 

The others burst into laughter. Ezra barely heard them, his mind lost in the haunting images replaying endlessly. He didn’t even react when a kick hit his ribs, the dull pain overshadowed by the ache in his heart.

 

"Do you think he even knows what's happening?" another mocked, crouching down to look closely at Ezra. "Hey, kid. Are you still in there? Or did you lose it with all that yelling?"

 

Ezra's eyes moved to the man, but he stayed silent. He just didn't have the energy.

 

The soldier scoffed. "Nothing to say? Pathetic." He spat on Ezra before standing up and signaling to the others. "Let’s take him to the dungeon. Maybe he’ll toughen up down there."

 

They pulled him along, past the grounds that used to be his home. Ezra's blurry vision caught sight of familiar buildings, their walls stained with blood and littered with the bodies of people he recognized. The remaining attendants were pushed aside, looking pale and empty as the soldiers marched past.

 

Some averted their eyes, while others stared boldly, their expressions a mix of pity and disdain.

 

"He's still alive?" someone murmured. "Why would they let him live?"

 

"Probably because he’s worthless," another voice replied, full of venom. "Not even worth the trouble to kill."

 

Those words hurt more than any weapon could. Ezra trembled, unsure if it was from fatigue, sorrow, or rage.

 

They tossed him into the dungeon as soon as they arrived. Ezra hit the cold, damp floor hard, his already injured body jolted by the fall.

 

"Hope you like your new place," one taunted, slamming the heavy iron door shut.

 

Darkness enveloped him like a heavy blanket. All he could hear was the distant drip of water and the fading laughter of the soldiers in the hallway.

 

Ezra lay motionless, his face pressed against the cold stone. The chill seeped into his skin, yet he remained still, lacking even the strength to cry.

 

But his mind was racing.

 

The name burned in his thoughts like a brand. His master. His teacher. The man who had shown him the meaning of loyalty and discipline. The man who had betrayed him, his family, and the sect.

 

Why?

 

Ezra's thoughts whirled as he tried to understand. Lorrin had always been aloof and reserved, but Ezra had never questioned his loyalty. He had trusted him completely.

 

Now, lying in the darkness, Ezra saw things differently.

 

He recalled how Lorrin spoke to him—always with a cold, condescending tone, especially during the massacre. Lorrin had looked at him with a calculating gaze, treating him like a mere pawn on a chessboard, easily moved.

 

"You have no will, no grit, no skill to fight back." Those words echoed in his mind as Lorrin walked away from the execution scene.

 

Perhaps Lorrin was right. Ezra hadn’t fought back. He had felt powerless, watching his family die while he did nothing.

 

But why had Lorrin let him live? Why not end his life with the others?

 

The answer came to him suddenly, a quiet thought in his mind.

 

Because it was worse to be left alive.

 

The realization struck him hard. Lorrin hadn’t shown him mercy; he had chosen to spare him out of cruelty, knowing the burden of survival would be unbearable.

 

Ezra's hands clenched against the cold stone floor, his nails pressing into his skin hard enough to draw blood. The sharp pain was grounding, but it couldn't calm the turmoil inside him.

 

He remembered his sisters, their joyful smiles and laughter. His mother's gentle touch and his father's firm yet caring voice. All of it was gone in an instant.

 

And Lorrin was responsible.

 

The grief in Ezra's chest twisted into something darker. The despair that threatened to overwhelm him transformed into a burning knot of hatred.

 

He wasn't sure how long he had been there, lost in his thoughts. Time felt meaningless in the heavy darkness of the dungeon.

 

But eventually, something shifted.

 

His body throbbed from the restraints, his throat was sore from shouting, and his mind felt fractured. So when a faint blue light appeared before him, he thought it was just another sign of his madness.

 

The glowing screen flashed with unfamiliar symbols, strange characters racing across its surface. His tired eyes struggled to focus until the words finally became clear:

 

"Are you ready to enter into a contract with the Echelon System? YES or NO."