Kyon's First Person Point Of View.

“Faraday,” Vincent’s voice echoed through the stairwell, a silken thread of menace woven with a deference that made it all the more chilling. His pale, angular face held a serene expression, but his sharp silver eyes gleamed with mockery. His lanky frame, clad in a pristine grey butler’s suit, exuded an air of calculated precision. He stood with an almost theatrical poise, the faint flicker of the overhead light glinting off his alabaster-white hair, slicked neatly back.

“You’ve fallen far from grace,” Vincent said, his smile a polished dagger. “To stand here, betraying Master Conrad, after all he’s given you… it’s not just disappointing. It’s disgraceful.”

Faraday stood stiff as a statue, but a bead of sweat traced its way down his temple, betraying the iron control he always prided himself on.

Vincent turned to me, his gaze sliding over my form with slow deliberation, as if taking inventory of a prized possession. “And you,” he said, his tone a rich blend of curiosity and derision. “You’re the young one causing all this trouble. How intriguing.”

He smiled—a cold, cruel thing that seemed to stretch his face unnaturally. “Do you know, boy, it would be such fun to break you? To pull apart all the bravado and anger, piece by piece, until you’re nothing but a hollow, whimpering husk.”

“Try it,” I growled, fists clenched.

Vincent’s smile deepened, his head tilting slightly. “Brave words. But tell me, what do you hold dear? It’s someone, isn’t it? Someone precious.” His voice turned soft, intimate, as though sharing a dark secret. “Picture them at Master Conrad’s mercy. Imagine yourself kneeling before him, begging for their life while he decides whether to grant your plea… or savor your despair.”

My breath hitched, a sharp pulse of rage and fear clawing its way to the surface.

Vincent chuckled softly, a sound so full of smug amusement that I had to stop myself from lunging at him. “Ask your loyal pet,” he said, his silver eyes flicking to Faraday. “He knows what happens to those who cross Master Conrad. Watch his face. He won’t hide it.”

I turned to Faraday, and what I saw made my stomach churn. His crimson eyes, normally calm and calculating, flickered with a depth of fear I’d never seen before. Sweat now dripped from his jawline, and his shoulders were stiff, tense with something primal.

The Flux surged within me, the Blood Link between us opening like a wound, spilling memories that weren’t my own.

Middle Ages – Faraday’s Memory

The chamber was dimly lit, the flickering torches casting long, shifting shadows over the cold stone walls. Faraday knelt on the ground, his blonde hair matted with dirt and sweat, his pale skin marred with bruises and cuts. His crimson eyes glared up at the figure looming over him, but the defiance in his gaze was betrayed by the tremor in his body.

Vincent stood before him, his posture impossibly straight, his butler’s suit immaculate even in this grim setting. His alabaster hair shimmered in the firelight, and his silver eyes were like daggers, sharp and merciless. In his hands, he held a small, brutal device: a thumbscrew.

The instrument was made of dark iron, its screws and clamps designed with meticulous cruelty. It was a tool of discipline and pain, a relic of punishment that Vincent wielded with unsettling expertise.

“You’ve disappointed Master Conrad,” Vincent said, his voice calm, almost gentle. “He thinks you might have potential, but me? I think you’re a stubborn, ungrateful fool who needs to learn obedience.”

Faraday didn’t respond. He kept his jaw clenched, his breathing shallow and controlled, even as his bound hands trembled.

Vincent crouched before him, his silver eyes locking onto Faraday’s with an intensity that felt like a physical force. “Do you know why I enjoy this?” he asked, his tone almost conversational. “It’s not the screams, though they are satisfying. It’s the moment when defiance gives way to submission. That’s when you truly understand your place.”

With slow, deliberate movements, Vincent took Faraday’s hand and placed it into the iron device. The cold metal bit into Faraday’s skin, and his fingers twitched involuntarily.

“I’ll ask you again,” Vincent said as he began to turn the screw, the iron teeth grinding into Faraday’s flesh. “What are you?”

Faraday didn’t answer, but his body betrayed him. His breathing quickened, his muscles tensed, and his jaw clenched tighter as the pressure mounted.

Vincent smiled, the expression a mockery of warmth. “Wrong answer.”

The device groaned as the screw tightened further, and Faraday’s composure finally cracked. A strangled cry escaped his lips, raw and guttural, as the iron bit deeper, crushing bone and mangling flesh.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

“Say it,” Vincent commanded, his voice sharper now. “Say you belong to Master Conrad.”

Faraday’s scream echoed through the chamber, a sound of pure agony, but he didn’t speak. Even as blood dripped from the mangled ruin of his hand, even as tears streaked his face, he refused to yield.

Vincent’s smile faded, replaced by a cold, predatory focus. “You’ll break eventually,” he said, his tone devoid of the mockery it once held. “They always do.”

Back to the Stairwell

The memory ended with a jolt, leaving me gasping for air. My own hands twitched involuntarily, as if the pain I’d witnessed had somehow transferred to me.

Faraday stood frozen, his crimson eyes wide, his entire body trembling ever so slightly. The sweat dripping from his brow now fell in steady droplets, pooling at his feet.

“You see now,” Vincent said, his voice slicing through the tension like a blade. “Your pet remembers his place. Do you?”

Rage boiled in my chest, hotter than it had ever burned before. My fear was still there, gnawing at the edges of my resolve, but the anger drowned it out. He was trying to break me, just as he’d broken Faraday. I wouldn’t let him.

