“Herusefulness?” My eyes are locked on the struggling woman. They’re willing to use these humans as collateral damage in their war, then just… kill them once that’s done. “How can you possibly be convinced that you’re the good guys here?”
“There are nogood guys, Belissenda. War creates monsters of us all,” he almost sounds regretful for a moment, though I know better. His eyes meet mine with a manic glaze, “I have no qualms being the most monstrous, so long asIwin.”
As he walks away and Taylor quietly trails behind him like the little puppy he is, Alastor offers me parting words, “You will watch every second, or I’ll drag another one out here.”
???
The only thing drowning out the sporadic drip of blood falling from the chair to the floor is the haunting, unearthly wailing coming from the demon gripping the bars of his cage across from me. The sizzling of his skin as he holds himself against his enclosure pales in comparison to the agonizing sound escaping his chest. Between sobs, he begs anyone and no one to just kill him, just put him out of his misery.
Two guards grab the arms of what’s left of the poor woman, carrying her away. The scuffle of them dragging her near-lifeless form pushes the demon into hysteria, screaming senseless words and throwing himself again and again at the bars, the scent of burning flesh adding to the dirty penny smell already soaking the air.
Alastor saunters my way, wiping his hands on his pants to clean them of blood, though not bothering to wipe the splatter from his face. He places both hands beside me on my armrests, telling me, “That’s what’s in store for your demon pets since you’ve already allowed them to defile you. There’s no point in keeping you around for anything else. Once they arrive and we’ve got them in cages where they belong, I’ll kill you and force them to live the rest of eternity wishing for the same.”
“Why are there soul-bonds?” I finally ask, unable to stop myself.
“Why?” he seems confused about why that’s the question I chose.
“Yeah, why?” I raise a brow. “Why are soul-bonds created if demons are evil, vile, twisted things? Why would your creator gift them a soulmate if they’re so terrible?”
“It’s not our place to question the will of God,” Taylor answers with a non-answer from a few feet away. I resist the urge to sneer at his response, waiting to see if I’ll get a different one from Alastor.
He shrugs coldly, hands still gripping the armrests beside me. “Who knows? To give us someone we could use to control them? To ensure they get all the pain they deserve? Honestly, who cares why? Don’t you want to know why I think you’re theirs?”
I really fucking do. But Alastor won’t tell me unless the answer will only cause me more pain. So instead, I ask something else, “What was her name?”
“Whose? Oh, hers?” he gestures at the blood trail behind him, “Don’t know. Didn’t matter.” But the smirk twisting his features tells another story. He knows. And it matters. He knows damn well that this cruelty matters, even if only to me.
I’ll never rid my brain of the things it’s seen today. Even if I only live another hour, that hour will be filled with nothing but images of an innocent woman dying so brutally in the name of God. Tears stream down my face as Alastor and I stare at each other. We both know that striking him again won’t do anything to help my situation, but I refuse to cower from his gaze.
He lets the stare-down continue for only a moment before commanding, “Turn her over.Caspianneeds more motivation.”
An entire team moves in formation to unfasten my binds and turn me over, reattaching me to the chair. The new position feels freezing on all my exposed skin, barely keeping my dignity intact. The buzzing of that horrible machine begins again, forcing every muscle in my body to lock into place. Alastor sighs out his contentment at the fear rising inside me, and I close my eyes, hoping it will hurt less if I can’t see it coming.
It doesn’t.
No longer able to keep quiet, I cry out from the pain. As one of his buddies paints a picture of agony along my back, I scream again and again. For the nameless woman, for the future Caspian will be forced to live, for Fritz, who won’t even get a chance to know me before he spends eternity in captivity because of me. While Alastor’s taunts about the soul-bond sit in the back of my head, I can’t allow the countless questions that arise to cloud my head.
I can’t allow myself to think of the future we’ll never be allowed to have.
The pain splitting my entire body in two wouldn’t let me, even if I wanted to.
Once finished with their masterpiece, Alastor calls on someone to bring him the healing mechanism again. As he runs the cold metal piece across the inflamed skin on my back, I bite back more moans of pain. Healing my injuries shouldn’t hurt nearly as much as causing them.
Alastor doesn’t bother sticking around once I’m healed. He just throws his bloody rag on the ground and clicks my cage shut behind him without a glance. The relief I feel is short-lived once I realize that means it’s just me and Taylor locked inside this prison together. He speaks with a guard across from me, grinning like they’re old pals just catching up, completely unaware of the ways I’m imagining gutting him.
I would start with his eyes. Or perhaps his fingernails if I had time.
Once I’m sat back up properly in my chair with my hands unbound, Taylor offers me a drink of water and some bread, apparently being thegood copin this scenario. Part of me considers throwing the glass at his head, just for the two seconds of satisfaction, but I’m parched and exhausted.
“I warned you,” he offers, seeming genuinely distraught at my treatment, “I warned you they wouldn’t take kindly to your lack of cooperation.”
I hum in assent, unwilling to engage with him. I’m barely on this edge of sanity as it is, and a fight with an indignant child so sure that he’s right and I’m wrong will drive me far past rational thought.
But he has to keep running his fucking mouth, “You have to believe me, I didn’t want that to happen. That innocent woman died because of you.”
“Because of me?” I snap, self-preservation losing to the indignation flooding my veins. His self-righteousness while he’s metaphorically covered in blood pushes me over the edge into a freefall, “Did I do that? Did I stand there and draw your insignia in her skin with a knife? No. I sat here and Iprayedfor mercy for her. What didyoudo?” He stares at me dumbfounded, so I answer for him, “Nothing.You saw an innocent— in your own words— woman suffering at the hands of one of your men and you stood there like the fucking coward you are.”
He looks like he wants to hit me again, so I push him, hoping for the bravery to hit back and force him to end this quickly. If I’m going out, I’m doing it my way. I’mnotgiving Alastor the pleasure of doing it as slowly as he did with her, “If your God is real, he’d want nothing to do with the likes of a hateful bitch boy like you.”
