Chapter 101 - I'll see her again tonight.
*2 Years Later*
-6 PM, Fortress of Ossa, Hallway-
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Helios walked through the corridors of the fortress, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. His hands were tucked deep in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the ground before him. The weight of the past year seemed to press down on his shoulders, etching lines of weariness on his face.
As he passed by a window, he paused, looking out at the setting sun. The sky was ablaze with oranges and reds, a stark contrast to the somber mood within the fortress walls. Helios let out a heavy sigh, his breath fogging the glass.
"Two years," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "Two years of bloodshed, and for what?"
He continued his solitary walk, lost in thought. The fortress, once a bustling center of activity, now felt eerily quiet. Most of the forces were deployed, leaving behind a skeleton crew to maintain operations.
As Helios turned a corner, he nearly collided with a young messenger. The boy's eyes widened in recognition.
"General Helios, sir! My apologies for the abrupt encounter. I've been tasked with delivering an urgent report to you, sir," the messenger said, his tone crisp and professional.
Helios straightened, his expression hardening. "Proceed with your report, soldier."
"Yes, sir. Intelligence indicates that the Alizahs have successfully secured another strategic position. They are currently holding celebratory events in Romania, sir. Furthermore..." the messenger paused, choosing his words carefully.
"Continue, soldier. Withholding information is not an option," Helios commanded.
"Understood, sir. We have credible information suggesting that delegates from various nations are convening with the Alizahs. There are indications that these meetings pertain to potential strategies aimed at altering the course of the war in their favor, sir."
Helios's eyes narrowed. "What measures are being taken in response?"
"Sir, high command has authorized the deployment of covert operatives to infiltrate the celebration. Their primary objective is to gather critical intelligence regarding the enemy's forthcoming maneuvers, sir."
Helios nodded, processing the information. Then, maintaining his professional demeanor, he inquired, "Is there any information regarding Lady Luxana's current status or assignment?"
The messenger's composure faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered. "Sir, I can confirm that Lady Luxana has been assigned to participate in the aforementioned covert operation, sir."
For a moment, Helios's composure cracked, a flicker of concern crossing his face. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual stoic expression.
Helios's face turned impassive, though a flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. "Very well. You are dismissed, soldier. Return to your post."
"Sir, yes, sir!" The messenger saluted sharply before turning on his heel and marching away.
As the boy hurried off, Helios resumed his walk, his mind racing. The war had dragged on far longer than anyone had anticipated, with no end in sight. And now, Luxana was being sent into the heart of enemy territory.
Helios clenched his fists in his pockets. The game had changed, and the stakes were higher than ever. As he reached the end of the hallway, he made a decision. It was time to take matters into his own hands.
Helios's Reflections:
One year has passed, and all we've acquired are territories in Romania and Elmir. Yet, progress remains elusive. Both Alizahs and Azones advance every two hours, locked in a deadly stalemate. The discovery of routes to Kior's ruins during the war has only intensified the conflict, with more Azones and Alizahs emerging from the shadows.
Luxana has become a ghost, her presence in the fortress fleeting. I've seen her no more than three or four times this year, her bedroom changing daily. Despite reduced time on the front lines due to new recruits, she remains absent from the fortress. Her friends - Veles, Myla, and Mylo - now serve as medical support for the Azones, their own attempts to reach her thwarted.
Kyle manages Domino, while Roxana and Richard have vanished. Our days are consumed by endless planning, attacks, and supply management. We've bolstered our forces - training war animals, recruiting for land, air, and naval divisions. Our alliances have grown, with 8 Empires and 12 Kingdoms now supporting the Azones. Yet victory eludes both sides.
My support for the Azones stems from a singular goal: convincing Roxana to return home with me. Afterward, erasing Luxana's memories seems the most humane option, allowing her to restart her life rather than following Xerxes's tragic path.
The Alizahs' recent victory in securing a key Azone stronghold has sparked celebrations in Romania. Rumors swirl of foreign delegates arriving with strategic plans to tip the scales. Our response: sending spies to uncover their next moves.
And now, I hear Luxana is joining this dangerous mission. The thought fills me with an unease I can't quite name. Perhaps... perhaps it's time I take a more active role in shaping the course of this war.
