Elektra’s boots echoed sharply against the marble floors as she stormed through the dark, opulent halls of the Voltaire estate. Each step she took reverberated with the intensity of her rage, a rage that seemed to simmer just beneath the surface of her composed exterior. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her knuckles whitening as she forced herself to keep moving, her mind locked onto a single thought: punishment. The servants she passed quickly averted their gazes, their eyes darting to the ground as they hurried out of her way. They had seen Elektra in this state before and knew better than to risk incurring her wrath.
The estate was a labyrinth of luxury and power, its walls adorned with priceless art and ancient relics that whispered of the Voltaire family’s long and storied history. But beneath the grandeur, there was a darkness that few dared to acknowledge—a darkness that Elektra embraced fully. As she approached the bedroom where her brother lived, her anger flared even hotter. Warren. The mere thought of his name made her blood boil.
She reached his door, a large, ornate piece of wood that stood in stark contrast to the plainness of the room behind it. Without hesitation, she kicked it open; the door slamming against the wall with a loud crack. The impact was so forceful that the door handle embedded itself into the plaster, leaving a gaping hole. Darkness enveloped the room like a blanket; the curtains in the room were drawn to block out the light, and the sudden intrusion startled the boy inside.
Warren, a tall, pale figure with dark bags under his eyes and long brown hair that fell in slight curls around his face, jumped up in fright. He wore baggy jeans and a loose t-shirt., his disheveled appearance making him look even more out of place within the estate’s grandeur. His instinctual reaction was to seek cover, and he quickly scrambled behind his bed, his eyes wide with fear.
“Get out here, you snitch!” Elektra snarled, her voice dripping with venom as she advanced into the room. “You think you can get away with spying on me? You deserve to be punished.”
Warren peeked out from behind the bed, trembling. His heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline making his hands shake uncontrollably. “I-I’m sorry, Elektra! I didn’t mean to-I was just worried when I saw you leaving in a hurry… I thought-”
“I don’t need a weakling like you worrying about me!” Elektra cut him off, her eyes flashing with anger. Her voice was like ice, cold and unforgiving, each word cutting into Warren like a blade. She reached down, grabbing him by the hair, and yanked him to his feet with a strength that belied her slender frame. Warren winced in pain, his hands instinctively reaching up to lessen the strain on his scalp, but Elektra’s grip was unrelenting. Her nails dug into his scalp, sending jolts of pain shooting through his skull.
She dragged him out of the room and down the corridor, ignoring his whimpers and pleas for her to let go. Warren stumbled behind her, his legs struggling to keep up with her fast pace. The estate was silent, the only sounds being the echo of their footsteps and Warren’s pained protests. The coldness of the marble floor seeped through his thin socks, adding another layer of discomfort to his already miserable state.
“Where… where are we going?” Warren stammered, his voice wavering as they descended a spiral staircase leading into the depths of the estate. His heart sank as they moved further away from the living quarters, the familiar warmth of the upper levels being replaced by the cold, oppressive atmosphere of the estate’s lower floors.
Elektra didn’t bother to look at him. “To the torture room.”
Warren’s eyes widened in horror. “W-what? The torture room? Why are we going there? Please, Elektra, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you—”
“Shut up,” Elektra snapped, her voice cold and commanding. “And it’s not a torture room. It’s the place where we remind rats, their place in the food chain.”
As they continued their descent, the air grew colder, the light from the flickering sconces casting long, ominous shadows on the stone walls. The further down they went, the more the estate felt like a dungeon, a place where the Voltaires could conduct their dark business away from the prying eyes of the world above. Warren’s fear grew with each step, his mind racing with the possibilities of what awaited him. He had always known that his sister was cruel, but this was something else entirely.
They reached a heavy, reinforced door at the end of the staircase. Elektra pushed it open with a creak, dragging Warren inside. The room was dark, with the smell of blood and burnt flesh hanging thick in the air. The overpowering smell was so strong that Warren choked and fought to stay balanced. Lining the walls, cruel, archaic instruments designed for one purpose.
Pain.
The sight of them made Warren’s stomach churn with dread. Warren’s heart pounded in his chest as his eyes landed on the centerpiece of the room: an iron chair bolted to the floor. In it sat a man, his body a canvas of brutality. He had charred and blistered skin, bruises and cuts marring his flesh in a gruesome display. His clothes were ragged and scorched, barely clinging to his body, and blood dripped from multiple wounds, pooling beneath the chair. His eyes were closed, but as Elektra and Warren entered, they flickered open, revealing golden irises that glowed with a predatory intensity. The unyielding gaze of those piercing eyes seemed to strip Warren of his soul.
