The air reeked of fresh blood. Vingrol stood on the balcony of his tower, his hands gripping the cold iron bars of the railing, a pleasure-filled smile stretched across his face. He opened his eyes, taking in the rocky, green landscape, savoring the crisp morning air before shutting them again to fully relish the pungent aroma emanating from inside the keep. The intoxicating smell made him clutch the iron bars tighter before letting go entirely. With a sigh of contentment, he turned and stepped inside, the click of his boots echoing off the stone walls.
A faint, muffled cry came from the table in the center of the room. There lay a young woman, bound tightly with ropes that bit into her flesh, causing her limbs to chafe and bleed. She was hardly dressed, wearing little more than a thin cloth covering her groin and breasts. A thick piece of leather was wedged in her mouth, wrapping around her neck, stifling her cries and groans. Her skin was a canvas of blood and bruises and bore the signs of cruel experiments that had been performed upon her. Once, she would have been considered beautiful, but now her beauty was marred beyond recognition, and her image haunting to behold.
She whimpered, barely able to stay conscious, her vision fading in and out, coming and going in faint bursts of light. Her head was fuzzy, and a faint ringing tormented her left ear. Even through the agony, she was unable to keep her thoughts away from what was about to happen.
Vingrol strode toward her, happy and hungry for more. He stopped beside the wooden table and looked down at the woman’s outstretched body. His smile widened, and another sharp inhale filled his lungs. Terrified, the woman struggled to wriggle free from her bonds, but the effort only made her wrists and ankles bleed more. Vingrol watched her silently, his enjoyment growing with each futile attempt to break loose.
“You should feel lucky,” he finally whispered, his voice slow and soft like a snake. The excitement in his voice made her blood curl. “It’s curious, you know. Not many have the chance to be a part of such breakthrough. Most would give their lives to be a part of something like this, a chance to make things better…to make things right. Yet you…fight me.” Vingrol leaned in closer, scrutinizing the woman’s face as if searching for something. She met his gaze, her eyes widening with fear as dread pulsed through her veins. Suddenly alert, though her vision remained blurred, she could see the familiar outline of his wretched, narrow face and his unkempt, thinning charcoal hair. But the one thing that was clear, that stuck out the most like the moon on a summer’s night, were his eyes–inky black, with an endless depth that seemed as if they held the abyss.
“Why are you afraid?” Vingrol asked, his eyes probing her as if discerning her very soul. “There’s no need to struggle. No need to fight. I will give you purpose, a reason to breathe and live…and die.” At his words, the woman’s skin paled, and she averted his gaze.
Vingrol turned on his heels and walked to the opposite end of the room, stopping at a small wooden table cluttered with strange metal instruments and scalpels, their points sharp and vicious. Hands clasped behind his back, Vingrol leaned over the edge to inspect his tools.
“I don’t think you appreciate it,” he started. “Everything I’m doing. You can only think of yourself and what is right in front of you, like a child watching in bewilderment as puppets dance and sing in front of him, oblivious to the rest of the world as it burns itself to the ground. Your vision is so narrow, just like the king’s. But he can’t stop me. Not this. It was a blessing, wouldn’t you agree? If I hadn’t been banished, I would have never found this keep. I wouldn’t have found you. You have helped me discover so much. More than I ever could on my own. It’s more than I dreamed, but we’re not done yet. No, no. Not yet. Don’t you want to know more, to know the truth?”
Vingrol glanced over his shoulder at the woman, who still silently fought against her bonds, her eyes closed, face turned toward the ceiling, refusing to look at him or show any weakness. Yet, she winced with every movement, betraying her pain. Vingrol muttered incoherently and turned back to his table.
“I wouldn’t have been able to practice the truly important and crucial sciences and magic arts. I’m no longer confined by ignorant rules of an outdated way of thinking. I am not like the dogs that drink at their fancy balls, speaking with unenlightened words about topics that have no purpose or meaning. Now, I’m truly free.” Before the last syllable fell, he began to cough violently as if his very lungs were about to escape his throat and spill onto the floor. Vingrol hunched over the table, gripping its corners to steady himself as blood and spit spewed onto the surface.
