ＯＵＴ ＯＦ ＬＵＸ discussion

The Rattling Chambers, a medium-sized underground room below Club Serpentine itself, is the gang’s very own torture room. Of course they needed a cool name for it—what’s a terrifyingly clean, almost pure white room without a horrifying name? The cabinets are white marble, the floors are white concrete, the walls are white. Everything is white, including the blinding fluorescent lights above the room, dangling from the ceiling. There are chains hanging from the ceiling, chains connected to a sturdy pole in the middle of the room, and chains connected to a firmly-rooted metal chair off to the side.

Good luck, Cal.

      𝗭𝗬𝗫 𝗩𝗬𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗢𝗡      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The hush of descending footsteps echoed like a funeral drum through the red, neon-lit corridor. The light above flickered once—nervous, like it knew who approached. Zyx moved slowly, without purpose or intent, as if he was a predator who knew his prey lay ahead of him on a silver platter. Which, if his Snakes did their jobs, it did. The squeak of his boots and the sound of his leather jacket rubbing against itself were the only noises aside from the nearly-silent footsteps of Cadmus. Cadmus.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀As he reached the final step leading down to the locked white doors, he turned, pausing in front of the door as he turned those sinister red eyes on his Rattler. His partner, his everything, Cadmus. He allowed the comfortable silence between each of them to persist, almost breathing like a living thing in the air around them. Wherever they went, that aura of terrifying calm followed. They were not a volatile, unpredictable pair—they made calculated moves and thrived off of that. It was more terrifying, really, than if you didn’t know what to expect. Because the two men have proven that they would do the worst, you expect the worst. Good.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx released a hissing breath, smiling with no teeth as he stepped closer to Cadmus, running a hand up his Rattler’s arm gently, over his shoulder, up to the side of his face. Zyx cupped his cheek lovingly, a thrill of excitement making its way through his chest. “Big day, my love,” he said, voice shockingly normal for someone so twisted and corrupted. He was just a normal man, his voice no different, but the calm stillness of his aura made everything about him appear eerie and activated that deep instinct to run. Cadmus was similar, but whereas Zyx was intimidating through his size, Cadmus was more intimidating due to that calculating, dead look in his eyes. The man always looked like he was ten steps ahead, having calculated every way he could shatter your skull in the first few seconds of seeing you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It made Zyx feel many things, the standout being utter attraction. His partner was more the essence of Club Serpentine than Zyx, but he was okay with that—more than okay with that. He enjoyed watching the Rattler from a distance, stepping in where he was needed or wanted, but otherwise observing with desire and pleasure.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx was attracted to the look in Cadmus’s eyes that petrified others, all too willing to get lost in those cold pools of something awful and deeply disturbing. Not the time, though, he reminded himself as he dropped his hand from his husband’s face. Later—they’d have their time to express those feelings then. Zyx looked towards the door, placing his hands in his pockets as he breathed in deeply, the breath seeming to not leave his lungs as he turned his eyes back to Cadmus.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀More stillness. He reveled in it, smiling again that same unsettling movement of his lips, tilting his head as he surveyed Cadmus again. “If our Snakelings didn’t fail us, we have quite the activity ahead of us, don’t we?”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
    ⠀ CADMUS ⠀

Club Serpentine was loud, thrumming with activity, as it often was. Clientele gambled and danced on the main floor, bodies writing together under the harsh green of the strobing lights. Music thumped a harsh beat, drowning out all noise that may rise up from the chambers hidden beneath the club. Cadmus made his way across the floor, his movements fluid and relaxed. His eyes were cold and calculating and his smile was all teeth, filed to a sharp point in his vaguely serpentine mouth. Zyx strode beside him, parting the crowd with just a look. Hot. As the pair approached the door leading to the back of the club, a Snake stepped from the shadows and held the door open for their entry. The door clicked shut behind them, and all was quiet and still.

Descending the stairs was like entering another world. Deep red lights illuminated the sterile white walls, sheathing the world in blood. The pounding of the music was little more than a memory retained in the footsteps of the two men. The two stopped in front of the locked door to Cadmus’ favorite room, anticipation setting the air alight. Cadmus turned to look at Zyx, slitted yellow eyes meeting red. It had been a more snakelike day than usual for Cadmus, his skin shifting with scales, his tongue forked. If Zyx was the devil, Cadmus was his familiar, changing his shape to match the will of his partner.

Shivering under the touch of his partner, Cadmus leaning into the feeling, scales smoothing into soft skin for his lover. He looked up at Zyx and stepped even closer until the two men were a breath away from touching. Cadmus could feel Zyx’s breath on his lips.

“It is. We have the most delicious treat waiting for us.” On the word delicious, Cadmus pressed his chest to Zyx, snaking his arms around his neck like a vice. “But first, let me get a taste of you.”

Most people avoided touching Zyx directly. There was power to his touch, pain destined for any who dared to get close enough to be trapped in his grasp. Cadmus was not most people. While most were repelled by Zyx, Cadmus was drawn in, always left yearning for more. He craved Zyx’s touch, needed it like he needed air. He brought his lips to Zyx’s ear, forked tongue flickering out of his mouth for a taste followed by his lips. He kissed Zyx just below his ear, gentle and slow. As he pulled back, eyes half-lidded and dead, his head snapped up and he bit Zyx’s earlobe just hard enough to draw blood, but not hard enough to cause him any lasting pain. He licked his lips as he pulled back, reveling in the taste of Zyx’s blood. He wondered idly what the little birdie behind the door would taste like.

“A Voxthain Councilor walking around our city, acting like she owns the place. We will show her who is really in charge around here, won’t we baby?”

It was a present and an insult all wrapped up in an overheard fight at the Neowrath Tavern. They didn’t yet know which of the young female Councilors thought she had more authority in his city than Club Serpentine, but Cadmus hoped it was the Delacroix girl. Cadmus had been salivating for years at the chance to sink his fangs in one of those haughty nobles. Soon they would know her identity, and more than that, they would know the symphony of her screams. Cadmus loved to watch Zyx make pain bloom across the skin of his victim while he shaped his body into their worst nightmare. Rapture and Rupture, pain and fear, a life snuffed out once they were done with their fun. It was time.

   
   
❝   𝓒𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓭𝓸𝓷𝓲𝓪 "𝓒𝓪𝓵" 𝓗𝓪𝔂𝓭𝓮𝓷   ❞    
   

Burning, hot agony rippled through Caledonia's upper back, shooting out from the location like tendrils of fire. The first thing she felt, it jolted her out of a realm of heavy darkness, leaving her mind in fragments, her breathing ragged, and her head spinning, nausea rolling through her stomach in waves.

Beneath her, the ground was cold and hard, except for where her fingers brushed against spots of wet warmth, while her head felt as if someone had stuffed a wad of cotton inside it.

It was heavy, clogged, and pounding, and for the life of her she had no idea where she was or what she was doing, why she felt so ill upon waking up from--somewhere. Certainly, this was not her bed, which was soft, and it wasn't the hardwood floor of her room nor the couch she'd camp out on at the militia headquarters on a long night. No, this was a floor.

Whatthehellwhatthehell-- was she hungover? Why was she in pain, why was each breath difficult to take? What in Lantas had happened? She tried again to inhale, but it only made the sharp lance of pain in her upper back burn hotter, and a small cry of pain jolted from her lips. Cal's eyes snapped open, and she gaped, the room spinning around her like a child's toy stop.

White. It was the first thing she saw, just an almost assaulting amount of it, but every time she kept her eyes open for more than six seconds, it led to her stomach writhing, bile stinging the back of her throat as her own saliva drooled by her lip. Good fuck. She made a swipe to get it off, but even that movement was slow, took so much effort. Cal's skin prickled, spine tingling.

She wasn't home. She wasn't in the headquarters, and she was not feeling well at all. She'd have to go see Hannah later, to apologize when she was--Hannah.

Like a battering ram, it hit, and Cal's green eyes snapped open again, panic clawing at her throat some of the grogginess clinging to her brain, like morning mist, faded under a hot sun. Hannah. Being attacked. The Snakes. The fight. The bloody syringe, feeling like she couldn't breathe, that she was...about to collapse.

A sinking feeling curled downward inside her stomach, followed by a heady rush of fear. Serpentine had her, there was no question about it, and the burning pain was from the knife that she could already tell by feeling was no longer in her back. So she was bleeding out. Fucking fantastic. But--a cold chill swept through her as she stared, vision blurring in and out, at the swirls of dark ink along the backs of her hands. Her illusion potion was waring out, her tattoos blinking into existence every few seconds. They'd been hidden at least by her hoodie, and she--her hoodie.

No. No, no, no-- One hand shot to her waist, even though the familiar weight of her holster was gone. No hoodie, just goosebumps raised elegantly along her muscles. Her chest tightened, throat dry, hands beginning to shake, as she pushed herself into a seat position, the anxiety swirling, a hurricane force growing by the second inside her. Cold air brushed against her bare feet, her bare arms, and a fucking hole in her pants. They'd found her other holster, and removed it. Not only did she feel naked without her weapons, but--Cal heaved, her stomach twisting, bile dry against the back of her tongue.

Someone had touched her, someone had stripped her shoes, her socks and her weapons, her sweatshirt. Her hair stood up on the back of her neck, and, eyes wide, Cal snapped her attention to one of the room's corners, taking it all in. She fought to keep a shudder from rolling down her spine--chains hanging from the ceiling, all white, no windows, and one of the Snakes in the corner watching her. Him.

White-hot anger choked the breath from Cal's lungs, and she snarled in his direction, a feral cat. "I'll kill you," she choked out, breath shaking. "Just like I did your friends." Her fingers twitched with the need to dig her nails into his eyes until they bled, to vibrate his heart into a heart attack. "Fuck did you do to me?" She demanded, her words trembling, but a deep rage, lethal and sharp, punctuated every single thing she said. "If you touched me, I will kill every last one of you. Done it once and not afraid to do it again."

Because panic had her grogginess almost gone by this point, inducing adrenaline as it was as her blood seemed to get colder. Ghosts of fingerprints, of hands on her, trailed across her, and Cal choked, staring at the white ground as her eyes almost fogged, seeing nothing and everything, hunched over around her dry heave. Shower, she needed to shower, what had he done to her, he could have done--anything--while she was out, he had touched her, and she needed--she needed--red.

There was blood on the floor, and as her breaths became shallower, as Cal felt her mind slipping more than it already was, her eyes latched onto the blood, red and shimmering like a beacon in the room. Mine, she knew distantly. Right. The knife. The blood loss, that had her dizzy. That and her skin was prickling now, and she needed to scrub the hands off her, badly.

She needed to get out, she had to focus. Maybe for a militia member, her immediate reactions were pathetic, and hell, Cal hated herself for them, the way her hands shook, but helpless and touch were synonymous with triggering, and she knew it. No weapons, unconscious, groggy, helpless. Last time that had happened--no. Cal squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to take deep breaths, to focus on the pulse of pain in her back. Grounding her, keeping her from losing her mind to the horror of him and thoughts of... that more than her body was already reacting.

Deep breaths, in and out. It hurt, it hurt like hell, but she'd had worse. She needed out, but she had already deduced a small issue--she was chained to a pole in the middle of the room. Just one ankle, either because these assholes didn't know she was a danger, or because they thought it was funny.

A cart stood by the Snake, and she held onto her rage, if only to keep from slipping mentally. It didn't take a genius to figure it out--her belongings were in there, evidenced by the trail of knife-blood that led right to it. Her sweatshirt would have been dripping. Cal fought for composure, thinking as fast as she could. At least situations like this, training in the militia would come in handy for--or could, if she hadn't been carrying so much unresolved baggage--but Cal refused to be helpless.

This asshat Snake would probably try and kill her, but, even bleeding out, her body feeling heavy and weak, Caledonia Hayden would rather die on her feet than be killed on her knees like a dog. She turned, mouth dry, and aimed one hand at the chain around her ankle and one hand at the Snake, expelling--nothing. It was gone, her magic, her vibrations. They weren't accessible, and she closed her eyes and cussed silently in her head. Of course. Of course they had done something to her that had repressed her magic, the militia did it when dealing with a dangerous criminal.

But it was a hitch in her plan, and her heart battered against her ribs at twice its normal speed, panic surging as she tried to think around the fear in her brain and the slight dizziness and nausea from the blood loss and getting her head conked on the ground when she fell unconscious. So this is why he didn't react. Why the Snake didn't make a move, because he knew she had no magic at her fingertips right now.

No weapons, no magic, she couldn't easily break or dislocate her ankle to slip the chain off. But she had to do something, because Serpentine was his childhood home and like hell was she sitting around here waiting to see what his former bosses wanted from her. Cal ran a hand through her hair, down the side of her face, and froze when her palm brushed across her ears.
Her piercings. Hope flared, and with it, adrenaline and determination. She drew her legs towards her chest, holding in a wince when the movement pulled at her wound on her back, and tucked her head between her legs as if she was in despair, for the sake of tricking the snake.

Slowly, with the hand away from him, she worked one of the longest earrings out of her ear until she held it clasped in her palm, the sharp edge pressing against her skin and ready to go. Caledonia held her breath, dropping her hand against her ankle, fitting the post of the earring into the keyhole of the chain. It took several attempts, as she wasn't looking at her work, but when it dropped, her heart leapt. Slowly, slowly, she wiggled it around, until she heard a pop and the chain released.

Cal eased out a breath. Her body was weak, and she knew it. But if she could just take this fucker out like she had his friends, she could get her stuff back, rifle through these cabinets, and find a way to get the repression of her magic out of her system, and get the hell out of here.

Have a major freak-out later, probably in the shower. But now? Now, she had to go. Taking a deep breath, Cal slipped the earring back into its spot in her ear, braced herself, and pushed to her feet.

As a part of the militia, Cal had fought and trained with injuries and illness before. She had grown up living through pain, through abuse. So she was prepared to fight this Snake even feeling like shit. But when the world swam, her gut lurched, and nausea twisted her head on her shoulders, knees weak, she knew it was not just blood loss. The damn syringe, the aftereffects of that were still lingering, atop the blood loss and the still-healing wounds from her ring fights a few nights ago...well. She was feeling sicker than usual.

But like hell did anyone need to know that, even as some sweat beaded at her hairline. Cal turned, fighting for breath, towards the Snake. And she ran, fists balled. The first step, her knee wavered. The second, it almost gave out. Her back and head--right, concussion, hitting the ground, that didn't help either--screamed at her, and she made it two-thirds of the way across the room before her body gave out and she hit the ground hard.

No, please no. She was not giving up here. She had trained for tis, right? Cal forced herself to roll towards the Snake. She grabbed his ankle with shaking hands, hauled herself up, and slammed the side of her hand behind his knee to bring him down. One last whack in his temple and he'd be out. Come on.

