I could hear someone crying. My eyes opened just a little, but I couldn’t see much. Outside the cell door I could see shadows and sunlight, meaning that at least it was past dawn. Where was the crying coming from?

I realized that it was coming from next to me, in the cell next to mine. I saw a young girl laying on the ground face up, and a man on top of her. I could see the tears on her face as the man moved back and forth. A quiet cry lingered in the musty air. I turned my head away, avoiding any form of contact. My stomach churned at the thought of what was happening next to me. This was the fate I had spared for Emery.

That thought sent me spiraling into delirium again. The same scenario repeated itself over and over in my head once again. My arms grew heavy even thinking of the sword's weight as I swung it for the first time. I felt something acidic coming up my throat before I emptied my head of these thoughts. It was the first time in my life that I felt remorse. Had I done the right thing? Was sparing her from pain enough to justify what I had done to her?

I was never one to be emotional. Yet, I could feel the repercussions of my actions.

It was only then I actually heard the cell door closing, and saw the guard walking out.

I turned my head around gently, seeing what had happened.

The girl was chained to the wall, in tatters. Blood stained the ground below her, scars stretched down her arms and stomach. But as she looked up at me, it was her eyes that terrified me the most.

Her eyes were a pale, deathly gray. Empty, cold and devoid of any emotion. I had grown up surrounded by colors and flowers, and it was my first time seeing such despair and emptiness in a person. Scars stretched down her arms and chest, bruises covered the rest of her body. My heart clenched, and I wondered how long she had been down here.

We stared at each other, unsure whether we should say something. I was still shaking from the scene of Emery’s death, playing in my head repeatedly. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Apart from the bruises, injuries and the soft crying I heard earlier, there was nothing to indicate that she was in pain. She simply stared at me, tilting her head without a single word. It was as if this was normal for her, and she had completely given up any hope of escaping this fate.

The day continued on, the two of us locked in this desolate prison. My throat was parched and my stomach growled as I saw the sun rays fade. Hours had passed, and so far nothing had happened. My wrists were starting to hurt from being held up too long.

Suddenly the steel door opened, and behind the door stood a man I recognized from the night before. It was the one that I had assumed to be their leader, the one that seemed to be in charge. The one that seemed to have a problem with my father. His face was rough, scarred and slightly tan. As he set his cloak aside, I could see that his arms were wrapped in bandages. He put his cloak down, revealing the damaged leather armor underneath. I could smell gunpowder and a hint of smoke as he came close to my cell.

He looked at me, staring down at me like I was some small insect.

I hated it.

“How’re you doing?” he asked.

I didn’t respond, I simply stared at him.

“Not the talkative type, are you?” he pulled up a chair, sitting down while facing me.

“Do you know who I am?” he questioned.

I tried to think about who he could possibly be. Nothing came to my mind.

“I thought as much… I suppose you know very little about the things your father has done then, don’t you? My name is Malcolm.”

Malcolm.

It was a name I would never forget, because of what he did to me.

Back then I knew very little about what my father did. He never spoke about his work, and I never asked. As far as I was told, he was a noble that had been tasked with managing a few surrounding villages from where we lived. The land and privilege was granted to him as a gift for what his own father had done, but I also heard that my father was terrible at it.

“You have no idea… the things that he did to my family. I used to live in one of the villages that he used to oversee. My family was small, just me, my sister and my mother. I didn’t have much before, and I don’t have much now. What I did have, was a sister, just like you did. I was away from the village one day, on a hunt with a couple of my friends. When I came back, my sister and mother were gone. Everyone told me that the men your father sent to guard us had taken her. When we found her, they were already done with her. She had been raped to death. I found my mother later, hanging from a tree. She was a very frail and weak woman. My sister’s death had been enough to push her over the edge. And just like that, my only family was gone. All caused by the greed and arrogance of a single man…”

I still remember his voice to this day. It was hoarse, spiteful but still sounded indifferent. It was a voice of someone that purely hated the world and what it had done to him.

