With the dagger clutched in my hand, I crawl to the bars, since my legs refuse to hold my weight. Fisting the bars for support, I clench my jaw before pulling myself up. I barely swallow my cry of pain and squeeze my eyes shut to stop the world from spinning.
Every bone in my body begs me to sit down before I pass out from the pain. I hate that the thought of resting my eyes flashes in my mind before the wails outside break through my fatigue.
When I’m sure I won’t plant myself face-first on the ground, I stretch my legs to gain some feeling, even if it’s just pure agony. I take a deep breath to rein myself in, but immediately regret it when the awful stink of blood and urine makes me gag.
I willnotthrow up again. I will not throw upagain.
At this point, the only reason I’m not on the ground writhing in pain is due to the sudden silence from where they are holding my little boy.
Screaming and crying are good; it means he’s alive. It’s the silence that chills my soul from the endless possibilities it leaves in its wake.
I push my head through the gap in the bars and crane my neck to see if any Deviants are lurking around. It takes a moment for my legs to regain footing, and I use that moment to pace in my head and plan my next steps.
Slowly, I can feel my Divine, the magic that runs in my veins stirring after a decade of me forcing it down. The major life- threatening wounds start closing up, and I breathe through the sharp pain of my ribs cracking in place. Finally, my lungs expand enough to stop feeling like a baby elephant is sitting on my chest.
Is my plan reckless and probably life-ending?Yes.
Do I have another brilliant plan?No.
To stop myself from overthinking my somewhat foolish plan, I strike the metal dagger against the heavy bars, creating a resounding sound throughout the dungeons. Maybe this is a horrible idea, but now you have to stick with it, Nevaeh.No take-backs.
Rushed footsteps paired with the horrific smell of decaying flesh let me know what was about to come. The stink overwhelms my somewhat heightened senses, but I focus on getting out of this cell and ignoring the urge to throw up the food they graciously served meweeksago.
When the guard is about to rush past my cell, I use his distraction and the lack of a working brain to swiftly bring him into a chokehold through the bars. The moment my arms sink into his rotten flesh, I regret not stabbing him instead.
With time, a deviant’s body degrades into fragile bones and decaying flesh that shreds like a snake, and it’s exactly as gag-worthy as it sounds.
The deviant aggressively thrashes into my hold, his touch burning my forearms. He angles his spear to stab me from the side, which I evade just in time. Before this fool can alert the others with his antics, I squeeze my arms harder and watch his head fall to the ground with a wet thud.Yuck.
Counting to five, I brace in case the commotion attracts unnecessary attention. Still, when no one comes screaming bloody murder, I pick up the abandoned spear from the ground outside my cell and smash the heavy lock keeping me inside to pieces.
A small glimpse inside the cell opposite mine reminds me why I need to abandon my fear before stepping out of the shadows. The broken and burnt bodies piled in a corner are just a tiny example of what these monsters are capable of.
The scared and quiet ones are fun to play with, but no one wants to deal with a mouthy, sarcastic, and overall bitch. As long as they focus on beating the attitude out of you, their eyes won’t stray to the places where your clothes are torn.
Using the walls as my crutch, I walk to the far end of the dungeons. My limping comes to a halt when I finally hear soft whimpers from inside and I sigh in relief.
I feel awful for being happy overhearing him cry, but at least he’s still alive. I would take him crying any day over being killed at the hands of these voodoo-doing barbarians.
‘You hit first and hard, so they can’t come after you again.’
The combat lesson from my childhood rings in my head, and a breathless gasp leaves me. I’m surprised I still remember my papa’s voice, even after all this time.
After a decade of pain and misery, I have hope. Hope that maybe,just maybe, I will see him again.
The possibility of seeing my papa again sends my Divine into overdrive, and I feel my strength increasing with every dragging step. The adrenaline rushing through my body helps me recount the combat lessons Papa drilled into me as a kid. I desperately need those lessons to work today.
Stopping at the corner, I peek around to glance inside the cell. When my eyes find the tiny figure bound to a chair he can barely fill in, a familiar rage fills my veins. The kind of rage I learned to keep dormant for most of my life, but today I don’t ignore the whispers of revenge, but embrace them.
For my little monkey.
A lump forms in my throat when my eyes find the open scar on his stomach that’s bleeding heavily. His skin is pale and not from the loss of blood but from the utter fear of the warlock standing before him with a raised hand.
The rough plan I made is down the bloody drain, and I’m no longer waiting for the perfect time. Let’s reconsider the planto get out of this shithole. A brief detour to skin some warlocks alive won’t take much time.
Clutching the spear, I scoff in my head.Cheapos. If Papa saw the quality of this weapon, he would make a show of breaking it in two with little to no effort.
Before the pathetic warlock can touch the kid, my dagger cuts through the air and lands on the side of his neck. The cell goes eerily still when his body falls like a sack of wrinkly old potatoes.Shouldn’t have touched my kid.