      𝗭𝗬𝗫 𝗩𝗬𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗢𝗡      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx’s breath caught in his throat, a subtle stutter of pleasure behind the mask of composure, when Cadmus bit down. The sharp sting of pain spread, the heat of blood tracing a slow, tantalizing path down the curve of his jaw. He didn’t wipe it away. No, he savored it. Let it trace his jaw like Cadmus’s tongue had many nights over and over, let it stain. Let the scent of iron from his blood swirl around them, heightened by their connection through magic. It was their kind of intimacy, dark and feeling, and he wouldn't ruin it with something as mortal as caution.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The grin he gave Cadmus was a quiet terror. He leaned in even closer than they already were, almost trying to become part of Cadmus’s physical form, inhaling the heat radiating off his Rattler’s body, his voice slithering between them like silk on soft skin. “One taste before the final feast, hmm? Greedy little thing.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He lingered, brushing his lips ghost-like across the edge of Cadmus’s jaw before pulling back slowly, as though detaching from a magnet. His eyes raked over Cadmus with slow appreciation—the glimmer of shifting scales beneath the skin, the serpent grin, the haunted hollowness behind those striking yellow slits. Beautiful. Terrifying. His. “The Councilor,” Zyx said, the word already tasting like victory, “will soon realize that the rules here are nothing like those in Voxthain. This is Serpentine.” His voice was dry and bitter, the flirty and emotionally-charged tone fading slowly. “We are the only law here.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He lifted Cadmus’s hand to his lips and kissed it, deliberately slow. Reverent. Not worship, no, he felt as if that word implied some sort of fear or obligation. This was a bond, their choice. He let their fingers intertwine afterward, his thumb grazing the edge of Cadmus’s palm, anchoring them both in the now.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx’s gaze shifted to the door, eyes bright with the promise of brutality and pain. His hand hovered above the handle, but didn’t move. Not yet. He let the tension stretch between them, humming with anticipation. “No noise. Gore after, if she survives the first round. Something elegant. Something that speaks without screaming.” He smiled, that same thin curve of lip that meant nothing and everything. “Because that’s what we do best, isn’t it, love? We don’t just kill. We curate.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀His free hand finally gripped the handle, cool and solid beneath his fingers. The door clicked open with a sigh, air hissing out like the room beyond had been holding its breath. And Zyx stood for a moment at the threshold, bathed in the partial red neons of the dark hall and the pure white of the room, looking not like a man, but an omen.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀And then he stepped into the blinding white room, knowing Cadmus would follow. He always did.

      𝗟𝗬𝗡𝗡𝗜𝗫      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The girl was loud.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Amusingly so, at first. Her fury was a cracked-open bottle, breathless bursts as she writhed on the floor, all twitching limbs and shaky hands. She didn’t notice him at first. Not really. Not beyond a blur in the corner of her eye. That was fine—he enjoyed the opportunity to watch someone struggle as they slowly realized how very doomed they were. The corner of Lynnix's mouth curled, the faintest smirk making its way to his lips he observed her. Arms crossed, one boot tapping idly on the tile. It was like watching a feral cat try to claw its way out of a trap with a broken paw—entertaining in a pathetic kind of way.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀And great Lantas, was she bleeding. The dark pool beneath her had spread, thick and metallic in the sterile white of the room. Her eyes, forest green and wide with deep rage, settled on him when she gazed around the room after clearly coming to some sort of realization.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She spoke, obviously trying to frighten him, adding on a meaningless threat or two. He merely laughed, just a breath of it. “I’d like to see you try, sweetheart.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He was too caught up in his amusement to notice as she finally stilled and moved to the side, head between her knees.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Then she moved.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It was so sudden he almost didn’t react in time. Her stumble into a run was more of a desperate lurch. He hadn’t expected her to unlock the chain, didn’t notice any movement aside from what looked like giving up and distress—clever bitch, that one. His shock made him slow to react.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀But it didn’t matter. She was weak, in shock, and hurt.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The Councilor hit the ground before she even made it halfway, but if she didn’t keep going, crawling like a beast, latching onto his ankle with shaking fingers. Her palm hit the back of his knee—a trained move, well-placed, almost—but her strength wasn’t there. It was all instinct, no power. He crumpled slightly, but the second her arm raised to strike again, Lynnix’s boot came down on her face as he stumbled backwards to regain his bearings.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Crack.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The sound of his heel connecting with her face echoed off the walls, sharp and final. She crumpled, blood from her nose now mixing with the already-prominent pool beneath her. He grabbed the chain without a word and locked it around her ankle again, the click of the mechanism louder than her ragged breathing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“You really should’ve stayed down,” he muttered, voice low and cold. Without thought, more because he hated nothing more than being caught off guard, he backhanded her across the face, a sharp slap that sent her head reeling to the side. He didn’t enjoy it—not like some of the others did—but he needed her to understand where she stood.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He stepped back, shaking out his hand, and turned just as the door hissed open.

      𝗭𝗬𝗫 𝗩𝗬𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗢𝗡      

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It was immediately clear that something had transpired between the Snake and Councilor in the room before Zyx and Cadmus had entered. His red eyes flicked over the scene with interest sharpened by delight.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀And there she was.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Crimson-mouthed, breath ragged, ankle chained. Zyx smiled, not kindly and certainly not displeased with her condition. He preferred to the damage on his own, but he liked seeing the oh-so-strong Councilor worn down with fight and fury still glowing in her jade green eyes.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Well,” he said, voice smooth as velvet dripping with poison. “I see our guest’s spirit survived the serum I am certainly hoping you gave her?” The questions sounded more like a statement, cold and expecting. Of course his little Snakeling did as Zyx asked—they all did. He didn’t need details to know that she’d outsmarted one of his Snakes, but he needed to make sure she couldn’t harm Cadmus.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He didn’t look at the Lynnix, not really. His gaze skimmed past him like he were no more significant than the chain on Cal’s ankle. She was weak and while still spirited, unable to do much with blood now smeared all over her face, the faint outline of a boot print showing up as a red mark on her face. Zyx waved his hand, slow and lazy.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“You may leave now. You’ve already made enough of a mess.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Lynnix hesitated for a beat. Only a beat. But Zyx’s head tilted ever so slightly, and in that movement was the soft, unmistakable hum of threat. Dismissal. Unimportance. He valued the work his Snakes did, but he controlled them. They did not have any right to even show a moment’s hesitation at any of his commands.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Lynnix left without a word.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx inhaled and took a slow step toward the Councilor—Caledonia. He had assumed it was her, but he now had visible confirmation. He kneeled before her then, careful to keep just out of reach of any sudden strikes—because this one? This one would try. Even now. Maybe especially now.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀His smile widened.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He reached out—not to hurt, but to press a knuckle beneath her chin, lifting her bloodied face toward his. Just enough to meet her eyes, to see if that fury was still crackling there. It was.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Good. He had nothing else to offer, no further words or any sort of threats he wanted to offer her. She knew who they were and knew she wouldn’t be leaving there alive. She would fight, he knew. It mattered not because ultimately, she would also die.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx stepped away after rising back to his feet, taking a few steps back towards Cadmus with a gentle smile, repeating the gesture he’d just used on Caledonia with his beloved, raising his chin to meet his eyes directly. Still those golden slits, still hollow. Hopefully soon glowing with snake-like, vicious pleasure. “Fun, baby, have some fun.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
    ⠀ CADMUS ⠀

Moments with Zyx were often tucked away in the quiet pauses between the screams of agony that echoed through his days. The brush of hands between kills, a shared glance across a meeting table. A kiss in an empty hallway. Cadmus lived for those moments, Zyx’s touch sending a jolt of electricity through his body. He loved the thrill of a chase and the way the light drained out of a person’s eyes in their final moments, but he yearned for those stolen seconds in between the most.

Leaning into Zyx’s kiss, Cadmus allowed himself the release to revel in the feeling. The smooth press of his lips, the bristle of his jawline, the smell of his cologne barely concealing the blood that stained his hands. Zyx’s hand planted him in the moment, a reminder that they didn’t have the time to get carried away. Zyx knew him too well, with his tendency to linger where he could be close to his lover. He could be greedy like that.

If Cadmus was slithery like a snake, Zyx was a wall of force, both impenetrable and unstoppable. His ruby eyes concealed his thoughts, but Cadmus had learned to read those pools of blood and the minute shifts in his body language. Zyx was his favorite book. Watching the muscles in his back shift as he brought their enemies to their knees, knowing that he was a blank wall of unyielding power to all but him sent a shiver down his spine. The Councilor had no idea what she was in for.

We are the only law here.

“Shall we show her the punishment for breaking our laws? Make the most beautiful mess of her for me while I find out what makes her tick.” As he spoke, Cadmus brought his hand up to cup Zyx’s cheek, needing to feel that stubble again. He was greedy for it. “I am always elegant, darling. I want to have fun with this one. We can’t rush such a delicious treat. I just know her screams of fear will be the most melodious tune.”

With that, Cadmus dropped his hand and stepped back from Zyx, allowing himself to be led into the chamber. His toes tingled with anticipation, and he couldn’t stop the grin that slid into place like a mask. Zyx was impossible to read, but Cadmus made his joy and ease obvious. He wanted to be there, he was excited for the pain to come–it made for the most wonderful first impression.

Following Zyx into the room, Cadmus’ eye was drawn to the red staining the crisp white of the tiles before anything else. It was a shame that Lynnix had sullied her before they had a chance to arrive, but that was always a risk with the more violent pets. Cadmus didn’t spare the man a single glance as he exited the room. Their Snakes only received his attention when they deserved it, and the collecting of the Councilor had been a mess. Cadmus turned and locked the door behind Lynnix with a flourish. It was theatrics more than anything, as the door only opened from the outside to those who didn’t know the magic of the lock, but he liked to give the pets a false hope that they could steal the key from his person and break out. Finally looking at the Councilor, Cadmus winked at her with his slitted, snakelike eyes and tucked the key into a pocket close to his chest.

The woman was bloodied, her nose leaking across her face and down her shirt. Her skin was raw from the fight in the alley, but there was a ferocity still lighting a fire in her eyes. Good. The fighters were that much more fun to break down to nothing. Piecing together her identity, Cadmus swallowed down his disappointment that their little birdie wasn’t Lorelei Delacroix. Caledonia Hayden, heir to the Hayden noble house and next Commander of the Voxthain Militia was a catch all on her own. The Haydens were the martial face of Voxthain, and Cadmus’ grin widened at the chance to show them that they were not as untouchable as they thought. Not a soul in Voxthain was safe from Club Serpentine if they dared to cross them.

Cadmus turned his gaze from Caledonia to Zyx as he addressed him, giving his lover a very similar wink to the one he had sent to their little bird, but this time with the understanding that Zyx was in on the joke. He sauntered over to take Zyx’s place in front of the girl crouching down to her level. He knew that he was safe with Zyx watching over the two of them, even if Caledonia was a feisty one. If she tried anything, Zyx would intervene. Not that Cadmus couldn’t take care of himself, but he preferred having Zyx protect him. Everyone had their kinks.

“Caledonia Hayden,” Cadmus tsked at the Councilor, forked tongue slithering out of his mouth. “Did you really think you could run around our city without paying the price? We own this town, and now we own you.”

With a tilt of his head, Cadmus reached into his well of magic. He locked his eyes on Caledonia, drawing her into his gaze, his yellow eyes glowing with intensity, the pupils a thin slit of black against the glow. He reached out with his magic for her fear, tugging and pulling at her seams for entry into her mind. He just needed a face or a name–even a concept could work–for him to become the very thing she feared most. It often took Cadmus some time to find the perfect thing, as he was more of an illusionist and transmuter than a magician skilled with the human mind, but Zyx was there to keep Caledonia entertained while he searched.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀   ⠀ CALEDONIA ⠀

You really should have stayed down. The sentence ran in her head, through her rattling skull and ringing ears, over and over again. Shock, terror, and rage pulsed in equal parts beneath Caledonia's skin, turning her blood to molten iron, and she had barely been able to think when that asshole's foot came down on her face, when her nose had cracked with a sharp spiral of agony. All she could taste now with every inhale was the sting of tangy blood in her throat, on her lips, now cut from the backhand. Pain had spiked through her, but she had barely felt the slap, barely been able to fight back from the dizziness of the blood loss, the blurred vision from said loss, and then the consecutive hits back to back. Oh, and the damn serum.

Her fight-or-flight reactions, her muscle memory, was still kicked into gear, and she had struggled to grasp the man's ankle and take him down again, but he had managed to get the chain back around her own before she could do such a thing, her hands grasping at nothing, so disoriented and head spinning from the broke nose. And as soon as he hit her, somehow, that had spiraled her mind even worse, into the deepest depths she couldn't quite fight at the moment, gaping and bloody. Her hands still shook, but as that man's words cycled in her mind, it quickly became someone else saying them, the sickening noise of flash on flesh way too close for comfort, and she found herself gaping, disoriented as the blood loss from the knife removed from her back fucked with her mind, alongside the shock from the kick to the face.

So close, Cal had been so close, she had been so close to taking him down. Hate burned through her, as well as a healthy dose of humiliation tainting her cheeks pink, and she fought to sit up after that asshole re-chained her ankle. She wasn't going to stay down, so fuck him, fuck both of them, fuck this blood loss and her ringing ears and the remaining wooziness from the serum that knocked her out, because dammit that still felt like a heavy weight blocking some of her energy, her movements almost sluggish, at least to her comprehension. But she did it, even as her arms shook, pushing herself into a seated position against the pole, chest heaving. Crimson splattered across the floor, pooling around her from her back, while she had left a trail of it from when she had tried to attack the piece of shit.

But before she could spit that at him, the desire to one day take a knife and stab it into his eyes for taking her weapons and touching her, the door opened, and when two men entered the room, Cal's stomach lurched, an icy chill trickling down her spine and into her hands and feet, fingers and toes going from cold to almost numb. Especially as one of the fucks winked at her. Her chest tightened, muscles going stiff, and despite the blood and ragged breathing, despite the urge to flee, to hurt them, she knew right now she could do neither. So instead, she glared at them both. One had a key, she saw that, but...well, she knew a taunt when she saw it. There had to be more than just the one key between her and her escape. Powerful men like this always played games, twisted and sadistic. She knew that wholeheartedly, intimately.

Cal's heart hammered in her ears, pulsing against her ribcage so fast she didn't quite know if she'd end up with a heart attack. Please no. No. The trembling in her hands got worse, and she stared from one to the other. But what if they didn't want her like that at all, wanting her magic drained instead? If it was Serpentine, she had to take them out, make it back with solid proof that she found the killers--or, fine, maybe that it wasn't them, just--something--but either way, if she could snap the neck on one before he touched her, or as he tried, then she could try the other when he made an advance, and hopefully--her whole body stiffened as one of them knelt before her, her mind beginning to short-circuit as he placed a knuckle under her chin.

No. No, no, no--Caledonia gaped, flinching back, thick blood tangling down the back of her throat and dribbling down her lips and chin, running in a rivulet down her neck, staining her black tank top. That smile on his face left a sickening lurch to her stomach, and oh, how she wanted him dead, that sadistic glint in his eyes, it was too much him, but this where he came from, was it not? Without thinking, because like hell was a man ever getting one over on her again, especially someone like the fucking leader of the fucking snakes where her fucking father came from, she bared her teeth and snarled right at him, but the way her body stiffened, she couldn't move, still almost sluggish, in a brief cold terror of freeze, as soon as he touched her.

Her chin burned, that small spot, and the rest of her body seemed to follow suit, and she gaped, only belatedly feeling a flush of shame in herself that she hadn't tried to attack the man when he stepped back, but--what? He hadn't tried anything, and was he--baby?--fresh shock and confusion arched through her. Were these two...a couple? Caledonia's eyes narrowed, lips parting as her labored breathing intensified as she fought to stay conscious despite the blood loss, fought to get back the fight part of herself she knew so well when he said what sounded like have fun to the other man, but her skin itched from that simple touch and the knowledge the other fool had removed her weapons and Lantas help her, shower, she needed a shower, scrub herself clean, just--soap, rubbing, over and over and over and--she was shaking--but when the second man knelt by her, she took a deep breath, as deep as possible. Her nose and the stab wound in her back ached, screaming displeasure at her, but she fought to keep her composure.

Magic was gone, weapons were gone, but her hands were weapons. The drug still churned in her system, but the sharp pain had ebbed a bit, and she could think a tad bit clearer, even as her mind was fighting her on every turn. Her hand twitched with the urge to wipe at the spot on her chin the leader had touched, but she refrained, because she couldn't show more weakness, she wasn't totally immobile this time and like hell was she going down without a fight.

So he knew her. Good. She lifted her chin, bringing her hands together in front of her automatically to keep herself from spiraling again, pinching the back of her right with the nails on her left, the pain sharp and familiar, coping. Unhealthy, yes, but inflicting pain on herself had always been a way to remind herself she was in control, not just her abusive father, was a way to keep herself focused on what she could control. It made no sense to some people, but screw them. Her own pain flared, and she leveled a cold glare at this second man. Still, an automatic reaction of a shudder flinched briefly through her at the snake tongue, and horror and despair welled inside her anew. No, Hayden. No. Do it. Take him out. Bloodied lips pressed together, a muscle jumped in her jaw.

