Page 62 of Degradation

“I know how to manage myself.” I snarl.

I know I don’t need his bullshit, I don’t need pills either. I’m fine. I’m fucking fine. I’m not fucking psychotic no matter what he or some jumped up little doctor says. I’m not fucked in the head, at least, no more than Magnus or Conrad is.

Only, no one forces shit down their throats. No one tries to put labels on them. Just because I let the demons out, just because I make friends with them, that apparently makes me the problem? My brother wishes he was like me, he wishes he could be as free, as liberated, deep down we both know it. It’s why he has such a need for control.

I can’t tell if he’s afraid to continue the conversation further or whether he’s just decided it’s easier to let it go. But mercifully, he starts talking about our dear leader. About how he’s demanding more slaves, like we have an endless supply in Oblivion.

“He’s started ex-communicating people.” Magnus states. “Significant people. Names that are getting noticed.”

“Like who?” I reply. We both know the man he’s referring to. Our dear Chapter Lord.

“The Ramseys, the Todds.” He shrugs.

“Sounds like he’s planning on restocking Oblivion with anyone who disagrees with him.” I reply. Richard Todd is on the Senate, at least, he was. But there’s also been no trial. No official verdicts. Apparently, the man has just been removed and dealt with as though Gunther has the power of a dictator. But then, he’s been disregarding the rules long enough, hasn’t he?

“She’s a Founder.” I say quietly as my mind flickers to the bane of my life.

Magnus shows his surprise in the tiniest of movements. “The wife?”

As if she can be defined simply by that title. She’s so much more than that, she’s… I stop myself, stop those thoughts.

Who the fuck am I right now? How the fuck did that bitch get into my head?

“So,” Magnus half-seethes, “He’s breaking more rules. If he keeps going, we’ll have our Grand Master himself breathing down our necks.”

“Concerned for your own skin?” I sneer. Oh, I know he has skeletons, and big fucking closets too. I know his wife isn’t as dead as everyone thinks because I found her on one of my little adventures. She’s probably one of the many voices we can hear at this moment, screaming away, emptying their lungs, praying someone might come and rescue them.

He gives me a look I know so well. One that tells me he’s in charge, that he could break me if he wanted – only, that’s not so true anymore. This man may have raised me after our parents’ death but I’m not a little kid anymore. I’m a grown man and I’m over twice his size, twice Conrad’s size too.

“He wants to reopen the Ark.” Magnus says.

“What?” I cut across him. He can’t be serious.

But Magnus doesn’t joke. I doubt the man even knows how to laugh. “He’s been pushing for a while.”

“But our Grand Master would never allow it. The Lords wouldn’t either.” I state.

The Ark has been closed since way before my father’s time. It’s the part of Oblivion that now lays empty. Disused, and for good fucking reason. It’s where we used to hold children, babies too. Where people could use them, buy them, do whatever the fuck they wanted to them.

They weren’t Brethren children. They were undesirables. Children taken from the streets, from orphanages, from anywhere that wouldn’t be noticed. No, we’d never let our Brethren offspring end up in such a place, our bloodlines are too holy, too precious to ever allow such a thing.

“Gunther is trying to separate himself, establish his own powerbase, maybe his own faction.” Magnus states.

“He’d never be able to.” I reply. He thinks he can go up against the might of the Brethren?

“He will start a war; he will happily sacrifice enough people though. The man isn’t sane.”

I wince, knowing that statement couldn’t be any truer.

“There is something though.” I reply. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Something is going on. It’s not just in his head; it’s not just a conspiracy.”

Magnus shakes his head. “Then you need to be extra vigilant. Extra careful. Whatever the fuck it is, you need to make sure you don’t get caught in it. Because when this goes down, heads will roll and it won’t just be Gunther’s.”

Pailtyn

Ichoke on the cock in my mouth, my eyes watering as it hits the back of my throat. I try to pull away, but Gunther’s grip on my hair is ironclad. He forces me down further, grinding his hips against my face and I can smell that he hasn’t washed, hasn’t cleaned himself in quite a while.

“Take it, whore,” he growls. “You take this cock, take what your husband is offering. Swallow every drop.”