-6.30 PM, Outside the Fortress-
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(Luxana - 17 years)
Wow........it's beautiful. Luxana thought, her smile crumbling away like sand between fingers, leaving nothing but raw, exposed pain. Beautiful.........just like mother's smile. She thought, staring at the moon through eyes blurred with unshed tears. Mother........mother............mother...........mother.................mother................mother is so beautiful. She thought. Just like the moon. Untouchable. Uncaring. Watching me break over and over.
Soon.......I'll be on my next mission. What is my next mission though? Her mind fractured, grasping desperately at fragments of purpose. Oh right.........................infiltrate the celebration. Her face collapsed into something childlike and lost, the mask she'd worn for so long suddenly too heavy to bear.
Luxana raised her hand, fingers quivering so badly she could barely hold them up. This ring. Who gave it to me? Was it someone who loved me? Did anyone ever truly love me? Why do I have it on? Why can't I take it off? I've clawed at my skin until I bled trying to remove it. But it won't leave me. Does it belong to someone else? Did I steal it from someone? I don't know.........but it's beautiful. Beautiful things don't belong with broken things like me. They never have.
Father........................where is father? I don't see him anymore. Did he ever see me? Or just what mother made me into? I only see mother. Always staring at me with eyes........that tell me..................I am her biggest mistake, yet she still loves me. But why? Why am I not fighting back? Why do I still hear her voice in my head when I try to sleep? Why? Why am I-
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A violent shudder tore through her body, leaving her doubled over, arms wrapped around herself—the only embrace she'd ever known. Her breathing turned to desperate gasps, lungs refusing to fill. Images of abuse. ABUSE. crashed through the walls she'd built, drowning her. Hands holding her under. Words that cut deeper than any knife. "Love" that left bruises on skin and soul alike. Her own screams echoing in empty hallways where no one came to help. Never anyone to help.
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"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The shriek tore from Luxana’s throat like an animal caught in a bear trap. She thrashed on the cold stone floor, her wrists raw from the iron shackles biting into her skin.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! PLEASE! PLEASE STOP!"
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Luxana's voice cracked, raw from hours of screaming. But Richard didn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. His breath was ragged, his eyes wild with hatred. The leather belt in his hand cracked through the air before slamming against her flesh again.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Richard didn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. His face was twisted in fury, his grip white-knuckled on the thick leather belt.
CRACK!
The belt came down with a force that sent blood splattering against the stone walls. Luxana's body seized, convulsing under the pain.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
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Her body jerked violently as the belt lashed across her ribs, splitting the skin open. Blood splattered onto the marble floor.
"WHY?! WHY WERE YOU EVEN BORN?!" Richard bellowed, his voice almost drowning out her cries.
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Another strike. This time across her stomach. She doubled over, gasping for air, but he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back up.
Another lash. Another.
"AHHHHHH!"
Her skin split open, the wound gaping, blood pooling beneath her.
"HAD YOU NOT BEEN BORN, MY PRECIOUS ROXANA WOULDN’T HAVE SUFFERED!"
CRACK!
The belt snapped across her face. Her head jerked sideways, her cheek tearing open, hot blood oozing down her chin.
"AHHHHHHHHHH!"
Her shrieks echoed like the wails of a dying creature.
"SHE WOULD HAVE BEEN MINE!"
CRACK!
"BUT YOU RUINED HER!"
CRACK!
"EVER SINCE YOU EXISTED, SHE CHANGED! SHE CHANGED INTO SOMETHING I CAN NEVER UNDO!"
Richard’s arm swung relentlessly. Her body writhed, jerking like a puppet with its strings cut. Blood smeared the ground, mixing with her sweat and tears.
Her cries were breaking now—raw, desperate gasps between sobs.
"AHH—A-AHH—"
Her body convulsed as he ripped the belt away, throwing it aside. He wasn’t done. He never was.
His hand shot forward, wrapping around her throat.
She choked.
Her fingers clawed weakly at his grip, nails scraping against his skin, but he didn’t loosen his hold.
"YOU TOOK HER FROM ME!" he roared, squeezing tighter, his nails digging into her throat. "I SHOULD HAVE KILLED YOU THE DAY YOU WERE BORN!"
Her eyes bulged, her body spasming violently. Her breath came in short, wheezing gasps as her vision blurred.
Then, finally, he let go.
She collapsed, coughing, gagging, struggling for air. But she had no time to recover—
Because the whip came next.
Her skin burned. Her ears rang. She was choking on her own sobs, her body convulsing with pain. She couldn't even scream anymore. Her voice had given out.