But--she scoffed. She couldn't help it. Oh, the deranged egos of powerful men. "Your city?" She replied, one brow arched, despite the way her voice came out slightly muffled, almost canned, from her broken nose. Better that than her lungs shaking. "So that's what this is? What are you going to do, take my magic, drain me, like everyone else? Or is this about my fuck-ass father? Or just--wandering the damn streets? I didn't see a fucking paper of ownership anywhere, you deluded son of a bitch. You don't own this city, and you don't own me."

She spat a wad of blood at him, hitting him squarely in the mouth, those last words nevertheless serving to make her skin crawl. What the fuck was with Serpentine and their twisted ideals of owning people, of sadistic control?

But before she could try anything else, he had his head tilted, and his eyes were somehow on hers, and--something seemed to stir in her head, and she gaped, green eyes going wide. He was in her head, what the hell was he doing? Gritting her teeth, Caledonia closed her eyes, trying to sever the connection, clapping her hands over her ears for show because her only remaining "weapons" aside from her hands lay there. Hands shaking, a feeling of sick helplessness welled inside her anyway. No. This was not James, they didn't seem to--well, who knew, but it was too much, and why the fuck could she not catch a damn break?! Why Serpentine? No, she could fight, she could.

"Get the hell out of my head," she spat, edging her fingers discreetly to her earrings again. Grasped the longest one, pulled the back off, and ripped it out again. With military precision, Cal lunged. She stabbed the end harshly, firmly, into the side of the man's neck, right where one of his veins was, before taking her other hand and brutally slamming it against his windpipe. Yanking out the earring, she jammed it into the chain, popped it, and shakily lurched to her feet. The damn key was still in his pocket, but she had a gut feeling it wouldn't work. Men and their games.

Her weapons remained in that bin, and cabinets all around her may hold something to give her her magic back, or maybe even something to undo the real lock on the door. Knowing full well Serpentine's leader was in the room, she stumbled towards the place where her weapons were, knowing she probably was too weak with blood loss to fight that ass. On full strength, Caledonia Hayden was one of the physically strongest, skilled fighters. She was a beast. But the stab wound and remaining fog in her mind from the serum had taken a bite from her strength, and while she had trained to hold her own in pain, in moments of weakness, the knife had been large. Being unconscious, drugged, and facing blood loss? Anyone would falter.

But one well-placed shot from her gun? Dead. Or getting her magic back, she could pinpoint an earthquake in his heart, find the natural vibrations it ran on and vibrate them faster and faster until it exploded. Or freeze them, watching him die of a heart attack. Beg her for mercy, maybe. So she stumbled towards the bin, grasping for her pistols, heart hammering as her adrenaline spiked.

⠀  

      𝗭𝗬𝗫 𝗩𝗬𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗢𝗡      
𝑇𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑐 𝐷𝑒𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑇𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx didn’t shout. He didn’t speak.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He moved.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Caledonia hardly would have had time to blink before her arm was caught, his hand closing around her wrist like a vice. The bones beneath Zyx’s grip cracked audibly. It was an ugly, wet sound, followed instantly by a surge of magic that carved through her like shrapnel.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It wasn’t fire, or lightning, or anything anyone could scream about in poetry about pain. It was precision. Punishment.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He watched as her blood vessels burst beneath her skin, rapid and catastrophic—dark red flooding into purple, into black, a map of bruises forming instantly from shoulder to fingertip. It felt like her arm was collapsing in on itself, rotting from the inside, while still intact.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀With no hesitation between the acts, Zyx threw her as hard as he could towards the pole that her chain connected to, listening to another crack with delight. He didn’t know what had broken or how, but it was a joyous sound.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He stepped back a few paces, moving with great speed, expression unreadable, something more than even fury in his red eyes. He snatched rope from a nearby shelf, approaching the Councilor again. He looped the rope around her wrists, yanking her arms up and behind her back, twisting her shoulders until they popped. He tied her to the pole, bending down to make quick work of her ankles as well. As a finishing touch, he wrapped her up like a pretty bow—the rope around her neck and the pole, a bow at the front of her neck, as tight as he could while remaining sure she could breathe. Just enough to stay alive.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx exhaled once through his nose and turned from her, his boots tracking a line of blood back to Cadmus. He pressed a hand to Cadmus’s cheek, steadying him, grounding him. The other pressed flat over the wound. He couldn’t heal, but he was smart enough to always have a healer nearby. A slow, long whistle left his lips as he pressed his forehead to his lover’s. Somewhere deeper in Club Serpentine’s chambers of rooms, boots would begin to move. Doors would swing open. The medical staff knew the sound. It wasn’t a request.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It took thirty seconds for them to reach the Rattling Chambers, three of his best medics. Always on call. He stepped back only a few inches so they could attend to his wound, hand dropping from his wound to his side before he reached out and took his lover’s hand in his. He held Cadmus’s hand with reverence that didn’t reach his face, but settled heavily in his touch.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The medics finished in a matter of seconds, using their best magic to make it as if the wound had never even been made. As they turned to leave, Zyx clicked his tongue once, stopping them in their tracks. He leaned in, pressed a kiss to Cadmus’s cheek, whispering, “I’m sorry, love, I’m so sorry.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He pulled back after just a second, the closest to guilt he could feel settling in his chest. He turned to his medics, shaking with fury after a second, turning his focus back to Caledonia. “You’ll need to stay here,” he muttered, low and cruel, stalking towards the carts full of weapons and torture devices. The medics scrambled for the corner, delightful violence glowing in their eyes as they realized what was about to happen. Rarely was there a Snake who didn’t enjoy the honor of watching their leaders annihilate someone’s soul and physical body both.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“You’re hard to keep still,” he said quietly as his eyes scanned the tools on the carts. He wasn’t speaking to her. It sounded more like he was speaking about her.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Behind him, the medics remained at attention. They had their silent, unspoken orders. Keep her alive. Only barely. Nothing more.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He chose a knife first. Not long. No need for grandeur. The blade was small, curved like a crescent moon, designed for filleting, not slicing. Meant to peel. He turned around and stalked towards her, as bound and unable to move as she were, before placing a hand on her arm. The one that wasn’t purple and blue with internal bleeding beneath the skin, at least.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Let’s see what’s underneath, little one,” he murmured. The knife kissed flesh. A whisper of silver over bruised skin. Then it dug in, violently. He worked slow, too slow, digging a line beneath the surface and gently lifting a flap of skin until the meat beneath was exposed in pink, glistening strips. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just cut, cleaned the blade on her already-soaked shirt, and started again. Skin fell to the concrete floor.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“You stabbed him with that hand,” he said, tone still mild. A statement. He reached for pliers next.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The medics moved, briefly—but Zyx didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. They froze again as he cracked one of her fingers backward and inserted the pliers at the base of her nail. “I’ll leave the thumb. He likes symmetry.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀One fingernail came free with a wet sound and a jolt of blood. Then another. Two fingers, three. Zyx worked down the line, silent as ever, breath even as if he were merely painting her nails. No flourish. No theatrics. This wasn’t just rage. It was his craft. “Look at you,” he muttered, grinning wildly. “You’re stunning, little one.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
    ⠀ CADMUS ⠀

TW: mentions of child abuse

For all of his might and brutality, Cadmus knew that he was not a skilled enchanter. He could not intuit the intricacies of the mind, could not weave a web upon another’s thoughts and feelings like he could with the material world. But he was tenacious, and along with his partner weakening his subject’s mind through his onslaught on their body, he could always find a way in.

Caledonia Hayden’s mind was a steel trap, stronger than any Cadmus had ever tried to squeeze his way into. They were fighting a war of wills–years of honed practice and slippery determination from Cadmus versus sheer, absolute force from Caledonia. Every move Cadmus made to slip through her defenses was met with a new wall slamming down, barring his entry. They danced back and forth across the edges of her subconscious, Cadmus patient, waiting for a crack that he could slip through.

The first advantage came from the blood Caledonia spat on his mouth. Forked tongue flitting out of his mouth, Cadmus licked up all traces of her blood, savoring the flavor. Her blood was bitter and burning with the Councilor’s rage, notes of her aggression and pain pinging off of his taste buds. He had hoped to get a taste of that blood at some point over the course of their time together, but he hadn’t thought he would have it so quickly, and coming from the girl herself. The spat could not have come at a better time. As the blood sank into Cadmus’ tongue, he let it filter down into his magic, tainting it with her scent. Her presence became familiar to his magic, less of a foreign object he was clinging desperately to. The claws in her mind sharpened, breaking through the first layer of her defenses. Now he just needed to get through that final boundary into her memories to find what she truly feared.

“Or is this about my fuck-ass father?”

Crack.

There it was, a sliver of noise and light shining through Caledonia’s impenetrable armor. Weaknesses in her defences formed crevices Cadmus could slither through at the mention of her father, his oily, serpentine path leaving a trail of inky despair in its wake. Finally he was through, fully sucked into Caledonia’s mind, the happenings in the Rattling Chamber far beyond his notice. In the room, Caledonia lashed out, slicing his neck and jabbing his throat. Cadmus did not react to either blow, not a flinch as blood slid down his neck to pool at the collar of his shirt. He did not lean into Zyx’s hand when his lover moved to him, did not tense the muscles in his neck at the medic’s touch. He stared unblinkingly into Caledonia’s eyes, peering straight into her soul, peeling back her layers to the scared little girl underneath.

The inside of Caledonia’s head was dark and fractured, a twisted web of memories and pain and rage. The girl had mentioned her father. People always had a way of guiding him to their deepest fears even when they tried to hide them. Father. Show me your darkest secrets, my dear. Cadmus urged her mind on, guiding it to the memories he needed. Flashes of life flitted past him, too quickly for him to hold on to for more than a moment.

The memory has faded with age, likely close to two decades old. She is crying, vision blurred by tears. A man is yelling, so imposing and larger than life, his words too muffled by time for Cadmus to make out. The slap comes faster than he or young Caledonia can anticipate it, whipping her head to the side.

Time has passed, his vantage point slightly higher now but still that of a young child. The man is facing away, dragging Caledonia down an ornate hallway with an iron grip. Cadmus can feel the strain in her shoulder, taste the salt of her tears, hear the rattle of her terrified gasps. The man reaches the end of the hall and flings open a door, throwing Caledonia inside, her arm nearly tearing out of the socket. She slams against the back wall of the closet, hangers and coats clattering around her. The man is rage incarnate, his face contorted into a scream. This time, his view is clearer–he recognizes the man as one of his own Snakes.

Right. James Laughlin married Katarina Hayden. I remember now. Shame he got caught.

As the memories swirled around him, Cadmus searched with purpose. More recent memories were better. He needed to match the man’s voice and inflection. Longer memories would be best, giving him more material for his James impression. From what Cadmus remembered of the man, he was a very unique shade of unpleasant. He had only been a mediocre Snake, never quite meeting Cadmus’ standards for information-gathering and weapons smuggling in the Militia and Hayden household. Not to mention his overinflated sense of self-importance and poorly concealed desire to take out him and Zyx. His death hadn’t been too much of a loss to Club Serpentine, but it had been annoying to lose his entire crew in one fell swoop. Without Caledonia’s memories, Cadmus was sure that he could transfigure himself into a reasonable vision of James, but he was sure that his impression of the man would not be accurate to the girl’s experience with him.

As he searched, Cadmus’ physical body shifted like a wave of scales, his skin lightening to match James’ pallor complexion. His hair faded to a blonde, losing the thick curls Cadmus had perfected for the flat, straight cut the man had preferred. His pupils returned to a more human shape, filling in with hazel. His bones popped and shifted under his skin, taking on a form that was more familiar to Caledonia than anyone else in the room. In her memories, she made note of moles and scars adorning the man’s body that he had never cared to notice in meetings.

In Caledonia’s mind, Cadmus latched onto a sharper memory. This one was clearer, far more recent, likely from James’ last few years of life. Caledonia was bent over a chair, James not visible in her squinted eyes but Cadmus could feel his presence behind her. Twack. Sharp pain bloomed across Caledonia’s already throbbing back. Twap. Again and again and again. As James beat her with the belt, he lectured on and on about how Caledonia would never be good enough for the noble Hayden name and was the dirt under his shoe and a whole host of other uninventive and played out classist insults. Cadmus was nearly bored to tears by his incessant whining, but Caledonia was deeply affected by what he was saying, the poison seeping into her very bones. It was unfortunate that Cadmus would have to be oh so drab in his insults to the little birdie, but if this tirade was what did it to her, so be it.

Satisfied, Cadmus retracted his claws from Caledonia’s mind, leaving behind the inky stain of his presence in her subconscious as a reminder that she would never be strong enough to withstand his entrance into her deepest, darkest secrets. As he came to in the moment, Cadmus blinked to reorient himself in his newly formed body. James was a few inches taller than him and significantly wider than Cadmus’ preferred wiry frame. He was sure that if he tried, he would nearly see eye to eye with his lover. That could be interesting for later.

Turning his gaze to the man at the forefront of his thoughts, Cadmus found Zyx hard at work peeling back Caledonia’s nails. He stayed still for a few moments longer to admire Zyx at work–the curve of his back as he leaned over their new pet, the concentration on his face. He was divine, a gift sent to him from the heavens. Once he had gotten his fill, Cadmus stepped forward into Caledonia’s field of view.

“Well, well, well. Look at the mess you’ve made for yourself this time.” James’ inflection still felt foreign on his throat, but it was a strong impression of the cadence of the man’s voice, if Cadmus said so himself. After a pause for dramatic effect, Cadmus continued. “Did you really think you were free from me? Please. As if you or your pathetic excuse of a mother could ever be strong enough to stop me. You’re weak. Nothing more than a stress reliever."

