The contrast could only be all too obvious, Circe thought. That slender, curvy body in a fancy black dress. The clean pale skin and glistening white hair that ran down her back like a smooth avalanche. Those glowing red eyes that defied logic. A perfect face set like a porcelain doll. Azoria sat so close that she could feel the warmth of the demon’s body. Her body defiantly clean to demonstrate that the slop of these caverns couldn’t touch her. The tail continued to stroke torn strands of the remaining hair on Circe’s abrasive scalp. The caress so affectionate that Circe almost lulled herself into the sleep that brings death. Circe squinted, then opened her eyes. Azoria had turned and now leaned over her. That beautiful face, those inviting red eyes, soft pink lips looked upon the battered visage of weakness and death.
“I thought I killed you at least.”
Azoria giggled, “Is that what you thought? You are a spicy one. Is that how you console the utter failure of natural selection you’ve become?”
“Did you come here to make me feel better?”
Azoria closed her palms and cupped the water dripping from the ceiling. That’s when Circe noticed the hole running through her hands. The water ran through them before it splashed on the smashed bone and ripped flesh at the bridge of her nose. The water ran pink with blood from the wounds.
“You’re not helping,” Circe croaked.
“I’m helping more than you can ever know. But make no mistakes about my intentions. I’m not your friend. I just want to enjoy a good long game. If my best insect dies early, I’m going to miss out on so much potential. So boooring.”
“You gave me this pain and smashed my face into a wall. That’s not playing fair. If you keep me alive, I’m going to kill you. Do you hear me? I’m going to kill you. You need to die and I’m going to kill you.”
Coughing. Sputtering. Tears. Crying. Bleeding. A pain that burst through the chest. Pressure. Wheezing. Everything compressed at once. Circe died. No death announcement came. No notification screens appeared. White hands with holes through the palms, pale as death, clenched above Circe’s open eyes. The woman who had tanked six half-moon brands and made them her own had succumbed to her wounds.
The tendrils failed to keep their host alive. Without pain to feed upon they would wither away to nothing within a day or so. Azoria leaned over the corpse, blinked, then shook her head. It had died again, how droll. A frown formed across her pale pink lips as Azoria extended her fingernails into sharp pincers shaped like chop-sticks with needle points.
The right lung had been eviscerated. The bullet lodged inside it would need removed. Infectious waste filled the cavity. Azoria plunged her fingernails inside to create a wound that would drain Circe’s lungs. Pus, blood, and waste water drained from Circe’s back onto the mushrooms. As the needle nails retracted, they pulled a nine-millimeter slug. Azoria didn’t bother to close the wound. The tendrils, starved for pain, closed it with their own form.
Fingernails retracted back to their slender decorative length, and were painted red this time. Azoria reached forward to give Circe’s forehead a flick just above the mark. Electricity flowed through the body with a violent current. It jumped, suddenly full of movement as her limbs flailed about. The heart beat again, but ever so weakly. Circe went limp and remained unconscious.
“Well, you’re no fun. I was hoping for a little more banter. Well, as one with the mercy of the mark, or several in your case, you’re entitled to a starter kit to help you deal with the pain. Can you even hear me, blink if you’re listening.”
The limp, gurgling, gasping, and frothing body blinked. Azoria lifted the severed hand held to its former arm with strings of spiritual parasitic tendrils and winced with a disgusted frown before letting the limp hand plop down against the mushrooms with the palm facing down. A giant needle full of bubbling red liquid appeared out of thin air. Azoria grabbed it.
“I don’t have much time. You are entitled to the medicine made from my flesh and blood. But this is processed differently, because if I gave you what everyone else received. Well, let’s put it this way, if your half-moon brands go dormant, you’ll succumb to your wounds and instantly die.”
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Gurgling and spitting served as the response. Circe reached for the needle with her left hand. It felt like lifting five hundred pounds. The needle plunged directly into Circe’s aorta. Slowly the plunger pushed down. The sluggish heart steadied, even began to beat a little faster. Muscles activated. Circe puked to clear her throat of all the rotten mucus and puss. Pain returned at full blast, pulsing through her system as awareness increased. The tendril caressed her skin and dove into her chest. Her lungs stretched and pulled with a tendril scaffolding until she could breathe again, even through her broken nose if she dared to handle yet more buzzing pain. The last quarter of the injection rushed in at once as Azoria hastened her force. Circe jolted upright in a sitting position for the first time in a while. But her voice, once pretty, remained a horrid frog like croak. Tears ran down her cheeks.
