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In the lair of Macabantran dungeons
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Hades POV -few weeks after the Macabantran battle-Mirra and Lana, Noosha’s ladies-in-waiting, were helping us with the bloody regalia crap to be set up. We are preparing for an urgent strategic meeting with the Council of Wengarthrian Elders to discuss the next steps regarding the war. I know that Noosha probably hates wearing a uniform more than I do. I have to wear this fugly tunic uniform of a chief commander of the Wengarthrian army. It is in the stupid signature obsidian and amethyst tones of Wengarthria. I’m one second away from pouting like a bratty child. I hate the bloody formal wear and formalities in general. I am the fucking ruler of this circus, and I should at least have some sodding say in what I am to wear while carrying out official duties. My shitty mood is skyrocketing because, in our dressing room, we are surrounded by mirrors, so wherever I look, I see myself in this ridiculous, godawful toga, being decorated with bloody regalia, looking like a sparkling giant c
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Marcellus’a POV -During the Macabantran battle-I think it’s morning. Well, this is only my guess, given that they finally took my restraints off and brought me some vicious-looking mucky substance in a bowl to eat, so I guess it’s breakfast time. Every day, they bring a spoonful of food to me- once a day only, for breakfast. I am eating the mucus-looking food and am thinking of those amazing cinnamon buns I had in Nerzelis. That would be so nice now, goddammit. I was restrained since that day I spat at Noosha. I would not have much space for movement in my cell, even if I weren’t. I have no idea how I managed to move so quickly that day when she annoyed me, given the crammed space here. My cell looks like an alcove and smells like a bloody manhole. It is a dingy little box room with a low ceiling, which prevents me from standing up even when I am not restrained. And I am not talking about standing up to my full height, given that I am lofting at about 7 feet in my human form. I’d
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“Oh, how is our precious prisoner today.” I heard the bitches voice somewhere, in the distance, outside. I just rolled my eyes and scoffed. I ignored her, the devilsbane and corpse flower injection mixture they gave me just seconds ago and continued to eat. Given that they have deprived me of my demon by suppressing his powers and abilities with injections and spells cast within the cell, I am unable to heal. I heal as a human would do, as they have disabled Ezel. They would only try to invoke him in the safety of the examination lab. And in those moments, I would be able to pick up dribs and drabs of Ezel’s energy to heal my human. This was the only reason why my human is still alive. Barely alive, but alive at least. The daily beatings I am receiving have affected my ability to hold the spoon, as most of the knuckles on my fingers are broken. So, I am holding the bowl and slurping this gloppy, unappetising mess with my broken wrists. And the pain that shoots through my broken wrists
Unwanted daughter of cursed Alpha King Facing the Kafkaesque reality
Marcellus POVI had barely managed to swallow the last bits of the gag-provoking, stinky mass they gave me to eat when Cesar and Joachim barged into my cell. Hello to you too, pricks. These two bastards were the only surviving guards among those who tortured my mother. And now, Noosha assigned them to lead all of my tortures. I would stay calm during their usual morning drill when they would drag me close to the exit of the cell to have more space for beating me and lashing, yet enough to contain me in the safety of the cell where my powers are blocked. And, as every day, right after the meal and just before my road to the examination lab, they would whip and beat me up before they shackle me with devilsbane and corpse flowers to take me to the lab. As the blows of their boots and fists and the stings of the whip lashed against my broken skin, the bruises and cuts from the previous day, which would barely start to heal, would reopen, break and bleed again. Many of the old cuts were al
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Marcellus POVDamn, I am the fucking main lead of this circus. Shouldn’t I have some kind of plot armour or some crap like that? Each time when I opened my eyes, it was close to impossible to stay focused on the mirror of reality. And that was the goal because regardless of how shitty I look at the moment, the images projected from the mirror of reality are the most bearable ones. Ok, I see that my human is getting old with the speed of the lightning and is about to die, becoming ashes and dust very soon, but hey, the mirror of reality is still showing the least bothersome things. I should have been dead and forgotten aeons ago anyway if I wasn’t immortal. So, ageing and dying are something that doesn’t touch me at all. I have lived so long that I think it would actually give me some relief, happiness and peace. The only thing that makes dying undesirable at the moment is unresolved issues that I would leave behind me. And this is what tortures in Wengarthria are all about. Once the s
Unwanted daughter of cursed Alpha King Bringing misery to those who matter
Marcellus’ POVI couldn’t watch it anymore. I couldn’t cope with her pain. I couldn’t stand this guilt anymore. “Aaaaaaargh!!! Stop with this!!! Take me out of here!!! Kill me!!!!! Please, kill me!!!Just stop it!!!” You wanted me to beg, bitch?! I am begging now… just stop this!!!” I thought I would manage to yell out loudly and beg them to stop the torture and end my life, but my tormented, aged body only managed to croak a muffled sound that sounded more like a rattled whisper of a man on a deathbed rather than a scream. The inhumane noises I made in an attempt to beg for death were broken by a malicious simper which echoed through the lab. I heard the bitches voice somewhere outside: “Hi….dear son…. I told you that you will be my bitch and will do exactly what I want…I have told you that you will beg…. I have told you that I will find your weakness…sooner or later…” the bitch cackled somewhere outside. “Oh…a birdie told me you have found your mate….son…Oh my…oh my…I see that gui
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Aralyn's POV My story began with love between Malleteagan and Larissa, my parents, which somehow evolved into a never-ending hatred and Malleteagan’s desire for death. Mine death and that of my mother. It is a dark, misty night. Mid-autumn rain sticks on my dirty and torn clothes, mixing with mud, leaves, and branches we picked up while grazing through the forest. Brushes, stems, and trees cut through my clothes and expose my skin even more. My lungs burn from exhaustion, and sweat breaks out in big lumps. I am out of breath and have difficulty picking up the pace with my mother. If she weren't holding my hand, I would fall behind. I would fall directly into the merciless jaws of our predator, Malleteagan. My mother was outsmarting him for years by running away from him and from his desire for our blood. We have been running since the day I was born. No, strike that, since the day I was conceived, as my mother told me. He was always on our tails, despite my mother being a de
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Aralyn’s POV While failing to learn from my past mistakes, I glanced back again quickly, and I saw my mother's shadows projected out of her body while my father was in his Lycan form. His Lycan looked like your worst nightmare, like the beast that came straight out of the ninth circle of the inferno. A bear-sized, massive, two-legged monster that looked like an enraged, sadistic, homicidal wolf on a hunt. His obsidian fur glistened blindingly in the hazy night as he shifted before my mother. If the reason for his shift weren't so daunting, just looking at the shine of his fur would make one mesmerised. The only light point on the deadly mass of charcoal black fur were his eyes, now radiating between neon grey and glacier white. The beast before us was truly magnificent and beautiful. Scrap that, nothing beautiful in here, I thought to myself next second when I saw his dragon-like fangs dripping foamy saliva, snarling and snapping towards mother rabidly. He looked monstrous, mur
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