Damned

by K R Leikvoll

  “I thought I might be driven mad by how much I’ve anticipated this moment,” my Master whispered in my ear.

  I believed him.

  He made his way between my legs and caressed my cheek with a strange curiosity in his eyes.

  “Swear yourself to me.”

  It was almost as if he expected me to think on it.

  “I have wanted nothing more than to serve you,” I admitted effortlessly. The thought of my hardships seemingly ending was enough to make me want to weep.

  But I did not; I wouldn’t dare show my weakness.

  Only a single tear was allowed to fall from my eyes because I was unable to stop it. The sight made him smile. He leaned in close enough to kiss it from my face. Knowing him as well as I do now, it was his way of tasting my sadness. Amidst our first lovemaking session, however, it made me feel as though he could not stand to see me upset. I anticipated that he would continue his slow and taunting behavior, but instead he took my words as a confirmation of what he wanted me to say, biting into my neck as we became one.

  I did not know what was considered a demonic practice, nor the gravity of our consummation. Demonic bonds formed through any form of sacrifice were just as binding as the Dark Sacrament itself, without the benefits of the Void’s blessing. Once a mere swallow of my blood was consumed by him in exchange for all he had given me, our bond was sealed forever. Even in undeath, we would remain connected.

  Such a thing was magical in nature and entirely overwhelming. It was the first time since I was originally brought to Duskwraith that I felt another presence lurking in my mind. It awakened the darkness inside me expanding all that I once was into something more. My petty problems faded into the abyss. All I saw was the worlds I had taken and all the worlds I had yet to take.

  Praetis was next.

  I was so overcome at first by my new bond and the demonic entity creeping into my soul to truly feel all the sensations of my Master on top of me. I saw him not as he normally appeared; instead, a dark halo hovered over his head like a shadowy veil. He was the closest thing to an angel that had ever graced that land and he did not need the light to make it so.

  Once he had enough of my blood to satisfy his fill, he bit into his own wrist and pressed it to my mouth. It was an action I had never understood before, but I understood it at that moment better than ever. I graciously accepted his offering, drawing me even further into his sway. Everything outside our union was absurd for all that truly existed was us.

  The more I drank, the more it aroused Vince and the more I never wanted it to cease. It reached the point where he could no longer tolerate my feeding. He pulled his wrist from me even though I fought for it, having to use a more aggressive approach at keeping me still. When I opened my eyes to plead him for more, his halo was no longer there. Rather, he was more demonic than I had seen him thus far, but it did not impede his beauty. Black tendrils snaked from his form and wrapped their way around my wrists and ankles holding me down so I could not resist him. His nails tore into my sides as he became consumed in his own pleasure.

  Somehow, the pain became as soothing as any other touch. It did not matter as long as I was his. I never wanted our connection to stop. He could have ended my life I was so helpless to him, but I wouldn’t have cared. At least my final memory could be that of all I had ever desired. It was a mindset that was doomed to damn me forever, for nothing could ever placate me more than him again.

  Our lovemaking continued far past the time I was finished. Vince had done all he could to make it a night I would never forget. Between his blood, the demonic energies and his strange, overwhelming touch of pleasure, I was entirely in love. It felt natural between us like we had been created for each other. Tangled in his arms, he rolled over onto his back, keeping me against him.

  “I wish for you to accompany me tomorrow for the prisoner’s execution,” he whispered while he watched the ceiling. His fingers were running just barely on my skin, sending waves of warmth and happiness coursing through me. The thought of being face to face with the prisoner after betraying her twisted my insides; that was tucked away deep in my mind though for I would never trade his love for anything else in existence. I nodded barely, feeling rather drugged and unable to do much but lie next to him in bliss.

  “Afterward, you can take care of this Zaarian filth—” Vince began as he untangled himself from my arms and moved to put his robes back on. “And if you do well, perhaps there will be a position available for you here. It disgusts me to think of you returning to that awful place.”