After a moment, he regained his composure and cleared his throat. He looked at the specks of blood splattered across the table, a concerned look etched upon his face. He froze momentarily, eyes widening, his gaze fixated on the blood as if nothing else mattered in the world. Pushing his thoughts and fears away, his fingers wiped the corners of his mouth and gingerly touched every tool, his mind unable to choose which one would best suit his needs. “You just can’t understand it. It’s more important than you think. I’ll show you,” he muttered. “I’ll show you all.”
The woman lay still on the table, fear and dread intensifying with every passing second that Vingrol took choosing his tools. Her chest heaved, each labored breath growing more shallow and difficult. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she moaned miserably as if a fever were consuming her body. She felt as if she were on fire. Despite her desperation to sleep and rest, she knew this wasn’t the time. Once he chose his tool for the next experiment, she wouldn’t have long. He had performed dozens of experiments on her over the past few weeks, and she was almost dead. She knew she wouldn’t survive another. Not in these conditions. And he wouldn’t need her any longer. He wanted healthy and strong subjects, but she was too weak to even hold her eyes open for longer than a few minutes. She had to escape. But how? Everything seemed impossible. Here bonds were too tight, she’d never unfasten them.
A part of her desperately wished that he would just end it. That he would slit her throat and let her bleed onto the floor and be gone within a minute. She’d rather be a corpse for him to work on than survive for even a moment longer. But there was no escape. No one would hear her cries, even without the leather strap gagging her. Not a single traveler had passed by, even while she was kept in the dungeon. She had screamed for days until her voice was hoarse, yet no one ever replied.
A sudden chill raced through her body as she remembered; it was the screaming that had prompted him to start his first experiment on her. She could still feel the excruciating pain from when his tools dug into her spine and extracted bits of bone and barrow. It was hours before the agony became unbearable and she finally passed out. Waking a day later, she found stitches lining the length of her back. Tears began to well in her eyes as she tried desperately to not think about what he would do with her today. She couldn’t understand what he wanted with her. He had never asked her for anything.
She suddenly wished she were back in that filthy dungeon, even as wretched as it was. She’d give anything to starve there, rather than be forced to endure even one more experiment. The mere thought of the experiments made her stomach twist and knot, and a horrible feeling swelled within her, making her want to vomit. But she knew she couldn’t. If she expelled anything, the leather strap would block it, trapping the contents of her stomach in her throat, and she’d suffocate.
A new thought raced through her mind. Perhaps suffocating would be better than this torment. But doubt quickly formed a new obstacle in her mind. He wouldn’t let her die, would he? If she started suffocating, he’d likely only loosen the strap and her bonds, and force her to cough everything up. Then, out of spite, he may punish her and make things even worse than before. He wouldn’t let her die. He needed someone to experiment on, and there was no one else in the keep that she knew of. But maybe, if she was quick, he wouldn’t notice, and she could die silently while he was looking away. It was worth a try, but she would have to move fast.
The woman closed her eyes, replaying every revolting image and inhuman thing that Vingrol had put her through; the needles, the torture, the knives, the replacement of her body parts and limbs, the poisons, and worst of all, the magic. Each memory was excruciating, but she forced herself to remember each one, reliving them as if it were the first time. She tightened her eyes and focused. Every detail struck her mind and body like a dagger. Her stomach began to churn, and a sickening feeling bloomed in her stomach as her mouth began to sweat.
She was almost there.
A loud noise erupted from Vingrol, followed by cursing and the sharp clanging of metal hitting the ground. She desperately tried to block out the noise and focus harder. Almost there. The bitter taste of bile began to creep up her throat.
She couldn’t see Vingrol, but she felt his piercing gaze fixed on her like a scorching fire. Her body started to convulse, and a wave of bile and water splattered against the leather strap, filling her mouth. Small streams of a greenish-yellow fluid escaped between the strap and her lips, trickling down her cheeks, but the majority remained stuck in her throat, blocking her airway.