“And now… your father’s death. He chose to burn with his mansion rather than suffer at my hand. A shame, considering the thing I've prepared to do to him since that day. Fortunately… his son’s here to take his place.”

He walked up, walking over to his cloak. In the pockets I saw both sharp and blunt tools. There was an unnerving silence as he held me up, dagger in hand and I could see it in his eyes. That he would enjoy every moment of it. He began with my arms. Starting from the wrist he stabbed my arm with the tip of the blade, but not too deeply. For me, it was my first time going through such pain. I screamed, but not too loudly. Then he dragged the blade across my arm, splicing my skin open and then the quiet, cold air was suddenly flooded with my screaming. As the multitude of daggers and blades continued to impale me, I screamed even more than before. Everytime he used a new tool I felt a fresh new wound being created on my body. Across, my arms, chests and legs I felt pain from every wound, and eventually I became so overwhelmed with pain that I stopped screaming. It was like a giant burning piece of coal had been pressed against me, burning my skin, as blood dripped like a raging ember. He took out something different, an arrow this time. It looked like the tip had been laced with something.

He came close again, twisting the arrow around like some kind of trophy.

“This is something I found during my travels. We have an alchemist here that’s quite proficient in poisons. He managed to make use of what I found to create this,” he explained.

Without another word he impaled the open wound in my right arm with the arrowhead.

The pain that began to flow across my arm was unexplainable. It was like a centipede had crawled into my arm and began eating the flesh from the inside.

Compared to before, it was even more excruciating.

I can still hear myself screaming, even today.

As the toxins seeped into my arm, and I watched myself bleed I came to wonder.

Exactly what had I done to deserve this?

Why did I have to suffer for the acts of my father?

“Don’t worry, it isn’t lethal,” Malcolm assured me.

I wasn’t even allowed time to continue thinking, as Malcolm grabbed me by the throat, forcing me to stand up. I grabbed his arms, trying to break free of his grip. Yet there was no strength in my arms as the blood loss had sapped all of my strength.

“Your father didn’t just destroy my life… he ruined the lives of many others as well. And as it turns out, some of them have things to… say about what he has done,” Malcolm hissed at me. “Strangely enough, for someone that’s lived such a sheltered life, you’ve dealt with the pain very well. Hopefully, that changes the next time we meet.”

He dropped me on the floor, not even bothering to chain me up again. He left my cage door open as he left, the steel door clashing against the iron door frame. I laid on the ground, gasping for breath. No food, no water, and no bandages. Some of the ground soaked in a deep crimson as blood seeped in between the dirt.

“Are you okay?” I heard a voice next to me. It was the first time I heard her voice.

I turned to the side, trying not to faint from the pain. As my eyes met again, she flinched. I could see fear, disgust and an assortment of other things as she cuddled up in her corner, grouping up her legs.

I continued to grovel on the floor. Every single wound that he had inflicted on me burned, and even as the bleeding stopped, I could feel the pain in every single one of my muscles.

“Don’t give me the silent treatment, here you’re the same as us. Just another captive, another plaything for these people,” she told me nonchalantly.

I looked up at her. She was right. Here, I was more so an animal than I was human.

“What do you want?” I growled in a hoarse voice.

“You know, we’ve met before, you and I,” she ignored my question.

For the second time today someone insisted that I should know them. If we had met, then I really couldn’t remember where.

“Somehow, I doubt that,” I gasped out.

“Of course, you wouldn’t remember me. I was sitting on the street, covered in tatters while you were sitting in a carriage pulled by two beautiful horses. I remembered everyone pointing fingers at you, saying that you were the corrupt nobleman’s son, and how you deserved to die just as much as your father did,” she continued. “I remembered as you walked down your carriage like some godly deity, guarded by soldiers. You helped a girl down as the both of you walked down to the bakery. I remember being envious of your wealth, why did the rest of us have to starve and suffer while you ate and feasted to your heart’s desires?”