  In the midst of everything, I had once again allowed the arena fight to slip my mind. I knew next to nothing of Varnoc Stonebreaker, and all I had heard was that his fighting was commendable. More so than anyone else besides myself. Not only did I have a large sum bet on me from all manners of people, I was positive my Master would be there. I wouldn’t fail him. I couldn’t.

  “I do not wish to leave,” I murmured so soft I did not think he would hear. He did though and turned sharply with the wine bottle from earlier in his hands again.

  “Of course not, beloved. You will never leave me again,” Vince replied. “Unless you die that is.”

  I will not pretend that the next morning I awoke in a state of pure bliss. It was the exact opposite. First and foremost, I was frightened to be somewhere that I was not familiar with. My eyes shot open when I realized I was oddly comfortable. The room was glowing a hue of red from the outside through the balcony window, but it was bright enough to be day time. The door opened almost immediately as I sat jolted upright. Perhaps I had heard them coming from the staircase; my ears were trained to alert me at any approaching threats.

  Two women entered. One was the Femoran woman from the previous day carrying a tray of food and the other was… incredibly peculiar. She was short – so short she almost looked Kaz’moran. Her hair was in two spiral tails down the sides of her face, deep emerald in shade. The horns on her head were unlike Zaarian horns or demonic horns; instead, they were short and sharp sitting on her forehead. Her reptilian eyes were bright yellow like golden coins.

  Both looked as surprised to see me in my Master’s bed as I was to see them. The Femoran woman placed the tray of assorted food and wine on the table near the fireplace while the other stared at me completely unbothered. She cleared her throat loudly, shattering the peaceful glass of silence.

  “My liege, it is nearly noon,” she said, revealing a questionable number of sharp teeth. Her voice was light like a bell, completely different from how she appeared.

  I glanced at my Master, whom I had temporarily been distracted from. He was bundled deep into the blankets with his eyes shut. I would have said that he was asleep peacefully, but his brow was furrowed as if he were in pain or concentrating.

  The green haired woman cleared her throat again.

  My Master stirred. First his eyes opened slowly, scanning his surroundings. After several seconds, his legs stretched out underneath the blankets barely brushing me. He wiped his face with his silken sleeve before glancing back up at the pair.

  “Mm… yes. I can’t see why it matters, Holly,” he said with a half-yawn. He turned to his side facing me rather than the door and pulled me into his arms. It was still foreign to receive his affection, even after becoming one.

  Both of the women looked at one another with tense stares before moving closer to the bed. They did so together as if they were afraid to be near alone which was puzzling.

  “Varnoc Stonebreaker has already defeated seventeen men. If you wish to have our visitor there, you will need to hurry along the execution,” the green haired woman, Holly, stated seriously. Vince sighed before sitting up, practically pushing me off of him.

  “Must have slipped my mind,” he mumbled, moving toward the table. He picked up the wine before touching the food, pouring himself a gracious glass of the same substance we had earlier. After a few deep swallows and impatient stares, he yawned again. “Ophelia, have James find us something
for Lazarus to wear to the fight. Holly… go prepare the prisoner.”

  They both dipped their heads, the Femoran slightly more than Holly, hurrying as if they were desperate to leave. I stayed under the blankets unable to move. Truthfully, I hadn’t been frightened of arena fighting, but I was anxious for this one. If I managed to do well, all my suffering was over. If I died, it would have been all for naught. Vince must have sensed something because he brought the tray over and pushed it toward me.

  “Eat,” he commanded while motioning for me to turn my back to him. I was puzzled to feel the sensation of him brushing my hair with a fine brush, something I had never been privileged enough to own. It was soothing to my nerves, though it could have been the waves he was emitting.

  I did as he said and ate what was given to me; meat of the avian variety. It had been longer than I could remember since I had such a delicacy. Despite the women’s subtle pleas to hurry, I took my time eating as Vince worked his hands and the brush through my long hair. By the time I was finished, he had braided my hair into two tails that nearly reached my waist.