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀   ⠀ CALEDONIA ⠀

⠀TW: (view spoiler)[ blood, violence, gore, depictions of torture (hide spoiler)]⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀Oh, lovely. Cal held in a grimace as Cadmus licked her blood, snakelike tongue leaving her wanting to to heave, her skin turning paler than usual, but she couldn’t say a word, almost clawing at her head, her hair, trying to get what felt like horrifically cold, painfully sharp claws from her mind. “Out–out–get out–” The connection, the way he was staring into her mind, it left her feeling hollowed out, violated in a way she couldn’t quite describe. The urge to throttle him, kick at him, all of it, twitched through her, but she couldn’t, her mind on fire so hot it was like ice. What the fuck did he want from her? The sensation left her nauseated, dizzy, needing to dig her nails into her head to get him out, because the shit she carried around behind steel traps was not for anyone, it had gotten behind there with so much effort and work and attempts to heal, and whatever he wanted with her would not be good, and she had to fight him, had to get him out–bit it stayed, it stayed through her pushing him, stayed through her stabbing him. It stayed, leaving her fractured when he finally released from her mind, leaving her almost feeling as if she had been physically beaten up, weak and unarmed, gasping for breath. She had yet to see him transform, so focused as she was on closing her eyes, trying to get him away from her. And then…well, Zyx.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Caledonia gasped, a shudder rolling through her the second Zyx’s hand grasped her wrist, alongside a shot of pure, cold fear. In her fading, dizzy state, her mind seemed to short-circuit, and it wasn’t the Head’s hand around her wrist–controlling, pain-inducing, bone-breaking, leaving her knees almost buckling–it was his, and she was about to cry out, to say something, try and swing her fist into his face, when blinding, sharp agony rippled through her arm. Lights exploded around the edges of Cal’s already-blurred vision, and she cried out, not having expected the fire in her arm, knees collapsing, and she staggered. It throbbed, burning, so direct and horrible through every inch of her arm, fingers to her shoulder, but before she could process what had happened, there was pressure on her arm, followed by additional pain through her arm, and then–

⠀⠀⠀⠀Airborne, sideways, out of control. Horror crawled through her, but Cal’s brain didn’t fully process what was happening until–crack! It reverberated up her spine, the contact of her ribs and stomach to the metal pole she had been chained to, knocking the breath from her lungs as the metal snapped her rib in half. With a pained groan, she landed hard on the ground, in her own blood, the side of her head cracking against the horrifically white floor. Still, spots of dark, warm crimson lurked, tangling into her hair, oozing against her face, as pain throbbed against her ribs and stomach, nausea writhing in her gut. The ringing sensation in her ears, the dizziness as the room swayed in her limited line of sight all heightened as she began coughing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Blood arched from her bleeding lips in wet, warm coughs, spotting more of the floor, before her stomach heaved from the direct hit and broken rib. Head pounding, she threw up, bile burning the back of her throat, coating her tongue, as she sullied the floor even more. Disoriented, Cal tried to take a breath, but each one was a chore, a struggle, a hot iron to her ribs, and oh Lantas–her chest tightened at the horrific bruising all the way up her arm–purple, black, blue, from the tips of her fingers through what felt like her shoulder. What the hell what the hell–how– But she didn’t have any time to think about it further as she tried, hard, to use her good arm to push herself to a seated position, trying to curl the horrifically bruised on to her aching abdomen. She didn’t get far, however, before Zyx’s footsteps echoed through the floor. Her body tensed as a scratchy rope looped around her wrist, her body yanked up, leaving strings of spittle, blood, and vomit behind.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Pop. Lights flashed, white-hot and horrible, as her stomach lurched with a fresh wave of nausea. A mini cry tore from Cal’s lips as the brute yanked her arms behind her back, and by the heat and agony, in her shoulders, she knew without a doubt they had both been immediately dislocated. She gaped in pain as her wrists were tied together, her arms twisted so painfully it felt as if liquid lava was trickling down her arms from her shoulders, then to the pole. A fresh wave of helplessness and rage, sharp like a knife, cut through the fog, the drugs in her system, and the blood loss.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Get–away from me–” She choked, trying hard to kick at the man as he secured her ankles together, but she could hardly think, the ache of her head akin to her skull being split in half. “Stop–I will-kill you–” A wheeze cut the words off, rage and shame curling inside her as her word was cut off with a scratchy rope painfully tied tightly around her neck.

⠀⠀⠀⠀She choked, feeling so helpless it was like a weight on her chest. Her spine itched, the neck rope like a noose, suffocating her, and fear threaded like ice chips through her veins as her heart hammered against her ribs. No, no, no, please– So many times through her life, she felt crushed under someone’s boot, at their mercy, and with her wrists and neck tied to the pole–it was a strong power move, having her neck secured, and her cheeks flushed through her ears. This my fault, my fault–weak, you’re weak– Laughlin’s voice taunted in her mind as she struggled, but each movement aggravated the pain in her arms, her rib digging into her organs, or the rope pressing into her neck. Already, each breath was harder to take, and she knew she’d soon be wheezing, shaking from lack of oxygen.

⠀⠀⠀⠀As Zyx cared for Cadmus, Cal tried to breathe, to re-orient herself, to find some way to get free from the ropes, because this could not be how she died. She couldn’t waste away down here, had to get out, die on her feet, not tied up like a dog, not at someone’s mercy, but all she knew was helplessness. Again. Like last time, she couldn’t move her limbs, her head was fogged, and they could do anything to her,–she barely registered two more people with a sick-looking glee in their eyes entering the room, her panic winding through her chest. Please don’t–don’t– If they touched her, she could do nothing, she could–

⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx again, in her line of sight. The brute’s red eyes sent goosebumps along her flesh, the hair at the back of her neck standing on end. His patronizing tone, her own blinding panic and sharp-toothed hate, blood boiling as he knelt next to her. Cal flinched when his hand touched her arm, and her eyes narrowed. “F-fuck you,” she spat, voice shaking, wheezing, her own words like knives driving into her organs. The glint of a crescent-shaped knife in Zyx’s hand, however, stilled her, and she swallowed hard, getting nothing but her own bile and blood. Cal turned away, disgust curdling through her at his words. Let’s see what’s underneath, little one. Her muscles went tense, and she closed her eyes, bracing herself, only to grit her teeth when the knife cut brutally into her flesh. Oh fuck. Fuck.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Warm blood, familiar to her like her own hands, spilled across her arm as pain blossomed along her flesh, sharp and searing. He didn’t stop, didn’t go fast, had her flinching as the knife touched her side when he wiped it on her shirt. Caledonia’s breaths came faster as her shaking hands grasped at the pole, her toes curled in pain, mind desperately trying to find a way to get out of her head, to escape the agony, but–there was no work-around, the knife was so deep, so horribly sharp and curved as he literally skinned her, bathing her skin in red. With what small give the neck rope allowed, she could just see it, exposed, her own meat, and her stomach lurched. The ropes kept her from bending forward, and humiliation bloomed as she couldn’t keep the rest of her last meal in. It spilled down her chin, neck, and chest, dripping onto her now-filthy tank top. The rope had her feeling like Cadmus was right--they owned her, and it left her feeling dirty and used.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Her hands shook from the pain, mind abuzz with her ears ringing, the agony in her arm unbearable as she tried not to give him the satisfaction, tried to keep her jaw locked, the scream bubbling in her throat at bay. She was used to pain; she had grown up under the lash, the belt, but this–this was something else, and by the time Zyx had skinned her arm to a pulp, the first scream ripped through her lips. She would have sagged against the pole, heaving, nauseous, if her neck hadn’t been bound. Tears from the agony pooled in her jade eyes, which had turned a darker shade of evergreen in pain, and she grimaced, her skin burning in all the places he and his knife had touched her, and not from the knife itself.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Violated, touched, hurt–what did I do to deserve this- Something about hurting Cadmus was whispered into her ear, and oh, right, revenge, but she had been trying to protect herself–Cal had once given up on trying to understand why evil people did what they did, but sometimes, in the face of such cruelty, what made people see this sort of actions as okay, especially if there was no true reason behind it? She–the crack from her finger, followed by searing heat, had another wretched cry echoing from her lips, before her legs jerked on instinct.

⠀⠀⠀⠀As her arm lay, throbbing and bleeding, the dizziness and nausea just grew until she could hardly process anything. But he was behind her, he had his hands on hers, something cold against the base of her nail. She knew exactly what was coming a split half second before her nail was ripped out, more blood splattering everywhere. And again. Again, he made his way down her hand, and Cal choked, trying to pull away from him, half not even caring if she choked herself with the actions, just getawaygetawaygetaway, stoptouchingmestoptouchingme–

⠀⠀⠀⠀You’re stunning, little one. A well of rage and fear curled inside her as the second-to-last and last pulls of her nails left her almost screaming. Cal’s skin prickled, and when the next blur of tears stung the backs of her eyes, it was not just the pain. Humiliated, weak– stunning, stunning– the patronizing tone, the hungry, dark eyes of everyone in this room, enjoying watching her bleed…like him, like him standing there letting his goons harm her, touch her– “I’ll end you, I–”

⠀⠀⠀⠀A scream, the most bloodcurdling one yet, tore like a wildfire through Cal’s throat as fear gripped her in talons made of pure sharpened steel. Curving around Zyx was him. Blond hair, a wicked gleam in hazel eyes, height and muscle and–a sickness, a need to get away, clawed through her as the tears began to fall.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“No, no, no–you’re dead!”On instinct, Cal’s bound legs jerked towards herself, covering her stomach and her chest, making herself as small as possible because if she was small, she could sink away, he wouldn't see her, wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t let her sit there while his friends assaulted her– but his words, his words sang like a haunting melody inside her mind, weak, mess you’ve made for yourself, did you really think you were free of me?

⠀⠀⠀⠀“No, no–I killed you!” She screamed, straining, rope cutting into her neck. Was that what Serpentine wanted, a fucking confession? Well, screw it, they could have one, because fuck them, but she was powerful, she had murdered their whole crew up in Voxthain, and there was nothing they could do about it. “I did it, not my mother, me! You’re dead, you psycho-fucker–piece of shit–” She cut herself off, breathing hard, green eyes wide, the whites around them glossy, piqued with red, a spooked wild horse as she began to crumble.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Cadmus. The other guy. He had been in her mind, he had seen–James. This is an illusion, it’s an illusion– But oh, her heart was shattering, because she had thought, finally, she was free of him. Maybe she had never fully been, but these past five years, Cal had been trying to fucking hard to shake the ghost of him, the ghost that haunted her at night, and maybe she’d never get rid of James fully. But this? Seeing him, or his likeness, sent electricity crackling through her, had her bare feet, her hands, her whole body, trembling in the ropes, the pain on her body muted compared to this horror show before her. The insults hit as intended, throwing knives hitting their target, playing to the very core of her being that always worried her mother hated her, regretted adopting some filthy street rat not even from this continent. The words roamed in her head, over and over. “Not real,” she choked, closing her eyes, even as his taunting smirk played behind her lids. “Not real not real not real–”

⠀  

      𝗭𝗬𝗫 𝗩𝗬𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗢𝗡      
𝑇𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑐 𝐷𝑒𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑇𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She was screaming now. Shaking. Curling in on herself like a creature too small for its pain.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx stepped closer once more after he’d backed away to survey Cadmus, delighting in his husband’s vicious technique. He might draw blood, but Cadmus could draw the ghosts out. All of the horrific trauma of one’s past, right there in their face again. It was stunning, so deliciously stunning.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Isn’t it stunning?” he murmured the word aloud, low and near inaudible—though whether he meant her unraveling or Cadmus’s performance was unclear. Likely both. He vaguely recognized the form Cadmus had shaped into, a past Snake—though they were all the same to him—who had died. Pity, but Zyx didn’t care then and only barely cared now. What had this man done to Caledonia Hayden to make such a hardened, furious woman react so severely? That was the kind of man Zyx wanted in his viper den. More of a pity now that he was dead than it was back then.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He stepped back up again beside her, a predator observing the last twitches of a caught animal, and reached out with slow, reverent fingers to wipe a smear of vomit and blood from her jaw with the pad of his thumb.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx grabbed her by the hair, wrenching her back upright against the pole, ignoring the slick, wet sounds of something in her spine realigning too harshly after she’d been curled in on herself. A vicious idea formed in his mind, something cruel and horrific.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“You want him gone?” Zyx asked mildly, nodding toward the monster standing now behind him in her father’s skin. “Then give me something. Otherwise, I’ll carve his name into your back. The way you remember it. Letter by letter.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx turned slightly to the side and raised his hand. The medics, who had remained at attention like dogs at heel, perked up. Zyx gave a sharp flick of his fingers, and the three of them moved in. The three circled her, hands aglow. Magic flickered from their fingertips, slow pulses of healing light crackling with efficiency—just enough to reset bone and piece her skin back together.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The bruises faded. The blood stopped from the knife wound. The agony didn’t. She would still feel the skinless wound on her arm, the nerve endings screaming. Her broken rib would now knit just enough to ache under every breath instead of stabbing through her lung. Her shoulders and fingers would be fine, but her spine needed to be set back. Her vocal cords were given a small touch-up—only so she could scream again later.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The moment they stepped back in completion, he flicked his fingers toward one of the medics. “Bring the branding kit,” he commanded. “I want the full alphabet. But prep J, A, M, E, and S first.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The medic paled slightly—it always unsettled them when he got specific—but bowed and left, footsteps retreating in sharp clicks down the hall. Zyx leaned in again towards Caledonia, red eyes sharp and unyielding. “Three easy questions. Child’s play. Get them right, and you get to keep the rest of your skin intact.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀His voice dropped, deadly quiet. “Lie, and I start with the J.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He held up a finger.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“One. What were you doing in Asterath? You weren’t sightseeing.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Second finger.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Two. Who’s behind the murders? You and I both know it’s not us. Club Serpentine might be many things, but we don’t cut throats and leave flowers all fanciful. Not our style.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Third finger.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Three. Why are you investigating us so intently, dear? You’re supposed to be one of the best in the militia. What other information do you have?”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He tilted his head, smiled, and almost purred his final sentence.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“You’ve got ten seconds. Then I burn the truth into you, letter by letter, until your spine knows his name better than your mind ever did.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
    ⠀ CADMUS ⠀

While he was a skilled transmuter and illusionist, Cadmus knew that he was not meant to be an actor. He could try on different faces, play at mastering new strides and expressions, but the facade dropped the moment his victim saw through to the man hiding beneath. The little birdie in front of him screamed out about illusions and tricks, but from the abject terror in her eyes, Cadmus knew that he still had her under his spell.

“Dead? You really think you could ever kill me?” Cadmus laughed, a harsh sound far from his own delighted cackle. James’ laugh was one thing he remembered the most clearly about the man. The arrogance to it, the way he held his chin high like he was better than everyone. “You grew a sense of humor in my absence. How cute.”

The little birdie closed her eyes, as if he would disappear if she couldn’t see him. Aww, she thinks I’m an illusion! How stupid can she get? There was no chance he would let her sit with that hope for longer than a few seconds.

Rapture and rupture. It was who they were, what Zyx and Cadmus were known for. The rupture was all force and magical might, an explosion underneath the skin, bubbling of blood vessels as they forced their way out of their host body. That was Zyx’s world, the painting of pain onto the skin of their victim. The rapture was all Cadmus.

There was an art to it, a dance between the glimmer of hope and the crushing weight of that light being stripped away. Eyes clenched shut, begging the world for James to be a figment of her imagination, Cadmus could see that glimmer of hope in the taut pull of Caledonia’s muscles. She was a fighter, strong-willed and ready to fight back until her last breath. It made her hope stronger, more powerful, and all the more delicious to snap.

Cadmus made the few remaining steps over to where Caledonia was tied up and knelt before her, careful to not make his presence known. He leaned in until she could feel the heat of his body, the warmth of his breath across her face. With one finger, he slid a razor-sharp nail down the side of her face, slicing open her skin, blood beading against the grime on her cheek. A single drop of her blood caught on his nail, inviting him in for a taste. It was unlikely that James held the same fascination for blood that he had, but he couldn’t resist its allure. Bringing his finger to his mouth, Cadmus licked the single drop, savoring it with a very James smirk splayed across his face for her to see when she opened her eyes.

“Tut tut tut,” Cadmus clucked his tongue, feigning disappointment. “I’m very, very real. Real enough to touch.”

On his last word, quicker than eyes could follow, Cadmus grabbed Caledonia by the jaw, fingers squeezing against soft flesh and hard bone the same way James had gripped her arm in her memories. He forced her head up to stare directly into his eyes. The transfiguration would hold, just as it always did, and Cadmus knew he had put enough detail into the face for Caledonia to truly believe he was James Laughlin.

Rapture. The moment the illusion of hope snapped into despair.

Certain that his work was done for the moment. Cadmus released the girl and stepped back, allowing his lover to take center stage.

With his consciousness fully back in the moment, Cadmus was finally able to enjoy watching his lover work. The smooth ripple of muscle in Zyx’s back as he yanked the little birdie around, the beads of sweat forming on his brow from the exertion. Cadmus took a further step back, giving Zyx the space he needed to work. He was so inventive with his brutality, more of an artist than an executioner. Branding the girl with the name of her abuser was sickeningly delightful, just the type of thing Zyx would think up in that beautiful brain of his. He had some ideas of his own swirling around in his head from the memories he had pulled from Caledonia’s mind, but they could wait until Zyx accomplished his task. And besides, Cadmus was itching to hear the answers to the questions Zyx posed.

Club Serpentine was a gang of ruthless murderers. They knew that about themselves and held their brutal status with pride. Sure, there were two other prominent gangs in the underground, but everybody knew that Serpentine ran the show around here. The Council was full of children who couldn’t last more than a few terms without being pushed out or assassinated and Voxthain tended to stay out of their business. But now there was some new person in town kicking up trouble, and they had no leads on who it was. The killer hadn’t asked their permission before hunting down a gang member in their city, even if the kill itself had occurred beyond their reach, and they hadn’t made themselves known to the kings of Asterath.

