Caesar the Troll Part 12

Caesar built part of brij. People built rest. They burned us, and Caesar could not sing.

Caesar spent the next few days alone in the tunnels, unwilling to despair of his situation, but unwilling more yet to ascend to the ground level. The odds grew higher with ever passing moment that they would find his rubble shack pile that covered the shaft down to his tunnels.
A few days later Caesar could stand the tunnels no longer, especially since he dared not turn on his lights. They made a humming noise that could be heard at the surface, and he couldn't think of being discovered. He crawled and leapt his way out, sneaking through his rubble pile and sprinting for the theater. He had to sing again.
As he approached he saw many of them surrounding the building, slinking towards it with guns fully charged. He dove behind a rock pile just before they could turn to investigate the sound, but as it was they were too engrossed in their sneaking to notice him. They were perfectly silent, and yet one noise pierced the air.
His song, in a high pitch.
And then it was too late. The song cut off with a higher yet shriek and a few of the crackling sounds the guns made when fired. The shots were in the air.
The king leaped out of hiding and sprinted the distance to the back wall of his theater. All of them had gone inside. He climbed the back wall just in time to see a few of them grabbing his most loyal subject and yelling back and forth. Apparently, they figured the people would pay quite a price to get her back.
The king stooped down and ripped out one of the stone benches of his theater, his parents' seat, and threw it down on top of three of the gunners. He followed the bench closely with his own body, jumping the whole height and landing on all fours. The first renegade to approach caught a backhand that sent his bruised body fifty feet away and up onto the stage.
The girl cried out for Caesar, so glad to see her king.
Caesar looked at her with pity as he heard the guns charge up.
With a zap and a crackle twenty different guns were all trained on Caesar, streaming streaks of charged ions carried by intense, hard lasers into his lumpy skin, turning it black where they were concentrated. He would have cried out, but the king would not disgrace himself before his subjects. Instead he curled up and covered his head with his hands to assuage the paralyzing pain. While he was so transfixed they carried her away, and for a nearly a minute thereafter they took turns keeping their guns fixed on him, and when the rest of their party had gone far enough, they stopped, took one final volley all together. They left the smoking body of the king to whimper on the stone floor, five rows down from Marcus' seat, with the rubble of his parents' seat all around him.