  “If you insist on having long hair, you should keep it tied up. It’s a liability,” he instructed as he pressed a damp rag against my skin. It took me a moment to notice that he was washing the dried blood from my neck. There was no sting nor pain from his gentle actions.

  Ophelia brought up my new clothes that were suitable for both fighting and my Master’s eyes. It was black and heavy, made of fabrics I hadn’t seen before. Certainly far warmer than anything I had ever worn. The face mask was thick enough to keep the chill from my skin. The pants and cloak were form fitting enough to move around in without much interference.

  Holly met us near the stairs to the dungeons after my Master was finished getting ready. I can still recall the tightness in my chest that was felt when the fire-haired woman was yanked from the doorway. Our eyes met and I could tell she had known somehow I betrayed her beforehand. Her lips were in a straight line and her face was downcast. I think perhaps she was more emotional than I was at that moment. She had always known somewhere deep down that I would choose Vince.

  The guards were quick to open the main doors. It was elating to walk through the threshold despite my situation. The front of his Hold was still far off from the southern gates, but I enjoyed every step of freedom from the place I associated as a jail. The prisoner was led behind Holly, who dallied behind us to sniff the air.

  Once we neared the final set of gates, I was surprised to feel Vince’s hand wrap around mine to guide us forward. It was as if he did not care if he was seen touching me. The prisoner would see his affections and know she failed in her attempts to dissuade me.

  I had never laid my eyes on the front of my Master’s obsidian castle, nor experienced the trees of Azmordia. It was a dense forest of violence and glass. The trees were not normal remotely. They had been corrupted with demonic energies to take on a new form. Each one was made of hollow crystal. It was not particularly clear; instead, it appeared wavy like ice. That was not the most peculiar thing, however. In the center of the trees, a huge, throbbing heart pulsated blood throughout the branches.

  Their role was simple in the forest outside of my Lord’s castle: those that were gifted in shielding themselves from mind reading and torture would have their memories extracted by the tree to be consumed. Either way my Master would get the answers he sought.

  The bodies of old prisoners still hung by their ankles; some rotten, others reduced to skeletons. Another man nearby had recently been sentenced. He was wailing and pleading for us to cut him down as we approached. Normally, I would have assumed my Master would enjoy the sounds of his torment, but it only agitated him. He swiped his hand downward. A sharp black line sliced through the air and severed the man, effectively ending his annoying moaning.

  “I’ve enjoyed having an honored guest of the royal Luxian court—" Vince started as he turned to face the prisoner. “But I am afraid I am going to have to decline your request to snoop and trespass on my land.”

  Vince smiled and shoved the prisoner forward. She fell to her knees and watched Holly throw a rope over a nearby tree limb. It was tied tightly around her ankles to keep her in place for the tree’s extraction. With a rusted, overused dagger, she slashed the prisoner’s heels. Blood would help attract the tree to her to keep her from getting away while she was consumed. She let out a wince, but did not scream. With a heave, Holly began to hoist her up.

  “I, Vincent Azra Lyon, Guardian of Praetis, sentence you to death. May the gods be merciful to your deceitful soul.”

  The prisoner stared venomously back at us as she was lifted upside down. The glass tree she was bound to shifted for a moment before stabbing the ends of its branches into her wounded feet for a drink. She cried out in pain from this, but she never ceased her gaze.

  “I am Alexandra Ash and it is you that will have to beg the gods for mercy,” the prisoner stated, revealing her true identity.

  My Master and I did not respond to her, for what was the purpose of wasting a single breath on the dead? Instead, he led me back toward his palace. I had a fight to win.

  The crowd was in a state of discontent as we entered the arena from the palace side. The first thing my eyes drifted to was the pile of bodies; victims of my opponent’s victory. The large number of spectators were not cheering for Varnoc. They were cheering for me. It was startling to see how viciously everyone wanted to watch us rip each other apart.

  “Weapon of choice?” the grungy arena captain asked as he approached us.

  I would waste no expense on that filth.

  “Sword.”

  A cold, steel blade was thrust into my hands.