She moved a little, putting her legs down. She held her arms up, covering her breasts.

“Is that it?” I asked. “I'm supposed to remember someone just because I pass by them on the street?”

“After you came out with that girl, you gave some of the bread to the soldiers. You said something to them and they seemed confused, but after you shouted at them they immediately came over to us, giving us the bread that you had given them.”

I remembered doing something along those lines.

“I really hope you don’t expect me to remember you based on that,” I snickered.

“The reason I remember you isn’t because of the bread.”

“Then why?”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“I remembered looking at you. When you walked down your carriage, you weren’t smiling. Only the girl with you was. On your face, it almost seemed like you had just attended a funeral. When you left, you looked just as sad as you did when you came. And in my head, all I could ask was why you were so sad when you were surrounded by such wealth.”

“It’s none of your business,” I lashed out at her.

“You think you’re special, don’t you?” her tone hadn’t changed, but it was somewhat condescending.

I didn’t respond.

“You should learn to get along with the people around you. After all, I’m the only company you’re going to have down here.”

She was right. It was just the two of us right now, in this wretched world. I had never really thought of myself as anyone special, just fortunate.

After a moment of silence, I found the urge to begin a conversation.

“My name… is Magnus.” I spoke out loud.

“Are you asking for my name?” she asked.

“That would make it easier for us to talk to each other.”

“I don’t really have a name.”

“Then what should I call you?”

“I don’t know, whatever you want.”

And thus began my relationship with this nameless girl. We continued talking for a while. I learned that she was fourteen, just slightly older than me, that she’s been living in captivity for six years now. I couldn’t imagine all the pain and suffering that she had been going through, and for six years?

“How did you get here?” I asked.

“You really want to know?” she asked in response.

“I guess.”

“ I grew up in a small village that was owned by your father. Parents were farmers, dirt poor. They never really had an opportunity to do anything else. We couldn't move because your father forbade us, and threatened to kill us if we even thought about leaving. Eventually we ran out of money, crops and hope for anything. My father sold me to a couple of his friends for some silver when I was eight. My mother tried to stop him, but I guess she failed. It wasn’t long after that my village got raided. Ever since then I’ve been raped, beaten and held prisoner ever since.”

I was appalled that all of this happened under the watch of my father. That perhaps I could have done something about it, but never bothered to look beyond what I saw. I began to see more of the world for what it truly was.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“You know, you’d seem like the person that would never apologize to anyone.”

“Why is that?”

“You seem too bitter of a person.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

As we talked I began to forget about my pain, and my situation. What the hell was I doing?

Was I slowly, but surely going insane?

* * *

I was there for around three months but there was no good way to keep count. Everyday I would be tortured with something new, there didn’t seem to be an end to their creativity. Everyday, it was a new type of pain, on a different part of my body. Broken bones, deep cuts and ruptured organs. Sometimes if they didn’t feel like standing around to torture me they would give me something that would rip me from the inside out. They would come back afterwards, giving me something for the wounds, not for the pain. I watched as my flesh mend like cloth, and then torn apart the next day. The nameless girl was abused next to me, everyday I watched as life was drained out of her, thrown around like a rag and used like a doll. Everyday as we woke up, we looked at each other, like we were looking for a way out. Only then were we reminded of exactly where we were, and then we returned to our senses.

I remembered one night, after the two of us were completely worn out. She was exhausted, laying down on the floor while I was hung up, my skin burning from acidic materials. I became used to the pain, so much that it interested Malcolm and his lackeys.

“In all my years, I’ve never seen someone like you… someone so resilient. Everything we’ve tried, all the things we’ve done to you, anyone else would have snapped long ago. But you… you just won’t break.”

