Vials shattered across the stone as Zaramir’s hand slipped across the table’s surface to grip the edge, knuckles going white as a familiar pain lanced his brain. Razor sharp claws ravaged the grey matter as the beast hauled itself from his slumber.

  Flames blazed down his spinal column, the bones feeling like they would crack from the heat. Cold sweat coated his body, though his skin was as hot as those flames.

  Hot blood dripped down his face, he could taste it on his lips.

  He’d experienced this hundred, thousands of times, but the pain always felt new.

  The feeling left his extremities as the voice of his primary master etched into the core of his brain, the meaning of the words gouged directly into the soft tissue, “Traitor.” The word was thinly veiled rage. “Have you anything to say to us?”

  He forced the word through his brain, a short staccato, each one grating like a sandstorm through his mind, “He. Attacked. Us. First.”

  “Us?” The predatory inquisition turned his blood to ice. His legs collapsed under him as the claws slashed deeper, forcing truth past pain. His knees collided with the stone below him.

  “The. Human.” He hissed, teeth clenched so tight they felt as though they’d crack.

  “Your kin suggests otherwise.” They knew the truth; they were simply drawing out a confession. They wanted resistance, defiance so they could decimate it, crush it into nothing. Any excuse to subdue a nonexistent threat.

  “She. Was. Human.” The effort of producing words pressed fresh blood from his nose, eyes, but he persisted. The sooner they get their confession, the sooner they’d sentence him to and execute the true punishment. “She. Is. Now. One of Yours.” He forced the words quickly, desperately hoping they might believe him.

  “It does not belong to one of the Greater Courts. The Minor Courts harbour no females.” They were rapidly becoming increasingly agitated.

  A deafening shriek of a curse poured from the air around him. His heart shuttered, vibrating in chest in panic. Stinging salt water slowly filled his lungs, just fast enough he couldn’t clear his lungs but his body forced him to finally try. A deep chill bit down to his bones. Icy water soaked his clothes, the air tightened around him in crushing pressure.

  It was barely a minute before they released the hold on the curse; the shrieking stopped, the air returned to normal. His clothes and skin warmed, but didn’t dry. He was able to clear the water from his lungs, his throat raw. His heart didn’t stop its erratic beating as he forced his face to remain neutral, forcing his first memories to the back of his mind.

  Though, he knew there was no fa?ade he could put up that would convince them their efforts had no effect.

  “Speak wholly and truthfully.” The demand was loud, driving the claws deeper.

  There was no sense in lying; They already knew. Their investigation left them with one conclusion, one truth, “She’s mine.”

  The pain released from his brain, instead crawling down to the core of his spark. Their influence shifted, stealing his power, paralyzing his body.

  The very air burned like acid as the phantasmagoria of his master ripped through his body, poured through the cracks in his form. The room filled with wisps of poorly tamed magic, his spark leaking into the room around them.

  The pain in his mind was manageable, familiar though agonizing.

  This was far beyond that. His Spark turned against him, trying to obliterate its host as it hauled him to his feet. He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, all control over his form lost. His Runebinds made an attempt to right what was wrong but their efforts only furthered to incite the rebellion.

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  Each time his Runebind tried to draw power, the Spark fought back, destroying his body cell by cell as the Runebind tried to figure out what exactly his injury was. Each iota of power pulled to heal, retaliated with twice as much force.

  The visage placed his hands on his shoulders, finding a new way to rend his flesh.

  The only reprieve came when there was no energy left within his body to attempt to heal.

  This was not the first time they’d done this, but usually it was quick, over the moment they could place a more permanent curse or cause enough bodily harm to suffice as punishment for his transgression. It would be over in seconds, minutes if he was unfortunate, but not this time.

  The phantom spoke the voice of his master, “Ve vis lor.”

  You seek power.

  He couldn’t find enough energy to deny their statement.

  “Lor e’ix da Demyn’hena! Trita veh cuur. Trita grih’hena.”

  Power is not for the Least! Bring your treachery. Bring the atrocity.

  The power clamped down, not waiting for him to obey the order. They didn’t feel like wasting time on resistance.

  The pain ran back up to his mind, turning his body to stone. It scrambled through sections of the brain, searching, ravaging. It was as though it wasn’t sure how to use him to draw her in.

  Finally it seemed to unearth its target, pouncing on the deep center of his brain, gnawing on the soft material, toying with it like a cat with a mouse.

  Though his Runebind didn’t work, he knew the beast was succeeding in its mission. She was coming.

  “Ve ah retra veh curr. Ve ah crytta grih’hena.”

  You shall correct your treachery. You shall destroy the atrocity.

  New horror surged through him. Their orders weren’t to kill her. They were to destroy her. They wanted a Faedemon’s destruction; Absolute, final, excruciating.

  His desperate attempts to break the beast's hold were futile. Each pathetic attempt only dug its claws deeper, affirming its hold on Corabelle.

  The orders echoed through the room, repeating endlessly to torment him

  Trita grih’hena. Crytta grih’hena.

  He fought until his vision blurred, the last bit of energy spent. If the wraith of his unleashed Spark wasn’t forcing him upright, he would have collapsed. He wished he would, wished it wasn’t forcing him to watch what he was doing, keeping his eyes open, his body rigid.

  As Corabelle stumbled through the door, his brain forced his eyes to focus. Focus on what he was being forced to do, forcing her to do.

  There was a tear in the sleeve of her tunic, a red mark underneath, a bruise that wouldn’t be allowed to form. Tears were pooled in her bright green eyes; eyes that were filled with abhorrence.

  Though that look changed as her eyes met with him, shifting from hatred to horror.

  Her body was pinned by his control, her eyes darting around the room. She could hear the orders. They wanted her to know; To know what she was to them, what was coming for her.

  Please. Tongue paralyzed, he couldn’t speak, instead he forced the word through his mind, toward the beast.

  The chanting stopped, the beast halting, though not releasing its hold.

  His master’s incredulous voice returned to his mind alone as it partially retracted his Spark, “You plead for the dead Human, for your atrocity? If your mission wasn’t useful, you would join it in annihilation. Do not mistake your life for forgiveness.”

  Her scream tore through the room as she crashed to the floor.

  This scream wasn’t just pain, it was agony; it was that of cataclysmic destruction. He’d heard this scream once before. His worst failure was realized once again.

  Corabelle’s body coiled in a tight ball trying to protect itself from the invisible threat. Her clothing stained red in an instant, the floor beneath her forming a dark puddle of blood.

  Her body was forced open, her back arching, body displaying as blue light began to seep through the seams in her flesh, once nearly invisible but now being ripped open. The Spark inside wavered, the light fluctuating, uncertain as the binding to it threatened its end.

  Her Runebind flickered, trying to heal but losing connection to its power.

  The screaming turned to a burbling choke as blood was expelled from her lungs, the seams inside her being meticulously torn open.

  Please!

  He fought against its hold, until a pool of his blood grew darker beneath him than hers. For a moment he thought his pleas were acknowledged. The seams across her body began to draw themselves closed, the Spark stabilized, the Runebind began to work, her cried stopped, replaced with a soft sob.

  But then the voice spoke in his mind once again, “We intended to provide your atrocity with a mercifully quick death. No longer do we believe that is sufficient. Your audacity to make demands of us proves you need more discipline than we have provided. Now your monster dies slowly. Remember this lesson.”

  The cold voice didn’t speak again as her wail resumed.