The sight made Warren freeze in his tracks, fear rooting him to the spot. He couldn’t understand why he was so terrified of this man who looked half-dead, but something about those eyes unsettled him to his core. They weren’t the eyes of a man defeated; they were the eyes of a predator, one that was biding its time.
Elektra shoved Warren forward, breaking his trance. He stumbled and nearly fell, catching himself at the last moment. She approached the man in the chair and gestured to him with a smirk. “Warren, meet Sabir. You two are alike, you know. Both pathetic.”
Warren’s gaze flickered between Elektra and Sabir, confusion and fear battling for dominance in his mind. “W-what do you mean?”
“At least Sabir here lasted longer in a fight with me than you ever could,” Elektra continued, circling Warren like a predator assessing its prey. Her movements were fluid, predatory, as she eyed her brother with a mixture of contempt and amusement. “You can’t even generate a spark, and yet a fucking dud like him is stronger than you. Pathetic.”
She punctuated the word with a swift punch to Warren’s stomach, sending him sprawling to the ground with a gasp of pain. Warren curled up, clutching his stomach, tears of humiliation and fear welling up in his eyes. The blow had knocked the wind out of him, leaving him gasping for air on the cold stone floor. He glanced up at Sabir, expecting some reaction, but the man in the chair remained impassive, his golden eyes fixed on him with an unnerving calmness. It was as if Sabir saw through him, reading his fear and helplessness like an open book.
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Elektra crouched down beside Warren, grabbing him by the head and forcing him to look up at her. Her grip was ironclad, her fingers digging into his scalp with painful precision. “You’re going to prove to me, to this entire family, that you’re not as worthless as everyone thinks you are. You’re the laughingstock of the nobles at the academy. Do you know that? They all think you’re a joke.”
Warren’s lip quivered as he tried to speak, but the words died in his throat. He knew what they said about him—he had heard the whispers, the snickers behind his back. The other nobles, with their perfect abilities and flawless control, looked down on him, the Voltaire who couldn’t even manage the simplest of powers. But hearing it from Elektra, his own sister, made the sting so much worse. Her words were like poison, seeping into his mind and corroding any last remnants of confidence he had.
Elektra rose to her feet, her expression twisted with disdain. She moved towards the iron chair where she had Sabir restrained, and with a flick of her wrist, she hit a lever on the side of the chair. A rack slid out from the base, revealing an array of instruments—knives, scalpels, thumbscrews, all gleaming wickedly in the darkness. Meticulously arranged, each instrument polished to a gleam, and sharpened to perfection. They were instruments of pain, each designed to inflict a unique suffering.
Warren’s breath hitched in his throat as he realized what she was planning. His eyes widened in horror as he took in the sight of the cruel tools, each one more terrifying than the last. “E-Elektra, please… don’t make me do this…”
But Elektra’s cold eyes met his, and a cruel smile spread across her face. She smirked as she observed Warren’s growing fear, the sadistic pleasure she derived from his terror evident in her gaze. The flickering lights of the dimly lit torture room cast ominous shadows over her face, emphasizing the sharpness of her features, the malice in her eyes.
“Do this, Warren,” Elektra hissed, leaning down so that her face was mere inches from his. “Or I will. And trust me, you don’t want that.”
Warren’s entire body shook with fear. His mind raced, desperately searching for a way out, but there was no escape from this nightmare. He was trapped, and Elektra knew it. She reveled in his fear, feeding off it, her smirk widening as she saw the resignation in his eyes.
Sabir, still strapped to the iron chair, watched the scene unfold with a grim detachment. Sabir’s mind stayed sharp despite his body being battered and broken. He understood all too well what was happening. The Voltaire siblings were monsters, born of power and privilege, their cruelty nurtured by the corrupt world they had grown up in. And now, Warren, the weakest link in the Voltaire chain, was being pushed to prove himself.
A disgusting hazing.
Elektra’s fingers twitched as she reached out, selecting a slender scalpel from the rack. She held it up; the blade catching the light and glinting wickedly. The instrument was delicate, a tool that could flay skin from bone with the lightest of touches. She turned it over in her hand, almost as if admiring its craftsmanship, before pressing it into Warren’s trembling hand.
“Take it,” she commanded, her voice low and dangerous. “Prove to me you’re not worthless.”