  My opponent was pacing back and forth on the ground like a starving animal waiting for a meal. Varnoc Stonebreaker was not named Stonebreaker without reason. He stood incredibly tall, even for a Zaarian. His face was square with a sharp, strong jawline. The Zaarian horns that adorned his head were thick and curled, only slightly more russet than his hair and messy beard. The sheer mass of his muscles proved his dedication to training. Unlike other larger opponents, he seemed to be agile based on his light pace.

  I delicately put my face mask on to avoid the chill and inevitable blood spurts. With a growl of anticipation, I leapt from the stands to the arena below. Varnoc would die so I could have my freedom. I could not afford to make any mistakes.

  There were no words shared between us, nor the arena captains. Varnoc rushed over, bringing his giant axe upward toward my throat. The weapon was almost as big as myself; I had no choice but to duck down and slide on the ground underneath it. My right hand gripped down on my sword and tried to bring it backward on his shins. Instead, I was hit in the side of the face by his free hand and sent flying to my back.

  The axe came down over my head to execute me. I quickly rolled to one side to dodge it. Varnoc was far faster than he appeared. The axe was raised again and struck into the spot my head had been a moment previously. I kicked him upward in the groin as hard as I could, giving me a second to jump back to my feet.

  I stood tensed with my sword ready to riposte. Varnoc roared and charged forward, attempting to hack into me once more. My sword couldn’t hold up against his strength in a parry; I was forced again to evade his swings. Without the ability to close the gap between us, it would be difficult to win.

  Varnoc’s powerful slashes were threatening in appearance, but my history of training and fighting granted me more wisdom than he was gifted. On his rotation of swings, he was unknowingly leaving his left side exposed – I only had to wait for the opportune moment to strike.

  Getting fed up with my dodging, he released his axe into the ground and charged into me with his shoulder. I tried to cut him with my sword, but I was easily one-third of his size. The force would have knocked me away if he hadn’t continued his charge into the wall of the arena. Despite the crash into the wooden barrier, I kept my hand firmly clenched around my hilt. All I needed was one s
trike.

  However, I did not anticipate the wood would splinter and impale me through my shoulder. I had sustained plenty of injuries in my life, but I recall that wooden stake being particularly painful. So much so I was unable to block his repeated blows to my gut. My sword was beginning to slip.

  He brought his fist back as far as he could and punched me hard in the face, effectively breaking my nose and stunning me. I held my empty hand out toward him to repel another punch. The crowd was begging him to continue, so he grabbed my wrist in both his hands and snapped it. It was as easy as crushing sand. Over his shoulder, I could see Vince. Watching. Waiting. My future was slipping from my grasp as my sword fell from my uninjured hand.

  No. I could not die away from his presence.

  I refused.

  I endured.

  Varnoc went back for his axe to finish the fight. It was not over. It couldn’t be. With a pained yell, I forced myself away from the wall and the shard impaling me. Varnoc saw my movements, ripped his blade from the ground and rushed back to put an end to the tournament. I watched his axe swing over his head. It was my chance.

  With every bit of energy I had left, I dashed forward. My sword cut underneath his arm into his side. His axe flew from his hands in the air, crashing into the stands and murdering bystanders. I kicked him under his legs; I was nowhere near strong enough physically to bring him down, but his pain made it easy to knock him to his knees. I removed my sword and put it to his throat. This was it – my freedom.

  “Enough.”

  My Master’s voice was quiet as usual, but it was still heard above all of the screams and jeers. I looked up to him in disbelief. There was nothing I sought more in that moment than to cut Varnoc’s throat.

  “I see no reason to shed perfectly good blood. I think you both have proven worthy of my attention. Come. We have much to discuss.”

  TRIALS

  As one can imagine, absolute chaos erupted in reaction to my Master’s words. The stands roared in fury. It was unheard of! Two champions, both with high sums bet on them, pulled from the Everglade. Beyond how peculiar it was to everyone else, I struggled to remove my blade from Varnoc’s throat.