Markram Battles: Omens of Doom (Part II) by M.C. Muhlenkamp Page B

around her ankles. She took her stance in front of him and waited. Seven grasped her throat. I saw him hesitate, considering what he was about to do. I swallowed hard. I had only seen him use his extrasensory ability to its full extent twice, and neither of those instances was something I wished to recall. Nine began quivering, her confused expression growing in pain with every passing moment. She brought her hands around her neck, fighting against his grasp like a wild animal. Seven lifted her off the ground while Nine squirmed and kicked relentlessly.
     
    “What are you doing?” Thirteen asked. “Stop it!”
     
    Seven’s arm shook from the exertion, but he didn’t let go. Holding Nine while extracting every sense with the exception of pain, which only expanded its presence inside the victim’s mind, wasn’t easy. Most people were completely unaware of the fact that creatures of any race had a multitude of senses. Sight, hearing, taste, smell, and touch were only the most recognized. But they weren’t the only ones. Extracting the traditionally recognized senses usually worked without much effort; the victim lost consciousness instantly. Nine continued struggling because Seven was purposefully keeping her conscious until the very end of the extraction, which I knew required a massive amount of self-discipline on his part.
     
    Nine finally passed out and Seven let her fall with a loud thud. “Six, front and center.”
     
    Thirteen’s expression grew more distressed at the sight of Six stepping forward with the same fearful, yet obedient pace. Seven took hold of Six’s throat and repeated the sensory extraction, leaving only pain. “Stop it, Seven,” Thirteen demanded.
     
    But he didn’t. Seven dropped the unconscious fighter on the floor and clenched his jaw. “Ten, front and center.”
     
    “No! Please,” Thirteen cried out.
     
    Seven looked up. “I told you not to push me. Every action has an effect. Every choice has a consequence. I will teach you the meaning of duty, to your unit and to me, even if it’s the last thing I do. Not one of your fellow fighters will eat, not one will sleep, not one will recover from training, until you have yielded. Even if it means the death of them all.”
     
    “You just said you are responsible for the safety of the entire unit. How am I supposed to interpret your behavior?”
     
    “You aren’t supposed to interpret anything. You are supposed to listen and obey, without question, without discussion, and without doubt.”
     
    Seven grasped Ten’s neck and extracted her senses in the same painful manner, letting her body fall atop the other unconscious fighters after he had finished. He repeated the process until every fighter with the exception of Thirteen lay on the ground. Thirteen’s chin quivered and, in spite of her obvious efforts to refrain from crying, tears began to stream down her cheeks. Seven remained immobile for a moment after the last fighter hit the ground, his shaky fingers revealing the regret that I knew coursed through him. Seven had never been a punisher. He had never encountered a situation, either in training or real combat, where anyone could force him to be cruel out of necessity.
     
    “It seems Seven is finally acting as he was trained,” the Major General said.
     
    I blinked several times, realizing I had somehow forgotten she was standing next to me. I turned toward her and said the first thing that came to my mind. “I have always trusted his judgment.”
     
    “Inform Seven that Thirteen will be one of the fighters at the ceremony.” I nodded, then watched as she made her way down the corridor, all the while wondering how Seven would react to the news.
     
    Thirteen’s voice brought my attention back to the training. “For a race so bent on repressing emotions, you sure have a very spiteful way of expressing yourself.”
     
    Seven looked up from the pile of bodies at his feet. I couldn’t help feeling upset at