A loud, hideous yell echoed from Vingrol. “No! Stop, what are you doing? You’ll ruin everything!”
The woman began to choke and convulse horribly, like one under a spell of the Charvok wizards who worshiped Ja’Krim, the god of death. Her body rattled and banged against the table as she choked uncontrollably, desperate for a breath of air to release her torment, but none came. Whether she wanted to or not, it was too late to turn back.
She could feel her lungs filling up with liquid as her body attempted to expel it against her wishes. The pain and ever-growing sensation of death were more agonizing than she had ever thought it would be.
Another barrage of sound struck her ears, but this time it wasn’t just the clang of metal and cursing–it was also something softer, like a body hitting the stone floor. She knew it must have been Vingrol. Several minutes had passed and she still remained strapped to the table.
But Why would he have fallen? Why hadn’t he killed her or set her free? Something was wrong.
The memories of Vingrol, her pain, her terror, now seemed distant, like echoes fading into the abyss. An encroaching darkness enveloped her as her body’s convulsions began to subside, her eyes slowly drifting backward. She was dying. Soon, she would be free once again. Just a moment longer now.
Yet as the air around her grew colder, and the final whispers of light began to slip beyond her grasp, a blinding light suddenly shot towards her and struck her head.
Her vision slowly returned, and she found herself sprawled on the ground. Her bonds had been cut loose, and she had somehow fallen off the table. Ringing echoed deafeningly in her ears, and she vomited onto a cold, stony surface beneath her. She continued to cough and wheeze as the remaining fluid was expelled from her lungs. Gasping for a breath of air between her violent fits, the strange but familiar sensation of life infused her veins once more.
She was all too aware of the pain coursing through her body as it struggled to preserve itself and regain what little strength it could. Taking in her surroundings, she turned her head in search of the sorcerer. Where was he?
A shuffling noise behind her tore her gaze from the window where her freedom was, just twenty feet away. Looking back, she saw the sorcerer lying on the ground. His right arm was held close to his chest, twisted and deformed as if it were crippled. His face was contorted in horrified agony as he tried to pull himself up with his one functioning arm, gripping a shelf that was carved into the stone wall, filled with vials of various colored contents.
“You,” he spat venomously, still struggling to stand, his gaze fixed on the vials on the top shelf. “Look at what you’ve done. Look at what you’ve done to me! I will get my hands on you yet. I’m not finished with you.”
The woman glanced back at the window. She was too close to give up. With every ounce of strength left within her, she dragged herself across the floor toward the window. She knew it would be better to fall over the railing to her death than to remain here.
Her left leg refused to aid in her efforts to escape, dragging limply behind her. Confused as to why it wasn’t responding, she looked back in horror. Her leg was discolored and lifeless, resembling a dead body. Halfway up her thigh, a large pattern of coarse stitches wrapped around her leg in an imperfect circle. A vague memory flooded back of her leg being removed and reattached days later, long after the limb had died. It felt like someone else’s limb was attached to hers.
She whimpered and pushed herself to move faster. She didn’t need two working legs. The railing was only a few feet away now. She could reach it before the sorcerer caught up and throw herself over.
More yelling came from the other side of the room. “Where is it?” the sorcerer screamed.
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A cascade of vials crashed to the floor, millions of glass shards scattering. She knew he was distracted. This was her chance.
Some of the stones on the floor of the keep were raised, allowing her to barely grip them with the tips of her fingers and pull herself along faster. If this was the only stroke of luck she would have in her life, she’d take it. She inched further along, the flesh on her legs snagging on rough stone corners and sharp glass, tearing her skin open. A long trail of blood marked her path as she moved.
The railing was now only a foot away.
With a few more grunts and pulls, one hand tightly gripped the railing. With a secure hold, she pulled herself up off the floor just enough for her other hand to reach higher. Her body screamed with pain and effort as she lifted herself a little higher. Her body trembled, begging her to rest, but she couldn’t give up, not when she was so close. With her chest heaving wildly, she screamed and managed to pull herself up a few more inches.
