Page 75 of Devoured

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”Her voice rose with each word, cracking at the edges. “Centuries of work! Centuries of careful cultivation! The sacrifices, the rituals—the perfect system we created!”

She spoke like she was the victim. As if the torturer of countless patients—who had smiled while breaking minds—was somehow wronged.

“Everything was perfect. In order. Controlled.”She took a step forward, the blade trembling in her grip. “The weak were culled. The strong were refined through suffering. We were creating something beautiful. Something pure. And you destroyed it all!”

“Beautiful?”A bitter laugh escaped me. “You call what you did to those women beautiful?”

“You wouldn’t understand. Small minds never do.”Her eyes blazed with fanatic light.

“I served faithfully for years. Every girl I sent into the depths, every mind I dismantled, every scream I orchestrated into perfect harmony—it was all for him. For the Judge.”

She began to circle me, and I forced myself to stand despite the pain in my limbs.

“Varner was an idiot,”she spat. “A small man playing with forces he couldn’t begin to grasp. He thought the Judge wanted someone broken. Some weeping thing soaked in sorrow. He kept sending down these sniveling wrecks who couldn’t string together a coherent thought.”

She stopped in front of me.

“But I read the true scriptures. The ones carved in languages older than human speech. The Judge doesn’t just want sorrow. Any fool can be sad. He wants his bride. His equal. Someone who understands the exquisite artistry of suffering.”

Her face lit up with pride, her voice quivering with twisted joy. “I’ve perfected myself for decades. Every woman I tortured, every scream I pulled from their throats—it made me stronger. Sharper. I became the perfect instrument of suffering.”

She stepped closer.

“That’s what he needs. Not some weeping little victim like Varner kept sending. He needs someone who knows how to create pain—not just feel it. Someone who can make the damned scream forever.”

Her smile was hideous.

“I’m not broken like them. I’m the one who does the breaking. That’s why I deserve to be his bride. The bride doesn’t just marry the Judge. She becomes part of him. Shares his power. His essence. Two become one—united in flesh and purpose.”

“You’re insane and pathetic.”I said and it wasn’t anger. Just a statement of fact.

“Am I?”she hissed. “Or am I the only one who truly understands?”

She raised the blade, testing its weight.

“When I bring him your corpse—when I show him that I restored order from the chaos—you’ll see. He’ll see. He’ll know who deserves the throne beside him.”

She lunged.

The blade came at my throat with terrifying precision. But time in this place had changed me. The fear that once paralyzed me was gone, replaced by something colder. Something sharper.

I rolled aside. The blade hissed past my ear.

I moved on instinct. When she swung again, I caught her wrist and twisted hard. A crack—followed by her scream.

“You made me believe I was worthless. Insane.”I hissed through my bloodied teeth. I drove my knee into her gut. She collapsed, gasping.

“Just another broken thing for you and Varner to study. And then sacrifice.”

The blade clattered to the floor. I grabbed it, testing its weight. It felt dense with intent—each edge sharpened through hatred and obsession.

That’s when I heard footsteps.

The Executioner emerged from the tunnel like judgment incarnate, carrying a battered metal container filled with water. His helmet turned, slowly, from me to Alan. He took in the scene without a word, utterly still.

“Dr. Alan,”he said.

No surprise in his tone. Just certainty.