And as I peered up at him, the smile on his face faded as he turned around, and he left the room swiftly. I could still feel the heat in my arms as my skin melted off, exposing the wounds and raw flesh underneath. It was disgusting, but I have been seeing things like this done to me everyday now. My sense of pain had dulled, and I could barely feel anything.

I saw something crawl along the ground. I immediately grabbed it, throwing it into my mouth. They gave me water, but never any food. I stopped checking what was tossed into my mouth. Whatever I had eaten had a crunch to it. I almost gargled but forced it down my throat, gasping for breath.

“He’s scared,” the nameless girl said.

“Who?” I asked her.

“Malcolm.”

“And why would he be scared?”

“Did you see the look on his face when you looked up at him?”

The only thing I saw was his smile.

“No, why?” I asked.

“Magnus, you don’t understand. You can’t even see it for yourself. But ever since the day that you came into this cage, you weren’t like anyone else I’ve ever seen before. You didn’t cry, you didn’t whine or you didn’t give in. You screamed, just like anyone else, but the look in you never changed. Even now, it still remains the same…”

“What are you on about?” I was still confused.

“I’ve seen someone with the same eyes as you once before, Magnus. He was an old swordsman, who lost an arm during one of his battles. Malcolm lost a lot of his men to him and so he wanted to make the swordsman suffer. You know what I saw?”

“This story is too long,” I complained.

“The way he looked at Malcolm, he had eyes that looked down upon him, asking if that was all that he had. I’d never forget that glare, the way that he scared Malcolm. A man that just wouldn’t break, no matter how much pain and suffering you put him through.”

“And?”

“You have the same glares in your eyes as he did.”

* * *

I watched as the man was on top of her, moving up and down again. He was here more often than the others. I tried to think of something else, but my mind just wouldn’t wander off. I tried to think of all of the books I read, but everyday it all came back to how I wanted to cut off his balls and then rip out his jaws. Everyday, the two of us endured through this shit. I was so frail that you could see all the bones in my body sticking out of my flesh, and I was so weak that I could barely remain conscious for hours a day. Yet somehow I still believed that this wasn’t the end.

When he left, the two of us were left alone again. It was the same scene over and over again. An endless cycle of suffering.

She was asleep on the floor. It was rare for her to fall asleep that fast, but today in particular she had been through a lot. I heard speaking in her sleep, but it was never loud enough for me to hear precisely. Today though, she was louder than usual.

“Let me die,” she whispered in her sleep.

That night, Malcolm came around again. He had a smirk on his face, and he took out his daggers as per usual. And as he scored my flesh I simply looked at him. I had grown used to the pain. And I had grown bored of his antics.

“I still you still haven’t snapped,” Malcolm commented. My dead eyes gazed towards him, without reaction.

“From today, you won’t be living here anymore.”

What?

“Meet your new owner.”

He opened the cage, dragging me out. I didn’t have the strength to fight back, and I was easily pulled like a reed swaying in the wind. He dragged me outside, where I dropped to my knees, and I saw a pair of leather boots. I looked up, meeting the eyes of a man, dressed in a black robe. My head fell downwards as I lost the strength to look up.

“That him?” the stranger asked.

“That’s him,” Malcolm answered.

“He doesn't look all that resilient,” the stranger commented.

“Trust me, he’s been here for months. He’s been tortured, day after day after day and yet look at him. Look at the look in his eyes.”

The stranger grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up. He looked intensely into my eyes.

“How old is he?” the stranger asked before letting go of me.

“Young enough for what you want to do.”

“I’ll take him.”

On the ground I could see their shadows. One shadow took out something out of his cloak, like a small pouch, giving it to the other.

“I guess you won’t be seeing your friend again, will you?” Malcolm grabbed me one last time. “I suppose, even if I haven’t broken you, I still got my revenge.”

At that moment, his face was close.

My face lurched forward, biting a part of his cheek. I latched hard, I could taste blood in my mouth. Just that it wasn’t mine this time.

