“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
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
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
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
Marcellus’ POVAnd then my gaze turned to the mirror of fears. There she stood, the embodiment of perfection. My mate. The goddess. The princess. The queen. Brought in this world to be mine, created just for me as I was made for her. I am the embodiment of sexual pleasure and desire. I am the incubus. I can lure any woman into my bed. With my telepathic abilities, I could invoke the desire in any woman or man, demon or any other creature. And army of women and men passed through my bed. But can I make a woman forgive me? Can I make her love me?No, and there is nothing more that I need at this moment. Aralyn’s forgiveness. Aralyn’s understanding that all the misery I made her go through was a fucking mistake that I would carry as a burden and regret as long as I am alive and beyond that point. I need Aralyn’s love. I need her to love me despite all the crap I did. This would give me a reason to fight back and to stay alive. I don’t want her to be attracted to me only because of the ma
Marcellus’ POV They were forcing me to look at the mirror of retribution and punishment. The mirror in front of me reflected the scenes from my past, memories of my mother's tortured screams and the anguish in her eyes. The surge of emotions overwhelmed me as the two cunts continued lashing me in synchrony with the projections of my mother’s torture. My mind raced with memories of my mother's suffering, each strike of their whip a painful reminder of my past wrongdoings. Inability to protect my mother and elders, my brutal torture and assault on Aralyn and Naevres…I was in a fucking agony. Scenes of my mother’s torture faded away and were replaced by the scenes of Aralyn holding a lance. The next scene was that of me looking absentmindedly, with chaotic magic exuding from my eyes, while chanting the words of the Moonlight curse and looking possessed before I fell on the ground of the Wengahrtria encampment. Somewhere in the background, the voice could be heard: "The child belonging
Thersar’s POVWhen that power pull dragged Erzelus and Kandreah into Macabantran fortress, we followed to the castle to help them and fight. I was reluctant to get in the battle with a battalion of warriors without two of our greatest commanders, but I had no options. Retreat or surrender is not even a distant option as we were too deep in this; it would be cowardice, and I still believed that we had realistic chances to conquer Macabantrah and win this war, even with the disadvantage of not having my twin and Erzelus by my side. I mean, we still have dozens of thousands of witches, dwarves, fae and Lycan warriors who are eager to fight for our cause. That was why I commanded entry to Macabantrah castle regardless of my concern for Erzelus and Kandreah, who are missing in action and are lord knows where. Fuck it, I can pull off the victory with Omar in command of Lycans, with witches under the command of Rowena and Marlekeen and Nexelex leading the dwarves. I will be in charge of the
-sometime before Thersar was stabbed in Macabantrah--In the Macabantran dungeons-Kandreah’s POVHumiliation. Rage. Despair. All these emotions were brewing within me. Although I had the power within me to kill them all, I couldn’t move an inch without Nahevra allowing me. I was entrapped within my own body. The feeling of helplessness. Is this how mortals feel when they are in a comma? Now I understand how dreadful it is to be able to see, feel and have a desire to take action but not being able to do so. Is this how those whom I compelled before felt? Is this how those damned to spend eternity in this Wenganthrian shithole feel when they compel them and impose their tortures and punishment upon them?I am the power. I am the emperor. I am the commander. I am the ruler of the vampiric fae. Compulsion is what I am and what I do. Karma indeed is a bitch. I still cannot believe that compulsion will be something inflicted on me, that this will be the end of me. Me…the master of compulsi