Finally able to get her working leg beneath her to support her weight, her right hand gripped the top of the railing. With freedom so close, hope flickered in her eyes, while a renewed strength pulsed through her body. With another groan, her other hand grasped the top railing, and she began to pull herself up to almost a full stance. This is it, she told herself.
With both hands securely gripping the railing, she tensed her muscles, ready to throw herself over. The thought of searching for a way to escape crossed her mind briefly, but she knew she didn’t have the strength to outrun the sorcerer, even in his current state. Closing her eyes, she counted down to her final moments. Three…two…one.
As she lifted herself off the floor and over the railing, a large hand with a vice-like grip wrapped around her throat, and she felt her freedom slowly vanish into the depths. Her body was flung backward and rolled across the floor until it collided with one of the table legs in the middle of the room. The warmth of blood trickled down the back of her neck. She winced as she touched her skull, feeling a wide and deep crack in the back of her head. The world grew dark and fuzzy, her vision blurring in and out as everything swayed from side to side. She desperately wanted to move, but her body refused to cooperate.
The sound of staggering boots clicking on the floor grasped her attention, and she looked toward the balcony where she saw two sorcerers approaching. As her vision began to clear, the image of the two figures merged into one. Fear struck her, and she crawled backward toward the opposite end of the room where the sorcerer had stood only minutes before. Shards of glass pierced her hands as she moved across the floor, but the terror inside of her dulled any pain that threatened to slow her.
The sorcerer walked slowly, barely able to keep himself upright. She noticed a small, red splotch of liquid in the corner of his mouth. Whatever he had drank, it had given him enough strength to walk again, yet his right arm was still clutched against his chest. He had not regained his full power.
“Why do you make everything so difficult,” the sorcerer yelled, his one working arm flailing in the air. He coughed violently between words. “You are misery and disease, you selfish animal. You are needed for my experiments. I am using your pathetic life to advance science and the greater knowledges. I will perfect humanity. All plagues and sickness will be forgotten. You will not hinder my progress. But if this is how you want to behave, then fine. There are plenty of experiments I can perform without your limbs. You will no longer be needing them.” A wicked smile spread across his face.
Dread settled in the woman’s stomach like a leaden weight. She continued to crawl backward until she hit the wall behind her where the shelves were. Ice crept through her veins, and her body completely froze. There was no way out.
The sorcerer limped closer, the gap between her and the balcony growing with every passing second. He had now reached the table in the middle of the room, and as his hand grasped the edge for balance, he suddenly groaned disturbingly. His strength instantly vanished from his body without warning. His legs began to falter and he struggled to not collapse to the ground. He cursed and spat, speaking and growling in a guttural and incoherent manner like a mad dog barking. He seemed to be going insane. Whatever he had consumed earlier was wearing off. She had seen him have minor fits in the past, but nothing ever as severe or strange as this. He seemed beyond sick as if plagued by a disease that was disintegrating his body and mental state.
The pieces finally fell into place in her mind.
Whatever he had drunk earlier staved off this sickness. Without that liquid, his body would crumble. He looked almost as weak as she was. If she could distract him long enough for the effects of the drink to completely wear off, he would be as helpless as she. He wouldn’t be able to defend himself. But how long would that take?
Saliva oozed out of the sorcerer's mouth and down his chin as he momentarily regained his composure. He began to stand again, continuing towards her. Any spark of hope withered within the woman as a fraction of his strength was regained, not lost. Why was he not getting weaker?
The sorcerer began to breathe heavily as he spoke and limped closer. “Without science, we are nothing but wild animals. It’s the only knowledge that separates us from them. Science is progress, it’s the future, it’s the ingredient to unlocking our true potential. Yet, people are the key. Don’t you understand? People are the catalyst. Without you, there is no progress. There is only failure, despair, and death. You must see why I need you so badly. I can’t allow you to escape.”