“What did you give me? It hurts.”
“I gave you my blood. I gave you nutrients. I gave you hydration. I gave you anti-bodies. I gave you magic. I gave you luck. A game can’t be called a game if it is rigged, so let’s just say I leveled the playing field in the spirit of fairness. You were chosen to play my game, not for a sacrifice. But don’t get ahead of yourself, the effect of that injection will degrade over time. If you simply sit here and do nothing, in a few days your body will succumb to all those terrible wounds. And you will die.”
“I can’t keep food down! It’s too much pain! I can barely drink water!”
“That’s not my problem, is it now? Maybe if you spent less time pulling all our hair out and more time leveling your skills, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”
“Make the pain stop!”
“No, I’m not going to do that. Besides, you’re doing fine. I’ve never seen someone function so well with six half-moons.”
Circe pulled herself to her feet. Her broken arm hung limply. The tendrils had extended a bit too far and left the palm resting on over a mushroom. Yet Circe could still move it. She even felt blood pumping into it. Every move came with a sharp stabbing sensation.
“Let’s go, right here, right now. I’m going to kill you.”
Azoria clutched her stomach and broke out into raucous laughter as the empty needle disintegrated in your hands.
“Oh, you’re so hilarious. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be floating around in Mog’s world until your very soul disintegrates in agony that will make this all feel like a vacation. But you go ahead, waste energy you don’t have trying to kill me. Come at me. I won’t even fight back.”
Circe clutched her stomach and retched as she fell back on one knee overcome by extreme nausea. Eyes narrowed at the demoness. The other knee rested on the mushroom as Circe retched in pain but nothing existed in her stomach to come up. The tendrils continued to tickle her lungs while the skin of her chest burned with every conceivable form of pain. And yet Circe took it, absorbed it, embraced it. She felt masochistic, but that would imply she wanted it not that she endured it.
“I’m going to kill you, later. I don’t feel like it right now,” Circe knelt before Azoria, on her knees despite herself. Her body listed and her head lilted sideways. The wall of roaches continued to skitter and click over the opening to the culvert, “What exactly do you want from me. If there’s nothing else. Just go away. I hate you. I hate everything about you.”
Azoria pressed a finger to her lip and thought for a long a moment before extending her arms, “I want you to play my game. But you already know that. For you specifically, well, I want you to be my knight, my counselor, my general, my right hand.”
“Ha! I’ll never be any of that. Didn’t you hear me? I’m the one who’s going to kill you.”
Knuckles cracked with loud pops, “Perhaps, but in order to kill me, you’ll need so much more power. Be mine, belong to me, and one day, if you’re lucky, you’ll bring about my last.”
“You’re evil. This place is a living hell.”
“The powerless can’t do anything about it. With power, you can alter it to your preferences. I’m making you an offer that you’d be a fool to refuse. But you are the divergent one. Living up to that title here and now will be the death of you.”
“What do I have to do?”
A smile crept from cheek to cheek, “Escape this dungeon. If you can escape this dungeon without death’s certainty upon you, I’ll make you my number one, my one and only number one. It’s the only fair offer seeing as Moggy rigged the game against you.”
Circe gripped her head. The water dripped on her scalped. One drop, then another, and half a minute later another. The demoness didn’t go anywhere as she waited with that creepy smile etched on her face.
“I’ll try my best. But not for you. I’m doing this for Alfredo and Ebony. And when the time comes, I’ll be the one to kill you.”
“And a glorious day it shall be. My time is short. It’s time to leave you to your own devices. Don’t be useless. Try not to get any more injuries. Use every power at your disposal. Endure the pain. Use your ‘friends.’ Trust nobody. I’ll be cheering for you as I relax in my chambers.”
Azoria began to vanish. Unable to help herself, Circe reached out to her almost desperately, “Why did I get such a useless power? Can’t you give something cool like other people have?”
Azoria flashed a gentle smile with a shrug as she became ethereal. Soon the demoness vanished, only her voice remained as Circe reached out towards the wall of skittering roaches.
“You were the last selected contestant for a reason. Have you already forgotten what you saw in the room?”
“I demand an exchange! Give me a useful power!”
“Sorry, The Only Power Left Is Alteration.”