It was insulting that Caledonia, supposed Sergeant of the Voxthain Militia, had put all of her cards on the Snakes committing the murders. When Club Serpentine killed, it was either a statement directly from them or the body was never found. The Club had its own incinerator, for Luminos’ sake! They wouldn’t just leave bodies around town like that with no clear message of fear or authority. From Cadmus’ standpoint, the kills were random and pointless, with no finesse or creative flair. He wanted to know who it was just as much as Caledonia did so that he could gently request that they stop or do the Snakes a solid before they are permitted entry to their city. Gently, of course, with his blade against their throat.

Together, the two of them had broken Caledonia down to her base parts, but it was yet unclear if that was enough for her to spill what she knew. Zyx clearly shared his thoughts on the matter, preemptively lifting the first branding iron. Sizzling heat in the shape of a J brushed against the soft skin of Caledonia’s back, just waiting for her to make the wrong move.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀   ⠀ CALEDONIA ⠀

TW: (view spoiler)[torture, mentions of abuse (hide spoiler)]

⠀⠀⠀But I did. I did, I did, I did, I— But he was there, his voice ringing in Caledonia’s mind like the cold, sharpened claws Cadmus had had in her head, he was—false. Illusion. It was Cadmus, playing a sadistic, twisted trick on her, and she tried to remind herself of this, tried to even her breathing, the frantic beat of her heart against her ribs. “I killed you,” she repeated, again and again and again. More than killed him, she had tortured him, shattering his bones slowly with her vibrations, listening to his screams with pleasure, before she had him begging for his life, stopping the vibrations in his heart as he collapsed, having a heart attack. All before she’d taken her knife, stabbed him, then finally leveled her gun at his face…and pulled the trigger.

⠀⠀⠀Cal had seen his body. His broken body finally, at her feet, surrounded by the bodies of the rest of the men she and Mama had murdered. The cells had smelled like iron that night, the few lights left creating a sickening crimson shine upon the cold stone floors, an ocean of red beneath a macabre full moon, glowing and still dripping. Her best-kept secret, the blood on her hands. She’d checked his pulse after his body had fallen, brains swimming in the blood like beached fish, and it had been gone, silent.

⠀⠀⠀”You’re dead as a fucking skeleton,” she hissed, even as her bound hands shook and her chest heaved, even as she had her eyes closed, willing the illusion to go away, because even though she knew—right?—that he had perished at her hands didn’t mean she wanted to see the man who had broken everything inside her. Who had spent years hurting her in every known way. But what if he was real? What if—no. Body, body, gunshot, brains— The mantra recycled, dark and sickening, but a sharpened fishhook, an anchor, to her slowly-fading sanity.

⠀⠀⠀Even when he had been alive, James had not often elicited screams from her upon simply showing up. Chills, sickness, icy fear, yes, but apparently after the Incident…her hands shook, sweat dripping down her spine from the base of her neck. He was supposed to have protected her, loved her. Instead, his final action had been standing aside and allowing her to be beaten and assaulted as she screamed, unable to fight back against attackers he had let into her home. She—hot breath wafted over her face.

⠀⠀⠀Cal’s muscles went tight, and her eyes snapped open as her stomach lurched, something sharp and sinking kicking her in the gut as her skin prickled, icy shards of needles running down her spine. Evergreen eyes snapped open, because control, control, she couldn’t be blind— as her lips parted, a half-cry strangled from her throat before she could stop it. He was too close, breath on her face, just like them, just before they closed the inch gap and—

⠀⠀⠀”G-get away from me,” she bumbled, jerking her head back as far as the rope around her neck would allow her to, gritting her teeth against the pain of his nail slicing her skin open. As he tasted her blood again, like the creep he was, her shaking fingers grasped the cold pole behind her. She braced herself, breathing so hard lights seemed to taunt and swirl in her peripheral vision—but maybe that was the rope, slowly cutting off her oxygen—and lifted her bound feet. About to slam them as hard as possible into his chest, trying to get his words out of her head, something about being real, she froze when pain blossomed across her jaw and cheeks.

⠀⠀⠀James's—no, Cadmus’s—hand grasped her, and she wheezed, throat cutting into the scratchy rope as he jerked her head up. Fury warred with the icy tendrils of fear swirling inside her. All her life, he had done this, manhandled her, threw her around, grabbed her face as if he owned her, we own you, Cadmus had purred, and—Cal choked against the neck rope, pulling on her hands as if it would do anything, but she had too long let Laughlin grab her, hit her, and she—was so fucking done with it, even as her muscles had gone so tight, even as her chest and stomach heaved so fast, breaths thin and shallow in telltale signs of terror. Not real not real— Rage sputtered inside her as she thrashed, trying to get his painful fingers off her face, his hazel eyes—oh, good fucking Lantas, too close, was he real? Was this—no, no, no.

⠀⠀⠀”F-fuck you,” she garbled, saliva and blood dripping from her lips and over his hand, and only when he let her go did she gasp, body convulsing with a shudder that had her cheeks burning in humiliation. Her face prickled where his rough hands had grabbed her, fear tingling the base of her spine, shower, she needed to shower, soap and hot water, washing his hands off her, his and Zyx’s, his thumb on her jaw leaving a hissing, spitting line of nerve endings firing, her insides quivering at how gentle he was, she was sick, she was—hot and cold, blood loss having her vision shaking, Cal needed to get clean, get—clean—

⠀⠀⠀Pain arched through her scalp, back of her head striking the metal pole. “Shit!” The word bit out, cold and laced with a bit of pain, as lights popped before her eyes as her back went out, Zyz’s hand in her hair. Her body screamed in agony, her arm in particular searing with the knife wounds, blood spilling in rubies across the white floor. Cal closed her eyes briefly to stop the lurch of her stomach, breaths ragged from the cocktail of fear and the rope around her neck.

⠀⠀⠀Cal clenched her jaw, moving her eyes from Zyx and averting them to the ceiling. He’s dead, she repeated, even as, no shit, of course she wanted him gone. Even if she didn’t look at him, her body betrayed her fear, and she knew it.

⠀⠀⠀What? At the mere mention of his name carved into her back—a branding kit, he called for—Cal’s back went tight, and a tingling sensation spread across her shoulder blades. No, nonono— Give him something? That, at least allowed her to hook her own mental claws into something, a distraction, searching through anything and everything someone as sick as Zyx may want from her—militia intel, some decision from the Voxthain Councillors that would help Serpentine, pure revenge. She didn’t know. But she knew, even as the medics surrounded her, she was not going to give the asshole anything he wanted.

⠀⠀⠀Her thoughts briefly broke when her whole body went warm, awash with healing magic, and she pressed against the pole, gritting her teeth as the sensation wormed its way down her spine, vocal chords, bruised arm, and ribs. Her next inhale was enough proof she wasn’t actively dying from the shattered rib, but the warm sensation of gushing blood still slithered from her nails, while her wrenched arms and shoulders remained on fire. “Sc-screw you,” she spat at Zyx, a cold sensation washing through her flesh; the blood may have stopped flowing from the sickening wound on her arm, but enough had been spilled to the point the loss still had her unsteady, ill. She wasn’t a fool—no sadistic person healed to heal. They wanted her alive, if only to hurt her more later if she didn’t give these bastards whatever they wanted.

⠀⠀⠀Agony still swam through her, sharp and taunting, and her skin had gone a pale, pallid color behind the vomit and blood. Cal couldn’t move, could hardly squirm with his thick hand in her hair, yanking on her scalp. His questions posed, she stared in undisguised hate at the man, even as her mind kept running as much as it possibly could, turning the questions turning over.

⠀⠀⠀Bastard! Ten seconds? Ten seconds was nothing, but of course it was, he didn’t want her to answer, he—she wasn’t going to, she couldn’t. And yet. And yet.

⠀⠀⠀Caledonia’s mouth went dry, and she closed her eyes, trying to jerk away from Zyx when he positioned the first one, a J, along her flesh. Not a lot had the capability to scare Caledonia Hayden, but heat, fire? That was one of her few terrors…and her father was another. All her life, rage had lived, cocooned in her blood, simmering, and sometimes it rose to a boil. Now, her chest was tight with it, because what sick person would brand someone with the name of someone who had abused another?, while a shadowy tendril of fear slowly slithered around her heart and squeezed.

⠀⠀⠀The sizzling crackled in her ear, an evil taunt, and she flinched away, all remaining color draining from her face even as she tried in vain to get away from him. She could feel it, the pulsing heat, and a small cry wheezed from her lips as it overwhelmed the cold air brushing against her back. Shame burned deep inside her as her mind seemed to stutter, moving a million miles a minute, her eyes blurring as tears she had rarely shed glistened in her green eyes. To reach her back it meant someone had to pull her shirt up, and that—not again, please not again—and the scars, good Lantas, nobody needed to see those.

⠀⠀⠀I will kill you. It was a promise, solid and defiant, even as she couldn’t watch, couldn’t look at that J taunting against her spine. The heat flickering from it already kissed her flesh enough to have her mind ignited, her chest so tight she could’t breathe. Surrounded, heat pressing in—no. Cal dug her nails off one hand into the flesh of the other behind her back, even as the action hurt her strained arms. Even as his threat laughed in her mind.

⠀⠀⠀Any other threat—of torture, of death, even, because she had stopped fearing death years ago—she would face with her head high, and like hell she was trying. But fire, and James, could she die with his mark on her? But Zyx and Cadmus, they thought they owned her, and fine, maybe it seemed like that, but—no.

⠀⠀⠀They were not invincible.

⠀⠀⠀Better to have that proof written on her, just like she had all her life—she had fought back.

⠀⠀⠀Caledonia’s eyes narrowed, and she stared right at Zyx. “F-first answer. I was in Asterath killing your Snakes. You had to notice only—only one remained, yeah? You sent five total after me. Better send the bodybags next.” She snorted softly. “My total is now at, what, eight, nine?”

⠀⠀⠀”Second answer. I don’t fucking know. No, not your style, but it is your favorite hobby, killing. Could be a Snake who wants to take you down, take your place.” Yes, she now ruled out the leaders as the killers—they would have taken her magic already, had it been them—but it didn’t mean there wasn’t a rogue snake around somewhere. Fine, multiple, she had long guessed there were more than one killer. There had to be.

⠀⠀⠀“And third answer, you sick son of a bitch: I am one of the best in the militia. Top of my fucking class. So guess what? You’re not getting anything out of me.” She grinned at Zyx, all reddened teeth and darkened eyes, blood dripping down the side of her face. “Good fucking luck. You’ll need it.”

  

      𝗭𝗬𝗫 𝗩𝗬𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗢𝗡      
𝑇𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑐 𝐷𝑒𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑇𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx’s crimson eyes didn’t blink, didn’t waver, even as Caledonia’s green ones flared with hatred and defiance. Every exhale of hers sounded ragged, wet with blood and bile, and yet he found it . . . perfect. Deliciously raw. With cold calculation and no ounce of interest, he pulled the back of Caledonia’s tank top up and pushed her bra upwards.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He pressed the first branding iron violently against her spine with no hesitation.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“So fiery,” he murmured, low and velvety, holding the iron in place for ten seconds before pulling it away and dropping the fabrics of her clothing. It would hurt more to have the cloth pressing against the burning skin, he hoped. The medics obeyed each subtle flick of his fingers as he handed one of them the used brander, the heat of the rest of the branding irons glowing with heat. From medic to malice, he thought, as he was handed the A. “And yet . . . so fragile. I could break you in half and you’d still stare me in the eye. Admirable.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He leaned in close to the woman, enough for her to feel his breath fanning against the nape of her neck, the faint tang of blood and iron clinging to him. “But you see, little one, I’m not here for admiration,” he spoke, voice almost a whisper and thick with menace.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx’s hand ghosted along her spine as he pulled her shirt up again, eyes only on her back and trailing over the faint remnants of past scars. “The thing about fear,” he said smoothly, voice threaded with patience, “is that it reminds you of the broken pieces you forgot existed. The thing about those who sow fear? We know how to find those pieces, little girl. Now, about the rest of your answers . . .”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He stood still behind her, prepared for the next round of branding. The J was littered with bits of cotton off of Caledonia’s tank top, clearly irritated aside from being a very recent burn. The smell of charring skin was heavenly. “Ah, but you were and have been at that filthy tavern. Repeatedly. Why there? What is your goal? Do not mistake your snark for safety.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“You have mindlessly guessed, but guessing is not enough. You truly do not know, do you?” Zyx asked, voice low and victorious. “Assumed not. That’s a branding for being an amateur at something you claim to be the best at.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“And finally, question three,” he purred. “Well, your answer to that one was clearly insufficient, but I understand it well enough. You’re incompetent, ignorant. You know even less than we do, I presume!” Zyx exclaimed, a single bit of laughter escaping his throat, loud and quick.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx paused for almost too long, mind latched onto this realization. She wasn’t acting, wasn’t being tough—she so clearly, so truly just did not know anything. And that made him more angry than her refusal to share what she knows.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He picked up the A. Brought it to her skin.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
    ⠀ CADMUS ⠀

TW: mentions of child abuse, mild torture

It was a dance, the way Cadmus and Zyx moved around each other in the interrogation and torture of Caledonia Haydxen. Cadmus weaved a web of fear, conjuring the ghosts that haunted Caledonia’s mind while Zyx inflicted pain on her body. He took center stage with the start of the questioning, gathering the threads of fear Cadmus had left for him, opening Caledonia up for their questioning. And she fell right into his open hands. Words flowed from her mouth, the emotion written across her face telling Cadmus just as much as what was spoken. The Militia had nothing. Nothing on them and certainly nothing on whoever was actually behind the murders. She could prance around with her accolades all she wanted, but Cadmus knew that her lack of response was not out of her sense of pride for her pathetic little militia. If she had any proof, she would hide behind it like a shield.

Very interesting.

If the girl had no information for them, she was only worth as much as the fun she could provide Cadmus and Zyx. From the way Zyx’s muscles tightened, Cadmus could tell that his lover’s thoughts had reached the same destination. Cadmus knew that Zyx would take the little birdie’s arrogance to attack them in their home when she had zero evidence that they were behind the attacks as an insult, and Cadmus was happy to stand back and watch him work that rage out of his system. The branding iron pierced the girl’s skin with a delicious sizzle, the scent of burning flesh overpowering the coppery blood that lingered in the air. Again and again red hot iron met flesh as Zyx traded out the letters in the branding kit. Cadmus stepped forward to admire Zyx’s handiwork, circling the girl as he did so, making sure to walk in and out of her line of sight. The letters were sloppy and pulsing with heat, but clearly spelled the name James starting in the center of her back. It was a sickening work of art that would likely never fully heal unless the girl found her way to a powerful healer very soon. And if Cadmus had anything to do with it, that wouldn’t be happening. The Militia would find her body discarded somewhere in their territory in a few days, just as the rot had a chance to set in. She had proven herself useless, so she would not live. A shame, really. She had the potential to be so interesting.

Running his fingers across the oozing bumps of the letters, Cadmus leaned down to whisper in the girl’s ear. “Now you’ll have me with you for the rest of your miserable, short life. It’s your punishment for thinking you could kill me. And my reward for recapturing my favorite toy.”

He was James, the time spent in the persona enough for Cadmus to perfect the act. The cadence of his voice, the swagger of his steps–it was all James Laughlin. Cadmus slipped into the role with the ease of putting on a well-tailored suit. He circled the little birdie again, finding his way to kneel in front of where she was restrained. A smug grin was painted across his face and hate burned in his eyes, the same look that stained Caledonia’s memories. He wanted her to remember this face. He wanted this sight to be burned across her eyes for however long Zyx allowed her to live.