The sorcerer inched closer, and the woman’s chest tightened and her breath caught. Only a few steps closer and she would be dead. She tried to move, but every fiber of muscle felt as if it were made of stone. Her eyes flickered around the room, searching desperately for any means of escape. Her gaze fell upon the one wooden door on the right side of the room that led down to the lower parts of the keep, but she knew it was locked. She heard the clicking of the key each day as he came to visit her. She didn’t know where he placed the key after locking the door, but even if she found it, she wouldn’t be able to unlock it and escape him. She didn’t know the keep’s pathways or how large it was, and she’d be a fool to think she was faster than him. His current strength still greatly outweighed hers.
Her body shifted and tensed as he closed in, now only several feet in front of her. The gentle sound of glass sliding on the stone beneath her caught her attention. Images of glass shards blazed through her mind. Attempting to hide her trembling hands, she moved them slowly and steadily behind her back. She was careful not to accidentally move and disturb the glass and give away her intentions.
As her fingers crept behind her body, she blindly felt the floor for a long, thin piece of glass to use as a weapon. Her finger nicked the edge of one particularly sharp piece, and she could feel a stream of blood trickling down her finger and pooling on the ground. The cut was deep, and the pain excruciating. Despite her best efforts, a small wince of pain tugged at the corner of her lips. He wouldn’t notice, would he?
Her hands blindly fumbled on the floor, trying to find the piece of glass she had cut her finger on, but everything felt either too thick or too small to be a viable weapon. Distracted by the search, her gaze shot upwards and she gasped in fear and surprise as the sorcerer halted mere inches in front of her, staring down at her like a piece of meat to be devoured. His face was cruel and dark, his thick brows furrowed with unbridled anger. He had never looked so terrifying.
Her hands searched the floor again but found nothing.
The sorcerer continued to glare, his nostrils flaring in fury, his breath labored. “I will enjoy this immensely,” he said in a wicked tone, his smile widening ever further, revealing his crooked, yellow teeth.
As his hand reached out to grab her, the woman screamed and seized the first piece of glass her hand found. With an upward cut, the shard struck the sorcerer’s wrist, slicing through his flesh easier than a sharpened knife. The sorcerer bellowed in pain and recoiled, his wrist hanging limply from his arm, held only by bone.
This was her chance.
As the sorcerer flailed his body, trying to stop the bleeding and wrap his wounds, the woman crawled toward the balcony, the crimson glass shard still in her hand. The sorcerer cursed behind her, shouting and screaming as if his lungs would burst.
Ten feet…five feet…three feet.
She inched closer to freedom, the breeze from the open world outside greeting her face, beckoning her to join it. The sound of cabinets opening and metal clattering to the floor struck her ears like a warning, urging her to stop and look back. But this was not the time to hesitate.
He’s too wounded to do anything now.
Once again, she reached the edge of the balcony, the railings within her grasp. She dropped the shard of glass, knowing she needed both hands for the effort required to end this. Her hands clenched the cold railings, her muscles straining to pull herself up off the floor. She managed to stand only halfway up before the sorcerer was suddenly upon her again, gripping her dead leg and trying to yank her back into the keep. She tightened her grip on the bars, desperate to hold on.
“Enough,” the sorcerer barked. “You’re not going anywhere. You are mine!”
With one finally strong pull, he yanked the woman back into the keep, her grip on the railings failing her. Her chin struck the ground, splitting open as she fell face-first onto the stone floor. Her bloody face streaked crimson on the ground as she was dragged across it.
With a blind kick, she managed to strike the sorcerer’s arm that gripped her, briefly loosening his hold on her. Frantically, she crawled back to the railings, but before she could reach them, a sudden pain shot through the back of her skull, and the world went completely dark as her face struck the floor once more.
The woman’s heavy eyelids opened as her vision slowly returned, and a splitting headache raged through her skull. She tried to move, to understand what was happening to her, but her strength failed her, leaving the world a fuzzy haze, like blurred shadows and fleeting flickers of light. Gradually, her consciousness finally returned, and she found the sorcerer mounted on top of her stomach, his hand tightening around her throat, his blood streaming down her chest.