I heard screaming in front of me as two calloused hands tried to push me down, but my teeth had sunk deep into the flesh. As he finally managed to get me off, I could feel that I had torn something off his face. A rather large chunk of flesh came down with me as I spat out whatever was in my mouth.

“You bitch!” Malcolm began screaming, covering the side of his face. He took out a dagger, lunging towards me before the stranger got in front of me.

“Hey now, he belongs to me now,” the stranger said as he laid down on the ground, staring up at the ceiling.

“Not before I-”

“I need him alive, and he’s on the verge of dying. You don’t have to worry, by the time I’m done with him he’ll wish he were back in your cage,” the stranger assured Malcolm.

There was a moment of silence before I heard the sheathing of a dagger.

“Fine!” Malcolm’s voice echoed across the cave.

From there on, I remember being dragged out of the cave, tied up like a piece of meat. I remembered the terrain, mountainous and covered in tall trees. Suddenly I was on a carriage, the constant sounds of wheels bumping against rocks keeping me up under the moonlit night. It was the first time I was breathing fresh cold outdoor air, instead of the musty and dusty air in that cave. Not far off from the cave, I saw a sign with a word on it.

Blackpool.

* * *

When I woke up again, I saw the starry night skies again. I saw stone ruins, tall and shattered like some sort of old relic. I tilted my head to look around, but all I saw were ancient stone walls. This time though, I tied to something that felt like stone. Wherever I was, it was still nighttime. The moon was still out, so it had only been a few hours since I had been taken out of the cave. I could smell herbs and incense burning in the air. I was calm. I thought that whatever was going to happen to me now, couldn’t possibly be worse than what I had already been going through.

The stranger suddenly appeared in front of me, I could recognize his smooth face.

“You’re awake!” he shouted excitedly.

I didn’t answer.

“You know, I have to thank you. I really needed you to conduct another one of these rituals. Thank god that Malcolm had you lying around.”

I listened, but didn’t say anything. Back then nothing made sense to me. He was just rambling off like some stupid villiam in one of the stories I used to read.

“I’ve done this so many times, but it’s almost never worked. But you… I feel like it’ll work with you,” he laughed eccentrically.

He took out a flask, filled with some sort of viscous blue liquid. He took off the cork, but I smelled or sensed nothing. It might as well have been water. His hands grabbed my throat, forcing my mouth open. Pouring the liquid in, I gargled it down.

Still, I felt nothing as it went down my throat. He let go, pleased with himself.

“Anytime now,” the stranger said, backing off.

It took a moment.

Then suddenly it felt like every bone in my body had been set on fire. I lurched around, then I began screaming. I don’t even remember the last time I screamed that loud. Like I said, I thought that nothing could have been as bad as whatever Malcolm had been doing to me in that cave.

Oh, how wrong I was.

I watched, as I screamed and tried to roll around as the stranger took a dagger in his hands. I cried, screaming while trying to maintain my sanity.

He dug the dagger straight into my heart, cutting away at the flesh around it. Blood splattered everywhere, old scars began to burn as if they were just freshly made. And I watched, as he dug my heart out of my chest, still beating as if it were in my chest. He came around to my head slowly, as I was terrified. A dagger went under my throat as he dragged it, cutting my throat. I could no longer scream as I gargled on my own blood, watching my own heart beat.

That was the last I remember that night. I felt content, at peace. Even after such a violent death, I thought that it was all over. I came to terms with my death, as my heart was placed once again in my body but left exposed to the air. As I took my last breaths, I wondered, was this it? Was this how I died?

Little did I know that as my blood seeped into the ancient stones underneath, as the ritual flames were ignited, an ancient spirit had awakened underneath. For months I had been torn apart. Up until that point, I hadn’t been sure. Did I want to die, so that I could finally rest in peace? Or did I want to live, so that I could bring pain to those that ruined my life?

As I finally wondered what I wanted, my consciousness slipped into the chasms below.