“You think Serpentine is behind the killings? You think your kill count scares us? You think you are too brave or strong or noble to give me what I want? I thought I taught you a long time ago that you will never be anything other than a pathetic little orphan from nowhere.” Cadmus drew on the threats and taunts from Caledonia’s memories–the words that echoed through her mind even after all these years. And then, once he was sure she was lost in the past, he reached for the whip.

From what Cadmus could tell from the short time he had spent in the little birdie’s mind and the stripes of white across her back, the whip had been a favorite of James’. Cadmus believed it. The man had been uninventive and boring in all aspects of his life. From the way he had thought he could usurp him and Zyx with just his band of thugs to, apparently, the methods of torture he used on his young daughter. Poison or needles or even a simple hammer from a toolbox would have been more interesting than whipping the girls’ back, but Cadmus would find his enjoyment in the lifetime of pain and torment in the girl’s expression.

Time filtered by, Cadmus and Zyx switching back and forth in their dance, inflicting delicious pain on the girl who had been a thorn in their side for so long. It was impossible to tell the time of day deep within the labyrinthine halls of Club Serpentine, but Cadmus could feel the hours fly by in the sweat that beaded on his clothes and the strain in his muscles. The girl was a bloody mess on the ground, covered in old blood from healed wounds and fresh markings from the latest round of violence. They had broken her down to nothing, and now she was growing boring. Cadmus was about done with her.

Pulling Zyx aside, Cadmus searched his lover’s expression for any signs that he too was ready to wrap things up. “The pet is losing its entertainment value. Are we ready to end it?”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀   ⠀ CALEDONIA ⠀

TW: torture, mentions of child abuse, violence, self-harm, thoughts of death

⠀⠀⠀⠀One of the things about being in the Militia was one learned the art not just of interrogation, but being at the receiving end of one, too. For Cal, training to withstand torture in the event she would ever be in said position had not been that difficult. Okay, it hurt like hell, but since she was a child, her pain tolerance had been akin to a brick wall–every act her father took against her, she grew used to. As much as anyone could, anyway. The whip still stung, the burning fire poker from her father’s study still seared, the beating still hurt. But she knew what she could endure.

⠀⠀⠀⠀But when faced with three of your top five most intimidating fears–her father, fire, and men in close proximity–even Caledonia’s walls crumbled, just a bit. The heat, blistering against her back, the way his hand brushed against her skin, her shirt lifted up–nauseau swam, roiling through her belly, a wave leaving drops of acid behind on her tongue, and she gaped, the cold, bloodied ground beneath her wavering. Her fingers went chilled, then numb, and all she could feel was her shirt being shifted, the air on her skin, could hear laughter and crude jeers and–

⠀⠀⠀⠀Her thoughts erupted into nothingness, scattered with the burst of violent heat against her spine. A scream tore from Cal’s throat as agony ripped into her back from the brand. On instinct, she jerked forward, but it turned into a vicious gagging cough when the rope around her neck strangled her, cutting into her delicate flesh and her windpipe. Tears of pain and strangulation burned in her eyes as her body writhed in the ropes, sweat dripping down her temples as she thrashed. He was still holding it there, why the fucking hell was he still holding it there?

⠀⠀⠀⠀Trapped, trapped, she was trapped, pinned down, held down, crackling flames all around her as the heat pressed in, ash in her hair, on her bare feet, abandoned and alone and she was going to die, die and die and–the skin over her spine throbbed, and the frenzied mess of her mind only broke an inch when his voice brushed against her ear, “so fiery,” he whispered, and Cal shuddered, chest heaving, her whole body trembling as her mind snapped back to the present. She strained, trying to move, to get away from him, but she couldn’t, she couldn’t, and–no. No, no, no, he did it because he was fucking pissed off, well, let him be pissed off.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Fuck–you–”

⠀⠀⠀⠀Fear and pain had her eyes wide, wild, a spooked horse in the form of a human as Cal tried so hard to pinch her remaining fingernails into the skin on her other hand, reminding herself she had control, she could cause her own pain. And if she could just…untie the rope…But a cry almost escaped her, a white flash of agony ripping through her arm from the wrist Zyz had broken, and she gaped, head against the pole as helplessness settled over her, a dark weight.

⠀⠀⠀⠀I am not there, I am not–in either place, I am here… Hilarious. As if this was any better than a burning down orphanage or the room she had blocked off from entry in the estate. Pulse pounding in her ears as her head spun and roared, Cal barely heard Zyx’s next words, flinching on instinct away from his breath on her neck.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Stop, stop, get away get the fuck away from me– Heart rate spiking, she could only gape, mind going blank, hardly able to process, to think, to–a whimper escaped her throat, veins threaded with chilled ice, shards stabbing into her soul as her ragged breaths got faster, her head spinning as terror locked into her mind, teeth glinting and gnashing. “Get away,” she spat.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Goosebumps erupted across her bare skin, her arms, her back, and she sucked in a breath, trembling. Seconds after he lifted her shirt again, spine tingling, pain still throbbing from the first brand in her delicate flesh, she could distantly make out her body’s next reaction to that fear. Humiliation burned as her cheeks went red, because soiling herself was the last thing she wanted to do, but now…she sat in more than just her blood and streaks of vomit.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Caledonia gaped, closing her eyes, cheeks stained with salty tears, acidic vomit, warm blood. “fear…broken pieces you forgot existed…find those pieces…” His voice curled, dark shadows writhing in her head, his eyes undoubtedly on her back, and really, maybe she should have had that dealt with, begged someone to cover the scars more than her tattoos did, or added more tattoos. But it had been too humiliating after, and she’d been threatened before. So instead, she was stuck with them, and they were proving part of her undoing. Not that covering them would have helped, with James himself in the room–no, wait, it wasn’t him, it was–the other man, the one who had gone into her head, right?

⠀⠀⠀⠀…right.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Still, Cal knew how to manipulate peoples’ fears, but only rarely did she get a sick satisfaction from it. By no real means was she a good person, but she was not a sadistic son of a bitch like these two, who seemed to find her terror, her pain, a coveted prize in a game. So they’d find her fears, already had, and it left her shaking. But she had been through so much hardship, so much pain, and she refused to bow to what they wanted. Caledonia Hayden wasn’t going to beg for her life, she wasn't going to cow.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Breathe. Mama, pretending she was here, an arm around her, maybe, or if Cal died, fine, she would at last be at peace. She could stand on a grassy hill in the rain, cold water dripping down her back instead of heat, instead of fire, with a cat at her ankles, purring, as she was soaked pleasantly from head to toe.

⠀⠀⠀⠀But the scent of her own burnt flesh, freshly wafting up when he bared her back again, had her mind dragged from her cocoon she desperately tried to wrap around herself like bubble wrap. It had her stomach churning, gut heaving before she swallowed the bile down. Breathe, breathe– Forced breaths, in and out, best she could with a spinning head and churning stomach, half her body on fire, mind stuttering.

⠀⠀⠀⠀When Zyx demanded a more specific answer as to why she had been in the tavern so much, she just stared at him, crimson dribbling from her broken nose and busted lip. “Not your fucking business,” she rasped.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Honestly, how stupid was he? Did he have the inability to put two and two together? She was a Militia soldier. Neowrath was a fighting ring tavern. It was not that complicated, as far as Cal was concerned, but maybe Voxthain’s reputation preceded them–what stuffy noble would be caught dead fighting in the ring? Well. Caledonia was not about to enlighten him on her nightly pastimes, but oh, if he knew she’d been in that ring making a name for herself since a mere fifteen years old, well, he’d probably be even angrier than he was now. The audacity she had to step foot down here for eight years, truly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀No, her snark wouldn’t save her, and she knew it. But the last thing on the moon she would ever consent to was allowing this man to know why she had been down here. He did not get to know about her fighting ring activities, and he did not need to know she also sought information from Neowrath. People were drunk in all taverns, but Neowrath tended to be worse–fighters nursing losses in their cups, or celebrating just as wildly. Cal would sometimes sit in a dark corner, or flirt with Hannah, while listening. People with loose lips and drunken minds spilled, and she was the dog lapping it up. Any murders people talked about, she brought back to the Militia to help with the cases. Any possible leads she overheard, she followed. The ring had become more than a safe space; it had become a well of information.

⠀⠀⠀⠀And like hell was she telling Zyx any of that. Still, her jaw clenched at his next words. No, she did not know who was behind the murders, but she and Mama had deduced they had to be from outside the city. In fact–dammit–she had missed that whole meeting this morning…wait, in a few hours?...Cal didn’t know…where she and Mama were going to bring that up to Ma. There had to be absolutely multiple people in on this, and Voxthain and Asterath had worlds waiting surrounding them. These murderers had to be coming from outside, since, apparently, Serpentine wasn’t behind it. At this rate, she almost wished they were. At least she’d be a grey husk right about now instead of bleeding out of every pore of her body.

⠀⠀⠀⠀But she didn’t feel like telling Zyx this, either.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Still, amateur. It dug grated claws into her heart, and she clenched a jaw and jerked her wet, fogged eyeline away from him, staring at the ceiling and trying, so hard, to ignore Ja–Cadmus–standing to the side, lurking as he had that last night, watching with sick satisfaction as his people, his cohort of Snakes, hurt her beyond words. No. Cal was not an amateur, she was a prodigy, she was good at what she did. An excellent hand-to-hand combatant, skilled sharpshooter, talented swordsman. Fuck it, she knew this, so why was Zyx getting to her, why–no.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Steadying herself best she could, a seed of fiery pain burning against her back where the J was, Cal licked dried, bloodied lips. “I won’t be telling you if I know. You don’t deserve that information.” Let him make his own damn assumptions. They’d bite him in the ass. And she’d bite him in the fucking neck when she got the chance. It may have been a few years since she’d murdered a man, but it didn't mean her blood wasn’t burning with the promise he’d be next.

⠀⠀⠀⠀But oh. Her spine went rigid, and not because of the hovering brand an inch from her skin. Incompetent, ignorant. The words swam in her cracked-open mind, still unsteady from Cadmus’s prying, slipping between the cracks he’d made, thin as they may be. “You’re inferior by blood. By birth. You’re an incompetent orphan who will never have the value of a true noble. Your humanity is not worth mine.” “Common-born-bitch.” “Stupid piece of dog crap.” “Never worth anything a day in your life.” “Unloved.” “Failure.” “It’s all nepotism, Caledonia, you don’t deserve any of your accomplishments.” The words hummed, burning their way through her brain as her chest heaved, faster, breaths ragged and wet as her blood burned inside her.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Her mind roared, she couldn’t think, could hardly breathe, stuck with his words in her head as–

⠀⠀⠀⠀She cried out, thoughts broken again by another burst of horrific, sickening agony on her spine, right below the first one. Sweat rolled down her temples and cheeks, and Cal’s lips gaped. “Bastard!” The half-scream, half-growl choked through her lips as she once again choked herself, instinctively attempting to jerk away from the brand. When her gut heaved, she thanked Lantas she’d already vomited whatever she’d eaten last. Nothing more could humiliate her, not in that regard, anyway.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Three more brands.

⠀⠀⠀⠀M

⠀⠀⠀⠀E

⠀⠀⠀⠀S

⠀⠀⠀⠀With each one, Cal flinched, crying out and trying not to full-on scream. A small whimper eked out of her throat after the last one before she could even think. Light flashed before her eyes, in the corner of her vision, as the room tilted and spun. Mama–help me– the thought ran through her mind, unbidden, as her limbs weakened, body so close to collapsing, if it wasn’t for the ropes keeping her in place. Still, her spine had been lit on fire, her own burnt flesh assaulting her nose with every breath, and her body had hunched over best she could by that point, all while she tried to keep breathing, tried to avoid looking at James–Cadmus–no, James, his hazel eyes boring into her, watching her, a hawk circling prey.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Just like the men who had hurt her. She had been nothing to them but a prize, her screams and pleas falling on deaf ears as they hurt her, wanted her and took her because he had drugged her and let them have her. Icy tendrils wrapped around her throat, squeezing, Caledonia’s whole body shaking. They won’t they won’t they won’t– She was half convinced both these sadistic monsters were in love.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Which, honestly, go the fuck off. If it meant they left her alone in that way, then she’d cheer at their union. It was all that was keeping her tethered, her mind from sinking into the taunting abyss, darkness crowding on the edge of her soul and mind. Threatening once more to slip back into that night, but she couldn’t, she refused to lose herself to her traumatized mind again. If she did, she’d become unaware of what the Snakes were doing to her, and that would make it all worse. In fact, where the hell had he gone?

⠀⠀⠀⠀Heat, raw and painful, burst along her spine in a fresh wave in answer to her mounting terror. James’–no, Cadmus’–it wasn’t him, it wasn’t him, it wasn’t fucking him, dammit! finger pressed into her wounds, and she clenched her jaw as agony rippled through her back. Scratchy rope dug painfully into her neck, skin rubbed raw and blistered by now from the thrashing, and Cal shuddered as his voice, every inch the father she remembered in her nightmares, in the memories her brain hadn’t yet completely whited out, slipped into her ear.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ “Favorite toy. Have me with you.” Helplessness and fear settled into her, a lock clicking into place. “No, no, no,” she garbled, how–how? How could he be here, how… “I-I killed you, I fucking killed you, I broke every bone in your damn body and I tortured–I killed you, you pathetic excuse of a human being!” Not him not him not him–another man, Cadmus, he had turned into him, he had been in her head, he had thought he owned her now, that Serpentine owned her, but…

⠀⠀⠀⠀Branded. James’ name was literally in her skin, a sign of ownership, same as the rope chafing her neck, and she really was only a toy, his stress reliever, to beat up when he was angry, or having a bad day, or drunk. If he had been upset, even if she hadn’t done a single thing wrong, he’d break her ribs, whip her until blood was on the floor and she couldn’t walk the next day, burn her stomach with a fire poker. All because he was furious with his own privileged life, or jealous of her, or just feeling like a brute. She was his toy.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Hate and anger welled, pulsating inside the very fabric of her being, and Caledonia hissed, straining, thrashing. “what –what kind of sick person–does this to another human being and fucking likes it?” The scream burst from her throat, and she struggled to kick him in the chest with her bound feet, only for the rope to gag her when she misplaced her weight. That hate in his hazel eyes, so filled with a twinkling madness, and worse, malice. So familiar, like his hands pinching her arm, her side. Like the dark closets he locked her in as a child. “I’m not–I’m not a fucking–dog!” “Pathetic little orphan from nowhere.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀He had, indeed, taught her that. But she knew her worth, she had to, to keep her head up, because she refused to believe someone’s birth and parentage made them less than another. That, Caledonia knew, was not a measure of value. If it was, it meant August was nothing. It meant the kids in the shelters and orphanages she had funded and loved with her whole heart were nothing, and fucking dammit, it meant she was nothing, and Cal was so, so done with people treating her like a bug under their shoe because of her birth.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Yes, the insult hurt, her body flinched and tensed with each one he whirled, but–she knew better now. She knew herself. She knew herself, she knew herself, she…knew herself. She hoped, she–Cal’s eyes, bloodshot and glassy with pain, widened, her stomach seizing and blood running to ice when she saw James’ hand reach for something. Her rasped breaths became faster as every muscle in her back tightened, her skin tingling, and not from the branding.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“No. Stop. Please.” The desperate plea slipped from between her lips before she could process she had refused to beg. So she’d gotten used to being whipped for a fucking decade of her life, but it left her knees shaking. James hadn’t been kind about it, it was his belt or an actual whip, whatever the hell he felt a given day, and it had rendered her unable to walk some mornings. He’d beat her back until she bled, sometimes the edge of the whip cutting harshly across her stomach when he was in a particularly foul mood.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Her heart pounded, so loud in her ears with the ringing that she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, as James advanced towards her. Her flight-or-fight response delayed itself as he cut the ropes on her wrists, drawing her dislocated arms above her head and tying them to the pole. Caledonia only realized she should have begun fighting him when the rope bit into her skin, and she started to thrash, trying to kick out at the man, but her shirt was removed and the whip hitting her before she could make a solid move.

