|Immortal, Not by Choice
Author: Dawnstar08 PM
TenSoon, abused by his former masters, wishes that he wasn't immortal. One-shot, T for violence.Rated: Fiction T - English - Words: 1,144 - Reviews: 10 - Favs: 3 - Follows: 2 - Published: 07-28-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6184576
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: I don't own the Mistborn Trilogy. I'm not sure if anyone will read this since there are only five Mistbon fanfics including this one, but... Anyway, enjoy the story, mysterious or absent readers!
Kandra aren't quite immortal. We can be killed just like our koloss cousins, yet ever since the First Generation, the start of the Final Empire, we have kept our secret hidden. To those who know not of our power, we feign death. To those who know, we can only grit our borrowed teeth and wait.
To any human out there, Allomancer or not, who is ignorant to the ways of the kandra, let me introduce my species. We are the perfect actors, able to take the shape of our role. Bound by the century old Contract, kandra must follow the orders of their appointed masters, who hire us. We are servants, spies, and guards, what ever our master orders us to become. Kandra can take the shape of any corpse, using the bones as a framework, yet we are forbidden from killing to get our new bodies.
Ever one of my previous masters has feared me. I can tell when they address me, flinch when they touch me, avoid looking me in the eyes that they instructed me to make. And their fear is vented as hatred, pure loathing. They despise us, regardless of how useful we are to them.
The slap he hit me with threw me into the wall, and my head cracked against the stone sickeningly. He grasped the front of my skaa uniform and pulled me roughly to my feet. Stars danced in front of my vision, everything slightly blurred.
"Strip," my master snarled at me. "Now."
The fingers of the body he'd given me trembled slightly as I pulled the shirt made of rough fibers over my head and placed it on the ground. As I reached down to pull off the pants, I stumbled, head still spinning.
As I tried to get my balance, my master punched me in the stomach. He wasn't a very strong man, but still the wind was knocked out of me. He punched me again, harder, and this time I stumbled, doubling over. Pain flared as his strike hit a recent bruise, but I kept my mouth firmly shut as commanded.
"I told you to strip!" he bellowed, charging at me.
I tripped and fell, landing hard on my back on the cold stone floor. My master loomed over me, breathing hard. He stared me in the eyes, a look of hatred twisting his face, and kicked me with all his might.
Barely managing to hold back a moan of pain, I bit my lip to keep back the sound. I tried to ignore the stabs of pain in my side and head, but the sounds of his steel-toed boot hitting my flesh were hard to ignore.
Again. And again. And again. And again.
He was sweating, drops of perspiration dripping onto my bare arms and chest. I felt my ribs crack and break. I gasped, struggling to breathe. It took all of my willpower to lie as still as possible and take the beating. He'll get bored, I thought. He'll give up soon and leave me alone. But he was showing no signs of letting up. My master kicked for the last time, rolling me over onto my front. For a second I thought he was finished and relief washed through me, bringing the pain back worse than ever. But I was wrong.
A mad gleam in his eye, the man I was forced to obey reached onto the table behind him and pulled out a whip. Without looking I knew that it was already stained red with dried blood. My blood.
"Get up!" my master growled menacingly. Arms shaking with the effort, I pushed myself up on my elbows and rose painfully to all fours. Nearly blacking out, I gasped for air, struggling to my feet. He pushed me roughly against the wall. I hit it on my bad side and whimpered in agony. My chest was on fire with pain, broken ribs jutting out through the torn skin, blood running down my leg to the floor.
"P-please," I croaked, my throat closing up, vision tunneling. "N-no… more."
"I said silence!" the man before me roared, punctuating his last word with a slash with the whip. I exhaled sharply at the sting. He lashed me again, the sound from the whip reverberating around the stone room. Soon my back, like all of the ones before it, was crisscrossed with cuts.
"Damn. Kandra!" he raged, each word paired with another slash. "Why. Can't. You. Die?"
As my back was ripped open from the blows, my side still gushing blood from what should have been a mortal wound, I wondered the same thing. Please, let me die this time. Let this be the last!
After I'd been beaten to his satisfaction, he left. Just left me there. No explanation as to why. My body tried to heal, but the broken bones needed to be replaced. Without them, the flesh couldn't heal properly. I needed a new body, but none was given. Wounds still open and bleeding sluggishly, I lay there in a haze of pain, waiting for my new body.
Three days later, they threw it down to me. A woman, small and dirty, but I was in too much pain to care. When an assassin killed my master a month later, I didn't care either. In fact, I was relieved. I returned to my brothers, gladly shedding my old body for another. I only had another day or so until a new master summoned me.
He said his name was Zane, and he was different from the other masters I'd had. I could tell that he was a powerful Mistborn, the most powerful I'd ever seen. I didn't stay with him for long. He assigned me to my tab, and I was surprised that I would be imitating a kandra, no less. As I said before, my new master was different. Smarter. Stronger. More dangerous.
"His name is OreSeur," the man Zane explained. "He is bound to Kelsier, the Survivor of the Pits of Hathsin, but I want you, as your role, to keep a close eye on the girl Vin. If Kelsier dies, that is your time to strike. Take the position and tell the girl that The Contract was transferred to her." He ordered me to report back to him what I learned.
I did as he told me to, bound by The Contract and my own curiosity. I learned about OreSeur, memorized his ways. I watched, and I became him.
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