“Faraday,” I said, my voice sharp and commanding. “Attack.”

Faraday hesitated, the weight of centuries of trauma anchoring him in place. His body twitched, caught between instinctual fear and the compulsion that bound him to me.

“Do it!” I snapped, the Psycho Flux surging through me, amplifying my will until it felt like a physical force.

Faraday’s hesitation shattered. With a guttural snarl, he launched himself at Vincent, moving faster than I’d ever seen him.

Vincent didn’t flinch as Faraday launched himself forward, a blur of crimson eyes and honed power. His poise was unshaken, his mocking smile in place as if the coming onslaught were nothing more than a child’s tantrum.

Faraday struck first—a double jab aimed at Vincent’s face. But Vincent didn’t move from his spot. His right hand rose, palm open, and he deflected the blows with an almost imperceptible motion, the kind of precision that only centuries of mastery could bring.

Faraday’s strikes continued, his body a whirlwind of motion. A hook aimed at Vincent’s ribs came next, but Vincent rotated his torso slightly, letting the punch graze past harmlessly. Faraday followed up with an uppercut to the chin, only for Vincent to absorb the force with a yielding movement, redirecting the punch so that it slid past without impact.

For a moment, the fight seemed almost surreal. Faraday attacked with the ferocity of a predator, each strike fueled by both fear and compulsion. But Vincent stood unmoved, his feet planted firmly on the cracked concrete. Every punch, every kick, was either deflected or absorbed as though Vincent’s body were a seamless extension of the air around him.

Faraday, determined not to falter, adjusted his speed. He blurred forward at fluctuating intervals, aiming to disrupt Vincent’s perception. His attacks became a frenzied combination—a double jab, a hook, another uppercut, then a low kick to the knee. Vincent’s right hand moved like a ghost, parrying every strike with such ease it was almost insulting.

“Is this all you’ve got, Faraday?” Vincent murmured, his voice laced with mockery. “I expected more from someone who’s lived a thousand years under Master Conrad’s tutelage.”

Faraday’s movements grew desperate. He unleashed the Postano combination—a rapid sequence of jabs, hooks, and uppercuts designed to overwhelm an opponent. But Vincent’s hand wove through the air like a silk ribbon, redirecting each punch before it could land. His body didn’t even shift. The cracks spreading from his feet deepened, a testament to the force of Faraday’s blows, but Vincent himself remained rooted, immovable.

“You’ve always been such a good dog,” Vincent said, a cruel smile curling his lips. “But it seems your bark has always been louder than your bite.”

The taunt hit its mark. Faraday roared, abandoning precision in favor of raw, unrestrained power. He drove a knee toward Vincent’s ribs, his speed amplified to the point of near invisibility. Vincent stepped back for the first time, but not out of necessity—it was deliberate, measured, a predator playing with its prey.

“Good,” Vincent said, his silver eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. “Let’s see some fight in you.”

Faraday surged forward again, his movements erratic as he aimed for Vincent’s head with a roundhouse kick. Vincent raised his arm, blocking the strike with a solid forearm that sent a shockwave through the stairwell. Faraday landed and pivoted, throwing an elbow toward Vincent’s throat. This time, Vincent’s left hand shot out, catching Faraday’s arm mid-swing.

And then Vincent struck.

He stepped forward, twisting Faraday’s arm with a precision that sent a sharp crack echoing through the space. Faraday cried out, but Vincent wasn’t done. He grabbed Faraday by the wrist and yanked him forward, lifting him off the ground like a rag doll.

“Pathetic,” Vincent said, his voice dripping with disdain.

With a sickening thud, Vincent slammed Faraday into the staircase, the force splintering the metal beneath them. Faraday gasped, his body momentarily limp as blood trickled from his lips. Vincent still held him by the wrist, his fingers like an iron vice.

“Look at him,” Vincent said, turning his cold, mocking gaze to me. “This is your great weapon? Your loyal hound? He’s barely a chew toy.”

Faraday struggled weakly, his crimson eyes blazing with both pain and shame. Vincent’s grip tightened, and he lifted Faraday again, slamming him into the railing with enough force to bend the metal.

“Stop!” I shouted, my voice raw with desperation.

Vincent turned his head toward me, his silver eyes narrowing. “Why should I? If you can’t control your pet, then what use are you?”

His words hit me like a slap. My anger surged, but beneath it was a growing pit of fear. Vincent wasn’t just stronger—he was playing with us, showing me how far out of my depth I truly was.

Faraday groaned, his body sagging against Vincent’s grip. For the first time, I saw something I never thought I’d see in him: defeat.

“You see,” Vincent said, his voice soft and almost kind. “This is what happens when you challenge Master Conrad. It’s not just your strength or your will that’s tested—it’s your spirit. And his,” he gestured to Faraday with a sneer, “is already broken.”

Faraday’s head snapped up, his crimson eyes meeting mine for a brief, agonizing moment. There was something there—a plea, a desperate, unspoken cry for help.

Vincent chuckled, the sound cold and cruel. “Come now, young one. Tell me—was this truly your best plan? Or are you simply here to amuse me?”

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms until I felt the sting of blood. The Psycho Flux surged within me, screaming for release, but I held it back. Not yet. I couldn’t let my anger cloud my judgment. Not against someone like him.

Vincent smiled again, a smile that promised pain. “Well? Shall we continue?”