⠀⠀⠀⠀How? How the hell was this happening again, how–she clenched her jaw, closing her eyes as her chest heaved with each hit, sharp and quick across her back, slicing some of her skin open and leaving red and white marks over other parts of her back. Years and years she had spent perfecting the art of not screaming, and now was no different even as it had been five years since she’d last felt this. His insults cut just as sharply as he went, but she tried to block it out. Easier when the whip finally fell brutally across the still-smarting brands…and harder not to scream. Her flesh, still tender, was violently brutalized over and over, and Cal’s mind became white and red, a blistering flurry of agony as she broke, screaming every time James hit her spine. The ends of the whip curled, slicing across her abdomen, and she flinched back, tears streaming from the pain. Her back had been set on fire, her stomach and neck stung, and her arms and head throbbed.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Cal lost track of time. At some point, the whipping stopped, and James seemed to materialize in front of her as the room spun and Zyx, that other man, was back before her and she didn’t know what the fuck he was saying, something about her accusing them without proof, killing some Snakes, she didn’t damn well know with her head spinning.

⠀⠀⠀⠀She tried to thrash out, kick at him again, only to have his hand on her ankle, followed by one of her legs immediately carved up, bruises forming from her toes to her hip, as he had done with her arm, leaving her dry heaving. His words undulated, both of theirs did, behind the horrific ringing in her ears, dizziness turning her stomach every time she moved a mere inch.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Caledonia’s face tingled, hot and cold in turn wracking through her body as her blood continued to be forcefully removed from her body. Healers swam through her vision, stopping the flow from her back and trickle from her stomach, but the pain, once again, remained. Always there, always there…

⠀⠀⠀⠀The cycles of violence didn’t let up, and with each passing second, that hopelessness inside her grew, darker and thicker, settling as weighted stones over her chest and torn-up soul. Nobody knew where she was. They were going to torture her to death, grinning and smug to brutalize another human being, and she was going to die, a chained-up dog. Death didn’t scare her. In fact, some days, Cal craved it. But a slow death? A painful one?

⠀⠀⠀⠀No. She wanted to go out in a battle, maybe, a quick shot to the head and done. Or with honor, on her feet, not tied up in her own blood and shit and crying. And just…one last “I love you” to Mama, to Ma, to Auggie and Ivii and oh, Lantas help her, why couldn’t she have gotten her head out of her ass to at least tell them she loved them one more time?

⠀⠀⠀⠀I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry–

⠀⠀⠀⠀Mama, I love you, you’ve done so much for me and I’ve been nothing but a burden, she thought as James ripped her nails out on her other hand, to match the first one Zyx had done because, as Zyx had purred, James “liked symmetry”.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Ma, you taught me so much, you understood me, and I failed you. The world blurred, spinning, her memories, darkness, clobbering, holding on too tightly with sharpened, curved claws in her mind. They retied her hands behind her back; she tried to move, to escape, twist away from them and grasp at the rope strangling her, a last desperate drag of her bloodied hands, and instead, all she got for it was a hammer to her fingers.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Just to make sure you don’t get more ideas,” one of them whispered, before he smashed her knee with the hammer. Her bloodcurdling scream deafened the room as lights erupted before her gaze; Zyx’s boot found her stomach twice, leaving her retching nothing but blood onto the ground as she couldn’t breathe solidly for a good few minutes between the kicks and the rope around her neck.

⠀⠀⠀⠀It became a blur–needles stabbed in the places her nails used to be; Zyx’s curved knife skinning her side, leaving more of her flesh littering the ground; a burning candle dripped over her shoulders and abdomen when she still refused to give them whatever twisted information they wanted, James in her head, his eyes glinting as he knew her fears, her terror of heat, of fire. And more. More she couldn’t process fully before some tease would be taunted by James. Some pain by Zyx would erupt somewhere on her body.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Just “no”. All she knew was to say no. Even if it killed her.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Auggie, Ivii, I love you I love you I’m so sorry–I should have been there for you more. She should have been kinder to Ceonrei. And oh Lantas, her dear Avaliyah, why the fuck had she refused to talk with her, just meet up, just–just–her mind sputtered, she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

⠀⠀⠀⠀All she knew was agony rippling from every spore on her body, was constant pain, her mind fucked with, her body tormented. How long had it been? They kept going, beatings, torture devices, taunts.

⠀⠀⠀⠀When would she just be allowed to die? Couldn’t they quit stopping the blood flow? Let her die from these wounds, please, please let her die. They didn’t, they didn’t until–

⠀⠀⠀⠀Emptiness. Darkness ate at the edge of her vision as Cal lay slumped on the floor, ropes rubbing her wrists, ankles, and neck raw. Blood sat everywhere, a pool, and her lips and eyes had swollen, body in shreds, littered with blossoming bruises and cuts and burns. She fought for each shallow breath, her ribs had broken again at some point, she figured, or the original break had been made worse by the blows, but finally, finally, nobody was attacking her.

⠀⠀⠀⠀She could just make out the two a few feet over, her vision skewed. Why? What were they doing, Zyx and James? What the hell did he want with her, why had he come back, what did these two sadistic sons of bitches want now? They had to know they weren’t getting anything, and that she was theirs, always, to torment as they wanted, she–

⠀⠀⠀⠀Wait. Were they finally letting her die? Please. Please leave me alone, let me die in peace. Pain carved like Zyx’s knife through her soul. Her heart ached–her family, all she wanted was a chance to apologize. But she would have to do it after she was dead. The rest of death, she would welcome with open arms. Everything burned. Hurt. Breathing was rasped, blood oozing from her lips and nose, from the break, the internal bleeding. She was dying, actively, dehydrated, her heart beating slower than ever before. Barely conscious. Just let her pass out, please, Luminos, let her pass out and die in peace.

⠀  

      𝗭𝗬𝗫 𝗩𝗬𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗢𝗡      
𝑇𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑐 𝐷𝑒𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑇𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx leaned back against the wall, breathless, eyes dragging over the wreck they had made of Caledonia Hayden. He had no clue how long he and his beloved had inflicted pain upon this Voxthain Councilor, how many hours had slipped by and by with her screams becoming dull and meaningless. The snap of bone beneath his hands, the heat of the iron when it pressed against her flesh, the sweet sizzle and the stench that rose after. He had worked her slowly, methodically, like he had all the time in the world. And he did—no one was coming to save this pathetic, useless lump of destroyed human. She had lasted longer than he thought she would, though, and he almost respected that. Almost.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀But then there was Cadmus—his Cadmus. Watching him weave fear into the girl’s mind like threads in a tapestry had been its own kind of thrill. Zyx’s skin still carried the hum of it, that rush that came when their energies aligned. When Cadmus stepped and shifted into James, wearing the ghost’s face and words, Zyx had felt a heat in his chest. A rare warmth, one not born of fire or iron, but of love. There was no one else who could match him so perfectly, no one else who could take pleasure in the ruin of their enemies with the same passion, the same artistry. They had carved this little bird together, a dance of Rapture and Rupture, and Zyx loved his partner all the more for it.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The warmth cooled quickly. The high began to fade. His crimson eyes narrowed on their prey—ragged, trembling, but still clutching to some stubborn ember of defiance. He was impressed, in a detached way, by her refusal to collapse entirely. Few could have withstood this long. But enough was enough. She was losing value, and Zyx was growing bored.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He picked up the iron, the letters still glowing faintly. Without a word, he extended it to one of the healers at the edge of the room. “A spear point,” he ordered, voice flat. The iron was returned promptly, branding gone and an iron spearhead in place.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx pressed the spearpoint onto the glowing coals of flame, holding it there as he stared at Caledonia. He then crossed the room, every step measured, and stopped in front of her. He tilted his head, the faintest hint of a smile curving his lips. “Any last words?”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He didn’t wait for her to answer before pressing the scolding hot spearhead into her abdomen. Slowly at first, then after a few seconds of skin almost melting from her body he drove the iron spearhead in fully. The sound was wet and raw—the tear of flesh, the crunch of organs bursting against metal. Her blood came hot and thick, coating his hands, running down his wrists. He pushed until the rod punched through her back and jutted out the other side, leaving her skewered.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Zyx let go of the weapon, stepping back to admire the ruin. She wouldn’t die immediately, not from this. He would get to watch the light drain from her eyes, life slipping away in slow, delicious increments. It was a fitting end. And when her body finally stilled, Zyx would already be turning toward Cadmus, knowing they had once again created something beautiful together.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀   ⠀ CALEDONIA ⠀

TW: torture, thoughts of death

⠀⠀⠀⠀The world swam. Bright lights in the overbearingly white room swirled, taunting like a deranged spinning machine as every ragged, shallow breath ached, pushing freshly-broken ribs into her lungs. Caledonia barely could recall or know where she was anymore, time had blurred as much as her sight had, spots of blackness sparking on the edges of her vision, threatening like the shadowfog to get closer, to consume with jagged teeth and malicious intent. Hopelessness had settled on her chest, sinking under her skin, a sponge under a frothing sea, but so had resolve. This was it, and she knew it. If they just let her pass out, just left the room and let her fade into nothing from blood loss that still had her face going hot and cold, her skin tingling…despair threatened to burst forth, but she refused to go quietly, she refused to acknowledge it more than she already had. She’d fucked up, and there was nothing she could about it now.

⠀⠀⠀⠀But when Zyx looked at her from where he stood with James, Cal’s chest tightened. Their figures blurred, undulated in her shaking vision, and her skin prickled as those scarlet eyes narrowed. No, no, no– But what was she saying no about anyway? She couldn’t remember, every mere shift against the ropes leaving searing agony rippling through every part of her destroyed, bloody body. Drops of blood rasped from her lips with each breath, spraying down her chin and neck, and she would have completely collapsed had the rope not been holding her neck to the pole. It rubbed her skin raw, blistered, and painful. She wanted to move, escape, run, fight, but could do none of it, exhaustion and agony having her in iron grips as much as the ropes around her body kept her secured like the pet they believed she was. We own you–my favorite toy–stress relief–little one–. Everything burned, hurt. Cal had been carved raw, to emptiness, leaving her some shadow of who she used to be, even if who she used to be had been, in itself, a shadow. Barely conscious, barely able to think, see, hear. Pain, every small movement had her close to moaning in agony, her body a carved slice of meat just like her mind.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ She really was nothing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀She didn’t hear what Zyx said to the healers on the edges of the room, everyone’s voices dipping and rolling, a bee buzzing by her ear one second and gone the next, voice slipping away like the tide. But when his hand grabbed the branding iron again–Cal’s shallow breaths and slowing heartbeat hitched and stuttered, and her swollen, busted lips parted as her body automatically jerked aside. Her jade eyes slid and locked to his crimson ones as he stared at her. Chest and stomach heaving as ice slid through her veins, cutting through the sticky blood loss and heat, her whole body shook. Already, it trembled as if a very earthquake lived in her bones. If only it did–if only she could call upon it, the warm well of magic in her chest; that had always been her strongest ability anyway–manipulating the soil, trees, dirt, the very vibrations in people and biological objects around her. She was a walking earthquake, and good fuck, she needed it now. But instead, cold emptiness sat where it should have, and her shaking was borne of fear instead of a need to explode her vibrations outward.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Break him, she wanted to break him like she broke James–but no, he was here, he was here here here–like she had broken Caeonrei’s hand and good fuck Zyx was coming towards her, the orange heat sizzling on the end of the branding iron. Her heart leapt into her throat as her eyes dropped to the end of it. A spear head.

⠀⠀⠀⠀No, please, please, please–just let me die in peace– But she kept her lips pressed firmly together, no matter what she would not beg again, would not break that fire living inside her, even if most everything else had been cracked and shattered. She had begged once, pleaded for James not to whip her, and that–that had been for naught, but it always had been, year after year her pleas had fallen on deaf ears, sickening slaps, broken ribs, dark closets, until she had learned to not plea at all. Still, the sharpened, burning end of the iron pulsed, heat licking at it and jumping towards her. Her skin prickled, hate and rage throwing its own shade of red across her eyes.

⠀⠀⠀⠀The tilt to his head, those sickening, taunting eyes…throat dry, Cal pressed back against the pole, even as she glared at him through the curtain of blood stuck in her hair and dripping down her face. Her slowly-fading heartbeat still pounded against her ears, even as the ringing between them and streak of pain in her head almost drowned it out. The head, the heart, please–just–make it fast– This hadn’t been how she had ever imagined herself going. In battle, yes, or by her own hands, yes. Not in her own blood, shit, vomit, not tied up with her father in the distance, not from Club Fucking Serpentine. But it was what it was, and it broke something inside her, but–die, she was about to die. Finally, part of her thought. Please, just let her go. Any last words?

⠀⠀⠀Fucking bastard. But before she could say a word, he moved. Heat burst on the skin of her muscled abdomen, and a raw cry tore from Cal’s throat as she watched in mounting horror as her skin bubbled and melted around the spear pressing into one of the most delicate places on her body, the sharp, lethal tip slicing into her as one last burst of burning flesh, charred and nauseating, reached her nose. Tears of pain burned in her eyes as her broken body flinched back against the pole and then–a white-hot, firefly explosion burst before her eyes as the worst pain she had felt in years erupted in her belly.

⠀⠀⠀Heat, pain, she could feel her insides burst as Zyx drove the branding iron-turned-spear through her stomach, and Cal’s lips gaped in a silent, agonized scream as her green eyes went wide with shock. Her insides ignited, and the tears in her eyes dripped down her bloodied, bruised cheeks as her vocal chords broke, her bloodcurdling, chilling scream becoming the only thing she could hear as he kept going.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Scream after scream tore from her throat until she couldn’t anymore, head spinning, nausea writhing in her broken gut. Cal tugged, body on fire, yanking desperately at her bound wrists to try and grab the iron, pull it out, pull it out, pull it out, but she couldn’t, she–

⠀⠀⠀⠀Warm blood spurted from her lips from her punctured organs, gushing down her stomach and into her pants, all over Zyx’s hands as he kept pushing the spear violently through her belly, and when it emerged out the other side, through her back, a final, horrified, agonized scream left her throat. Shock and terror seized inside her, and she stared at the gore of her stomach, back throbbing where the spear protruded, as if she had just become a suckling pug roasted for a meal later. For a second, she couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t think beyond the sickening shock igniting her mind, a bolt of blinding white lightning.

⠀⠀⠀⠀But the pain–Luminos, the agony. Cal’s breaths became more strangled than before, each one shorter; smaller; desperate wet gasps as the iron cut off her airflow, blood flowed in disgusting gushes from her stomach, dripping from her mouth. “F-fuck–you–” She garbled, but the blackness on the edges of her vision teetered, laughing, spreading as lights flashed in her eyes. This was a slow, horrific, brutal way to die, helplessly bound to a pole and skewered through her organs, as her stomach tried to inhale around the metal pole lodged in it, failed, and left her head spinning.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Help– The thought rushed through her mind, but help was gone, had never been an option. Her poor moms would find her body discarded, tortured, and maybe she deserved this, but–but–nothing. Caledonia couldn’t think, thoughts coming so fast and pinging off before she could even catch them as she struggled so desperately for breath that wouldn’t come. Blue tinged her lips as she helplessly stared at the blood, the branding iron protruding from her belly, then back at Zyx, but any time she even tried to move, fresh pain ignited from her abdomen and back, inside her very stomach, and a strangled cry escaped her lips. Darkness and writhing lights by her eyes twisted inside her, nausea swirling as her brain seemed to float away from her mind, everything detached.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Tangy, acidic blood clogged her throat, coating her tongue until that, the iron in her stomach, and the rope around her neck left breathing so very impossible. Struggling to inhale, choking, coughing blood and spittle. Sweat beaded at her hairline, dripped down her face. Stuck her bra to her body. Her lungs burned for the lack of air, chest tight with pressure, the need to air having her blue-tingled, swollen lips gaping. The darkness and lights closed in on her, Zyx and James blurring as tears ran down her cheeks from the pain, the shock, the helplessness. Degraded to nothing, slowly dying, Cal could only cling to one last shred of consciousness as her heart beat slowed alongside her ability to breathe and process; to the only thought that wouldn’t leave: faster, just make it faster. Nobody was coming for her. Pleading for safety, for love, for help had only ever ended in more pain. Why would that stop now?