Warren’s hand shook violently as he gripped the scalpel, the cool metal feeling like ice against his clammy skin. His gaze flickered to Sabir, who stared back at him with those haunting golden eyes. There was no pity in Sabir’s gaze, no sympathy—only a cold, calculated awareness of the situation. Warren felt his stomach churn, bile rising in his throat as he tried to force himself to move.
“I can’t…” Warren whispered, his voice barely audible. “I can’t do this, Elektra…”
Elektra’s eyes narrowed, her expression hardening as she leaned closer to him. Her voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “Then you’re even more pathetic than I thought. And you’ll never be anything more than the family’s shame.”
The words stung, cutting through Warren like the sharpest blade. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he blinked them back, refusing to let Elektra see how deeply her words affected him. He didn’t want to be this—he didn’t want to be the failure, the weak link, the disappointment. But the fear, the overwhelming fear, was paralyzing.
Elektra’s patience snapped. With a growl of frustration, she yanked Warren up by his hair again, dragging him to his feet with brutal force. “Fine,” she spat, her voice filled with contempt. “If you’re too much of a coward to do it, then I will.”
She shoved Warren aside, making him stumble and nearly fall. He caught himself on the edge of the table, his hand brushing against the cold, unforgiving metal of the torture instruments. His breath came in short, panicked gasps as he watched Elektra stalk towards Sabir, the scalpel gleaming in her hand.
“Elektra, please!” Warren cried out, his voice cracking with desperation. “Don’t do this! You don’t have to—”
Just as Elektra was about to bring the scalpel down onto Sabir, Warren lunged forward, his hand shooting out to grab the back of her shirt. His fingers clenched the fabric tightly, tugging her back with all the strength he could muster.
“Stop!” Warren shouted, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and resolve. “I’ll do it!”
Elektra froze, her body rigid as she slowly turned to look at him. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, but she didn’t pull away from his grip. Instead, she stared at him, the scalpel still poised in her hand, as if trying to decide whether to punish him for his audacity or let him follow through with his offer.
Warren’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears like a drum. His hand shook violently as he held onto her shirt, his knuckles white from the strain. He could feel the fear coursing through him, threatening to paralyze him, but he couldn’t back down now. Not when Sabir’s life was on the line.
“I’ll do it,” he repeated, his voice barely more than a whisper, but there was a steely edge to it now. “Just… just let me do it.”
Elektra’s gaze softened, but only slightly. She released a slow, calculating breath before releasing the tension in her body, stepping back from Sabir. She regarded Warren with a twisted smirk, the kind of expression that made it clear she was enjoying this power play far more than she should.
“Fine,” she said, her tone cold and detached as she thrust the scalpel into Warren’s trembling hand. “But make sure you do it right, Warren. Prove that you’re not as worthless as everyone says.”
Warren’s hand closed around the scalpel, the cool metal biting into his palm as he took it from her. He stared at the blade, his breath coming in shallow gasps as the weight of what he was about to do settled over him like a suffocating blanket. The room seemed to close in around him; the walls pressing in as the instruments on the table gleamed in the dim light.
He turned his gaze to Sabir, who was watching him with those same unblinking golden eyes. There was no fear in Sabir’s expression, no pleading, no begging for mercy. Just a calm acceptance, as if he knew what was about to happen and had already made his peace with it. The weight of Sabir’s gaze bore down on Warren, making his stomach churn with nausea.
Warren took a step closer to Sabir, the scalpel held out in front of him like a shield. His hands trembled uncontrollably, the blade shaking in his grasp as he struggled to steady himself. Every instinct screamed at him to stop, to drop the scalpel and run, but he knew that wasn’t an option. Elektra was watching her gaze like a hawk’s, ready to strike if he faltered.
His breath hitched as he raised the scalpel, the blade hovering just above Sabir’s bruised and battered skin. Sabir didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. He simply stared back at Warren, his golden eyes steady, as if daring him to follow through.
Warren’s vision blurred with tears as he tried to force himself to move. His entire body was shaking now, every muscle tense with fear and revulsion. His grip on the scalpel tightened, his knuckles turning white as he tried to will himself to act.
But all he could do was stand there, staring at Sabir, the scalpel quivering in his trembling hands.
And in that moment, Warren realized that no matter how much he wanted to prove himself, no matter how much he wanted to escape Elektra’s cruelty, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to hurt someone who was already so broken, someone who had suffered enough.
He couldn’t become the monster that Elektra wanted him to be. Warren standing there, the scalpel in his trembling hand, as he stared into Sabir’s eyes, the weight of his sister’s expectations pressing down on him like a crushing tide. What was he to do?