Gasping for breath, she clawed at his arm, attempting to pull it free with whatever strength she had left. Her nails scratched deep enough to draw blood, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. Her efforts seemed useless. Why was he not getting weaker?
The sorcerer rocked his head back and breathed loudly, his eyes closed in frustration. “Why did you have to make this so difficult?” he seethed, his voice thick with anger. “I would have spared you, but now…well, I have no choice but to kill you, and it won’t be pleasant. You are too much of a hazard to keep. Oh, what plans I had for you. But now, they are all ruined.”
The woman’s face turned a deep purple, her veins and eyes bulging as she began to suffocate. She knew she only possessed another minute or two before she died. Despite his wound, his strength was too overwhelming for her. This wasn’t how her life was supposed to end–not at his hands.
Her vision began to fade as the lack of air started to take its toll, and a cold numbness spread through her limbs. The sorcerer’s grip tightened even more, and she could feel herself slipping away.
Unable to break his grasp, she dug her thumbs into the gaping wound on his wrist. Wrapping them around the exposed bones, she pulled with her remaining breath, attempting to tear them apart. With a small crack, the sorcerer screamed in agony and released his grip.
Yet, rather than winning this fight, it only seemed to enrage him further.
The damage she inflicted wasn’t enough to stop him. Hopelessness enveloped her. He wasn’t beaten yet.
Powerless to push the screaming sorcerer off of her, she frantically searched her surroundings until her gaze settled on the glass shard to her left. She stretched out her arm, her fingers mere inches out of reach. Her eyes darted back to the sorcerer as his screams stopped, and her eyes widened in fear. In his hand was a small, crooked dagger, the blade short and chipped. A smile spread across his face, and before she could react, he plunged the dagger deep into her right side, the blade sliding in between her ribs.
A breathless gasp escaped her lips, quiet groans emanating from her throat. The life within her began to fade and wither. This was the end. They both had lost.
The sorcerer pulled the dagger from her ribs, and she felt the endless stream of blood pouring out onto the stone beneath her. He leaned in closer, almost as if to whisper but refrained, and poised to stab her once more and end it all.
The blade raised in the air, covered in her blood that reflected the warmth of the final rays of the sun as it disappeared behind the hills. Yet as the blade began its fatal descent, the woman summoned the final remnants of her strength. Stretching toward the nearby glass shard, she seized it tightly and swung her arm upward. The shard plunged deep into the side of the sorcerer’s skull with a sickening crunch.
Instantly, the sorcerer collapsed, his body falling heavily onto hers with a muffled thud, his own blade clattering to the floor beside them. She lay still for several minutes, the acrid stench of rotten blood filling her nostrils as she tried to regain even a fraction of her strength.
After pushing the lifeless sorcerer aside, she crawled to the balcony’s edge and leaned against the stone wall, peering between the iron bars out into the expanse of the lands that she knew so little about. It had been longer than she could recall since she had last seen the outside world. The rolling hills appeared soft and inviting. Wildflowers of every color dotted the wide, roaring grass fields that spread beyond even the grasp of the mighty, waning sun. Beautiful shades of purple, orange, and yellow streaked the sky as the world began its descent into a calming darkness. The evening breeze blew longingly against her face with a soft, caressing touch, and she pushed away what little hair remained on her head. If she were to die right now, there wouldn’t be a better way for everything to end.
Her eyes settled on the sorcerer, now sprawled on the ground, his body surrounded by a pool of unnaturally dark blood that seeped into his clothing. The rush of adrenaline began to fade, replaced by a sharp pain in her side that reminded her of the trouble she still faced. She considered using his dagger to cut away strips from his shirt to wrap her wounds, but what kind of life could she live after this?
There was nothing after this.
She looked back at the vast world before her, a world seemingly so much larger and daunting than she had remembered. It felt like an eternity since she had last seen it. With one final, yearning look at the open horizon, she burned its image into her memory, then closed her eyes and rested her head against the stone wall, ready to embrace whatever fate awaited her next.