⠀  

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
    ⠀ CADMUS ⠀

It was just about time for Zyx and Cadmus to make their grand exit. Zyx had dealt the final blow, and the little birdie was sure to bleed out where she was broken and bound. Cadmus had grown bored of the whole affair an hour or two ago, and had taken a step back to allow Zyx to have his fun. Beautiful, delectable Zyx. Maybe they would have some fun of their own after they left—before they showered off the girl’s blood.

There was still one thing nagging at the back of Cadmus’ mind, something he was sure he had forgotten, and he still could not remember what it was. Was there something they still needed to ask the girl? No, it was far too late for her to answer any questions. It was unlikely to be anything relating to physical torment. He’d certainly had his fill of tearing the girl to shreds and watching the medics stitch her back together. Maybe there was something in her memories he had wanted to use? Something from James? No, that didn’t feel right either. Cadmus was getting sick of James’ face and voice, and he was certain he had done his job becoming the man. Or was it—.

Oh! The key!

When they had first entered the room, Cadmus had made a show of locking the door to the room and putting the key in his pocket. He had intended for Caledonia to try and take the key from him at some point, but she had been far too pathetic and broken for even that. Oh well. He could still bring out the key now, in the final act of the show. It would be the grand finale of her rapture. Giving her the literal key of her freedom, the one potential saving grace in the hell she had experienced, only for the key to unlock nothing. Not to mention that Cadmus was excited to watch the little birdie try to crawl across the room with all of that gooey blood oozing from her stomach. That was sure to be the most pathetic showing of the evening. Cadmus only wished the girl’s mother could be there to watch the display.

Before he could even pull out the key, Cadmus needed to deal with the rope Zyx had so lovingly used to bind her to the pole like a Nightfall present. She was limply sagging against the pole by her neck and upper arms, with additional rope cutting off blood flow to her hands and feet. Cadmus was still wearing his James persona, so he knew he could inflict the last bit of torment on her in how he freed her. Cadmus made his way over to his lover, trailing a hand down his body, enjoying the feel of his rippling muscles beneath his shirt. His hand slid down and to the back, to grip Zyx’s butt where it was hidden away beneath his pants. Yeah, he would be getting a taste of that later. He fingered the waistband of Zyx’s pants until his hands met the leather of a holster, and he withdrew the knife he had been looking for.

“I’ll be back for more later.” Cadmus whispered under his breath too low for Caledonia to hear with half-lidded eyes.

It was showtime. Cadmus lifted Caledonia’s face with the flat of the blade from where it was drooping, her eyes rolling around in her head as she fought to remain conscious. He tutted at her in disapproval, sliding the knife down to her neck, acting like he was about to cut her throat before slicing through the rope. He released her head, allowing it to drop back against her chest, and turned to the bindings behind her back, finally choosing to speak as he sawed away at the remaining rope.

“Why don’t we play one final game. You have acted so tough all your life, but are you truly everything you want to be? I know that you are weak and a coward. If you think otherwise, now is your time to prove it.” Finished with the rope tying her wrists and arms, Cadmus circled around to her front to untie the final rope around her ankles. “In my pocket, I hold a key to the room. I know you saw it when I first entered the room. If you can grab the key and make it to the door, you will be allowed your freedom. Zyx and I will do nothing to stop you.”

Fully released, Cadmus stepped back to allow gravity to work its magic. Caledonia fell to the ground with a dull thump, the rope no longer there to keep her upright. Cadmus pulled the key from his pocket and waited until the little birdie saw the key to let it fall from his hand just beyond her reach. It clattered to the floor, the sound as loud as a gunshot in the silent room.

“Prove to me that you are the pathetic nobody I have always known you to be. Fail one final time.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀   ⠀ CALEDONIA ⠀

TW: torture, thoughts of death, blood

⠀⠀⠀⠀Maybe in someone’s last moments, wounds, pain, injury, all of it would fade to the background, disappear as they found the string connecting them to life untether, thin out until it snapped or simply ceased to exist. Some spoke of a warm, white glow of peace, satisfaction, resignation, consuming their mind and soul, while others claimed to see their deceased loved ones beckoning them into whatever afterlife existed. But here, in Lux, there was no religion of old, and while Cal knew some people chose to dig up texts, find something to believe in, that had never appealed to her. She’d searched, found people believing in a kind deity, but as a child, she had tried it–praying to this God, whoever, for relief from the endless abuse. Nothing. So she’d stopped trying. This was why nobody held religion, she had figured, and why she personally never would. And even now, none of what soldiers who died in the field spoke of came to her–no beckoning, deceased loved ones (of which she had none), and no relief from the pain. Darkness still ate at her, taunting in the very edges of her vision.

⠀⠀⠀⠀The world still swayed, undulating like ripples in an ocean. Every miniscule movement sent pain through her bound, broken arms and ignited a fresh wave of agony in her stomach and back, but at this rate, Cal barely knew where she was, what had happened. The darkness ebbed, sharp, jeering, lights flashing before her eyes, as she fought hard to stay conscious. I can’t I can’t I can’t– Dropping unconscious—again, as she had already fallen out of consciousness once or twice during the past however long she’d been down here–was a horrific possibility. Not now, not again, she couldn’t be unable to move and think around two men again, no please, no, no, no–but so many of her thoughts floated away before she could grasp them, flitting clouds on a summer day. Half-baked realizations, emotions, thoughts, that never got to fruition, before they evaporated.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Blood dripped from her mouth as her stomach and chest fluttered, struggling to take in breath around the metal iron lodged in her belly, spearing her organs. But between that and the rope tight around her sore neck, she couldn’t. Each half-taken, desperate breath raked hot coals against her insides, air couldn’t get to her lungs, lips steadily turning blue as the white room and two figures in the back blurred, tilting. Blinking, struggling, wet gapes of pain and desperation had her insides on fire as she fought to stay awake, fruitfully fighting for breaths. Resignation had already come to her, and with it, some relief soon she would be freed from pain, from years of horror and sadism that seemed to follow her wherever she went. But why did it have to take so long? Why couldn’t they let her die in peace, leave the room instead of–coming back, instead of having to brutally spear her through the stomach, where she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t die in peace, just–no, he was walking towards her, or her mind was playing tricks on her. Please, please tricks on me–

⠀⠀⠀⠀Tears of pain streaked down her filthy cheeks, eyes unfocused, the room spinning from the nausea in her stomach. Voices, dull and muted around her, footsteps, none of it clear over the fading beat of her heart in her ears, the ringing in her head, the wet, pathetic gasps as her breathing, if it was even called that anymore, slowed. Blue lips coated in sticky blood twitched, the world seemed to fade as the blackness encroached a little closer. Buzzing grew in her mind, it–something cold jolted under her chin, drawing her head up, and ice jolted through Caledonia’s veins, her muscles stiffened, when, even in her unfocused stare, she stared at familiar hazel eyes.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Another cry escaped her lips on instinct as she moved back against the pole, only for it to press against the iron sticking out her back. Agony rippled through her abdomen again as the iron pushed further into her stomach from her back, and a small cry eked from her throat, heart in the same place. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you–go away– Knife, he had a knife to her chin, he was saying something and honestly, what did it matter, what the literal hell was he spewing now? The cool edge of the knife ran down her neck, and positioned close to her throat.

⠀⠀⠀Do it, do it– The tease, the disapproval, in his voice, she didn’t care though. She didn’t, just–slice her throat, stab it, kill her fast, let it be done, please let it be–she gaped, her head jerking down on instinct, spinning, blood falling over her chest and sports bra from her lips, joining with the blood already pouring in a horrific flood from her belly. It took a second for her to process the rope around her neck had been cut, and she gasped on instinct for breath it had been cutting off, only to cry weakly out when the iron in her abdomen reminded her she still could not breathe well.

⠀⠀⠀What? What what what– Cal’s mind could hardly process what was happening, and why was he letting her go? Fear slithered into her feet, turning them and then the rest of her beaten body cold as he slipped behind her. Pressure, barely recognizable through the agony the rest of her body was in, tugged at her arms and wrists from behind, and confusion once again replaced the terror. Until he spoke.

⠀⠀⠀⠀This close, she could hear more of his words, his taunts, and all of her muscles went stiff as a flood of deep hatred bubbled up inside her, water boiled over. Each word was murky, but she got the gist, taunts slipping like thin needles, one after the other, just under the delicate top layer of her skin. One final game…weak…a coward…acted tough…prove it– Each one struck true as a swell of hate, anger, and pain twisted, unruly, thorny vines arched up, writhing, inside her. But over all of it laid a blanket of helplessness, stones tied to her feet as she was thrown from a pier into a deep lake. Tied here, impaled, tortured, barely breathing and hardly able to think or even see clearly, she was once again a thing to these vile men, to her father, just like she had always been. His toy, he had said, and oh, if that wasn’t true, nothing was.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Please, just let me go, can you please just let me fucking die with dignity? No. She’d be tortured to her very end, played with like she really was just a doll, a dog, for their amusement, a caged bear prodded to roar and scrape claws against its prison as its captors laughed. No, she realized with a chill as James brought up the key, that was exactly what she was, because–no, wait, but James had no key, the other man, the one she hadn’t seen in awhile, had the key.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Cal closed her unsteady eyes, a disconnect fracturing in her mind. Where the fuck was that other man, anyway, and James–no, James was…dead? No, he was here, he was here and he was right, she couldn’t save herself, she was a pathetic weak coward, she– he’d let her go, they’d let her go, teasing her with the key, giving her a chance to–but…something else lay behind the fuzziness in her mind, some needling sensation, the key…they wouldn’t just give it to her, he was–

⠀⠀⠀⠀She dropped. Nausea spread, stomach lurching, as Cal’s broken body, the weight of her head and the the glistening iron jutting out of her stomach, crimson and metal in the lights of the room, took her forward. The relief from sadistic hours tied up like a slab of meat was short-lived. Her limbs, her whole body, had become jelly, weak, shaking from hours of dehydration and hunger, blood loss and exhaustion and torture. Cal hit the ground, bile stinging her throat, acidic and mixed with her hot blood. The floor itself had been redecorated, covered in pools of that blood, her own urine and vomit.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Light sparked white-hot and crimson behind her eyes as an inferno burned in her stomach. A last blood-chilling scream left her throat with her last vestiges of energy as she collapsed on top of the metal iron. It stabbed back again, further inside her stomach, towards her back once more, freshly ripping her organs, and she couldn’t breathe, tears and blood running from her eyes and lips as a fresh pool of it quickly began to leak from her belly. Something hot burned in her back, too, but compared to the agony of popped, torn organs and whipped brands, it wasn’t much to write home about. But her forehead, cracking against the ground so hard she would have vomited again had there not been metal skewering her gut? That left her ears ringing, head spinning. Her lips gaped like a fish, the room spun, disorienting Caledonia further.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Please stop, please stop, what did I do, what the–hell did I ever do– How could someone get off on this? How could someone take a look at another human being suffering so badly and want to make it worse? Why the hell had James hated her all her life when all she had ever wanted was to be loved? But maybe she didn’t deserve it. Perhaps she never had. Mama, please. Ma. Someone. Help me. Humiliating, but wasn’t childishly begging for her mothers better than being humiliated, mocked, tied up and tortured like an animal?

⠀⠀⠀⠀Cal lay dazed, consciousness fading fast. If she just laid here, closed her eyes, would the pain stop? The pain like a fire on and in her body, the pain lodged in her very shattered, very scarred soul? Finally? She had no energy to move, to lift a finger. Death waited with open arms, and at long last, she could take it by the hand and let it pull her into its cold embrace, bony fingers pushing her hair back, tilting her head up. Cradling her face before its lips brushed hers in the gentlest kiss.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Only the clattering of metal on the ground had her dazed, bloodshot eyes fluttering open again. Barely, just barely, the thread of consciousness, of life, fraying fast. The key. Sitting a mere six inches from her face, a glow of silvery gold among her scarlet blood.

⠀⠀⠀ “Prove to me that you are the pathetic nobody I have always known you to be. Fail one final time.”

⠀⠀⠀The words hit, sharper than before, shrapnel lodged into the very core of her being. Nobody was coming for her. She was alone, dying. Caledonia stared out at nothing, Zyx in the distance almost one with the door at this point, both of which in turn were almost one with James before her with how badly her vision was going, consciousness fading. Still, his words ignited fire inside her, tore tauntingly at her heart, tore her up, because dammit she was not a nobody, because that meant her brother, the kids she loved, were nobodies, and Lantas, that wasn't true, she adored them all more than her own life. She did all she could to make sure no child and no woman had to suffer what she had, to make Voxthain safer, to make the world safer, and nothing she had ever done was enough for James. But she had never done any of what she had for him, and never would. All Cal wanted was to keep people safe, to be loved by her moms and in turn, give children who needed it the only love she could. James would always see her as a failure, no matter what. She had long ago learned to stop trying to please him, make him love her. So what did it matter?

⠀⠀⠀What mattered was getting the key to see her moms one more time before dying. Her siblings. The kids who she loved, her cats. What mattered was having one last chance to apologize to Vali.

⠀⠀⠀But…good fuck if she didn’t want to prove that she wasn’t a failure to his taunts, even as that niggling in the back of her fading mind still told her something was wrong with that key, though for the life of her, Caledonia couldn’t remember what it was. Fail one final time. He loathed her. He had wanted her dead, tried to murder her, let men assault her, she was…nothing to him, and he was nothing to her, but…she didn’t know. Maybe it did matter. It had to be her, maybe she was nothing, maybe–she couldn’t think, he couldn’t get one over on her, he would never do this, drop the key, let her get it, she–but Mama. If there was a chance…if there was any chance, just one chance, to say she was sorry before dying, to…say she loved them, one more time, fucking hell she’d never been good at that, even as James’ words hurt like the whip, sharp, cruel, and biting, even as she felt every inch the teased, jeered at cow before the slaughter, the caged bird Zyx and James had destroyed with grins, basking in her suffering…her finger twitched, moving towards the key.

⠀⠀⠀Pain shot up her arms, from her ripped-up fingers through her dislocated shoulders, and an agonized cry wailed from her lips. Dizziness, nausea, all of it hit, the iron burning her stomach, the pain in her damaged, destroyed body. Hours on hours of so much horrific physical torture, tied up in one or two positions, no water, no food, incredible blood loss. She had nothing. Nothing. Her fingers had been smashed to a pulp, and trying to move again, the rod in her belly just had her screaming again as she tried to crawl towards the key, just six inches, that was it, but Lantas help her, she couldn’t. After two inches, arms shaking, shattered knee screaming, the combined pain was so intensely bad she collapsed, her muscles weak, her body rebelling from hours of torture and blood loss. Cal’s cheeks burned through the gore on her face, but this was worse, wasn’t it? She’d die here, mocked and taunted, the child prodigy of the Militia, facedown in her own blood, bruises and burn marks, whip lacerations and rope burns all over her. Humiliating. Worthless.

⠀⠀⠀Pathetic. Weak. Coward. A nobody. His words landed like knives, his eyes searing hatred in her mind. Tears burned in Cal’s eyes as she dropped her aching head against the ground. Just for a second. She’d try again in a second, she had to, just–give her a moment to rest. The blackness teased her vision again, fuller now, and she could hardly see, could hardly get the strength or energy to keep going. Everything hurt, but–Mama–Mama what? What?

⠀⠀⠀Just a second. One second. Light faded from her vision, faces and voices, smells and sensations blurring into almost nothing except the constant hum of agony. But even that, too, she hoped, would fade. With one just sleep. Just five minutes. She had to get that shiny object. She was not a failure, she was not…