Whispers of Nowhere

Chapter Twenty-Two: Part Two

Consciousness slowly found him, the comforting warmth of sedation slipping away as rough, icy tendrils crept into his mind; flowing down his spine to spread through his extremities, one by one. His fingers twitched, then his toes, until each of his limbs was filled with the prickly sharp cold of awareness.

Phenex groaned when a dull ache started at the back of his head, throbbing in a steady cadence when it reached his temples. Opening his eyes, he looked around, unable to make out much of anything, at first; just dark, fuzzy shadows. Eventually he could see shapes, the blurred outline of a door coming into focus. As his grogginess finally started to fade, he attempted to put a hand to his aching head, only to realize he couldn't.

Am I paralyzed? No...this is something else, entirely, he reasoned. If I were paralyzed, I wouldn't be able to move my fingers. So what the hell—

He glanced at his arms, realizing that they were splayed out on either side of him, thick manacles encircling both wrists. Peering down, he saw that his legs were much the same, feet firmly planted on the floor with his ankles chained so that they were flush against the wall, his body forced into the shape of an 'X'.

Where the hell am I? Wait—of course. He closed his eyes, forcing back an aggravated sigh.

The events prior to his loss of consciousness came back to him with a sickening jolt. His battle with Reeves, how he'd just gotten him down on the ground, preparing to deliver the final blow, when... Phenex growled, the final piece of the puzzle falling into place. His arms shook with barely contained rage, the image of a seductive, dark-haired woman coming to the forefront of his mind.

"Iris." Her name came out a curse. It figured that she had resorted to cheap tricks, launching a sneak attack against him when he'd otherwise been focused on Reeves. Being who he was, her earlier attempt to use her siren song on him had had no effect. Judging from what had followed—and the position he currently found himself in—it was safe to assume that she was a very sore loser, indeed. All it would have taken was a quick stroke of one of her wrist barbs, and whoever dared defy her would be rendered immobile.

And he had dared.

Now we know for sure. He vaguely took notice of the countless shackles lining the dungeon's walls, crusted with suspicious, reddish-brown stains that he could only assume had once belonged to Iris's past victims. Phenex suppressed a shudder at the thought. She and Reeves have been in league all along.

It was something the council had suspected long ago, but for whatever reason, had never been able to prove. Before long—and much to Phenex's confusion—charges had been filed against Hercules, the demigod shipped off to Nowhere before he even had the chance to figure out what had happened.

Thanks to Athian, maybe I'll finally get that chance, he thought. A lump formed in his throat when he thought of the informant. He'd promised Athian amnesty, had promised to keep him safe from Reeves and whoever else might do him harm—and he had failed. And to top it off, now he was stuck here.

Well, that was about to change.

Gritting his teeth, Phenex began tugging against the manacles with renewed vigor, the sleeves of his leather jacket sliding down to reveal the straining tendons of his forearms. Unfortunately, this only caused the manacles to bite into his wrists, blood trickling down his arms in thick rivulets. As soon as the wounds had healed, he tried again, even going so far as to turn himself into a blazing inferno—all to no avail.

What the hell are these cuffs made of? he seethed, panting from the effort. Were they magically sealed against his fire, somehow?

There wasn't time to find out. At that moment, the thick, industrial door on the opposite side of the chamber opened with a bang, the metal reverberating when it slammed against the cinderblock wall behind it. Pale yellow light pooled across the concrete floor, stopping just short of where he was shackled.