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He switched weapons. The belt dropped to the floor with a metallic jingle, replaced by something worse. A whip. A cruel, barbed instrument of agony.
A long, barbed thing that hissed through the air like a serpent before it struck—
WHIP!
A scream tore from her throat. A gash split her back open, flesh peeling apart under the cruel spikes.
WHIP!
Her legs kicked wildly as another lash carved through her thigh, blood spurting onto the ground.
WHIP!
Her hands tried to shield herself, but the whip wrapped around her wrist, yanking her arm back before tearing into the skin.
"AHHHHHH!"
Her body was breaking. The pain was beyond anything she could comprehend now—every nerve, every inch of her flesh, was either bleeding or burning.
By the tenth, she wasn’t even human anymore—just a trembling, bleeding, broken thing curled on the cold ground.
Still, he wasn’t finished. He struck again, and again, and again, until her body was nothing but raw meat. Her breaths were shallow, her vision blurred with blood and tears.
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She barely registered the voice behind him.
Richard loomed over her, panting, sweat dripping from his brow. He wasn’t satisfied. He could never be satisfied.
He raised the whip again—
Medea's voice cut through the room.
"Now, now," Medea's voice was calm, almost bored. "Don't damage her too much. She still has to fight tomorrow."
Richard's bloodshot eyes twitched. He let out a shuddering breath before snarling, "She’ll fight regardless." He spat, swinging the whip one last time. The snap echoed through the chamber like the crack of a bone.
And with that, he brought the whip down again.
WHIP!
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Luxana’s body barely reacted this time. She was beyond pain. Beyond anything. Just a broken, crumpled thing on the floor.
Medea stepped forward, pulling out a vial from her robes. The thick, shimmering liquid inside caught the dim light.
She knelt beside Luxana, gripping her blood-soaked face with cold fingers.
Luxana whimpered weakly, trying to turn away, but she had no strength left.
Medea forced her mouth open.
Luxana didn’t move.
Medea crouched beside her, her lips curling in amusement. A small glass vial appeared in her hand, the purple liquid inside shimmering ominously. With one hand, she wrenched Luxana’s jaw open, her grip cold and merciless.
"Drink."
POUR.
The purple liquid burned as it slid down her throat. Her body jolted as if struck by lightning. Her thoughts, her pain, her very self—slipping, dissolving, vanishing.
Medea’s fingers pressed against her temple as she began her chant. Soft, rhythmic, deliberate. A spell to erase everything. Amnesia. That's what she was attempting at.
Tomorrow, Luxana would wake up as if nothing had happened.
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And tomorrow, it would all happen again.
-6.35 PM; Monis Mansion; Cillian's Room-
(Cillian - 20 years)
Cillian lay stretched across his vast bed like a spider at the center of its web, fingers twitching as if pulling invisible strings. His cold, empty eyes pierced the ceiling with such intensity that the plaster might crack under his gaze.
Two years...The thought slithered through the dark corridors of his mind. Two years since I watched the light fade from her eyes. Two years since I tasted her fear as she realized what I had become.
A smile carved itself across his face—not the smile of a man, but of something wearing a man's skin. I'll see her again tonight. In that fractured realm between worlds where I reign supreme, where I can make her suffer anew, again and again...
He turned, the silken sheets whispering beneath him like conspirators. His shadow stretched unnaturally across the wall, too twisted to belong to anything fully human.
When Grandfather's pathetic attempts to break me began to fail, I was thrust into knighthood, a polished sheath to hide the dagger I was becoming. Each lesson in combat taught him to deal death. Each etiquette class taught him to mask the predator behind courtly smiles.
As nobility flocked to me like moths to flame, Father made his gravest error. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, the sound like bones cracking. He believed placing me at the head of the household would bind me to his will. He never understood he was handing me the very knife I would use to cut his strings.
Then came my true awakening— His pupils dilated, black consuming all color. When I arose as the last Mama ti aye of the Kota yanga-da, I felt reality itself bend before me like a submissive lover. Ice crystallized along the windowpanes as he recalled the ritual.
The powers revealed a truth so exquisite—I wasn't the victim of this tale, but its author. Not the puppet, but the puppetmaster playing at weakness. The shadows in the room elongated, stretching toward him as if eager to please.
To end this existence would waste the perfect instrument of vengeance I have crafted. The bed frame splintered under impossible pressure. My enemies have barely begun to understand true suffering.
To be Continued...
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