Page 6

Immediately, I do as they say, there’s not even any hesitation or surprise that they are actually talking to me.

I don’t question it because they have always had my best interests at heart.

I duck down, swinging my sword up in an arc.

Asael hits resistance for a mere second before it slices through whatever the fuck it is like butter.

There’s a squealing sound of pain that suddenly cuts off, and I wince as I get coated in warm liquid that I’m assuming is blood.

I roll out of the way and only just make it before I hear something thud against the floor.

Within moments, I’m back on my feet as I take off running.

My eyes are closed, and I am putting my trust in my magic mental map.

There’s no point keeping my eyes open because I can’t even see my hand in front of my face.

I do know that the death of one of the creatures is going to call to the others and piss them off.

I need to move.

Using Asael in his two-sword form, I fully trust my instincts, and it’s a mix of them, the voices, and even warning buzzes from Asael, that help me to slice through the creatures that attack me, and there are a lot of them.

I’m covered in blood and grossness, and I keep having to refocus and reorient myself in the tunnels so that I’m not getting myself lost. I’m moving quickly though, and the creatures seem to know that I’m within feet of the exit into the third and final level because they suddenly double down on their attack.

I get a sudden and very quick image of the creatures coming at me from all angles, but the door is just behind the one that’s coming at me from the floor.

Taking a gamble, I dive roll over the one on the floor just as my fingers hit the gap that is the door out of this fucking level, something scrapes my leg, and a searing pain shoots up it, but whatever was trying to grasp my leg doesn’t manage to fully get hold of it, so I try to put the pain out of my mind as I focus on propelling the rest of my body through the door and rolling out of it.

Popping back up on my feet on the other side of the door, the momentary relief that I felt at getting through the door leaves me in a rush.

No, no, no, no, no.

I can’t be back here, anywhere but here.

Spinning around the pain in my leg is not even a blip on my radar. I bang on the wall of the cell behind me.

“Let me out!” I scream.

I want to go back, I want to fight the creatures, I’ll lose the Choosing, I don’t care, but not in here.

I can’t be here.

It’s no good, I know that. There’s no door there anymore.

My mind presses in on me as the memories try to push forward.

Sinking to the floor of the cell that is so familiar to me, I pull my legs up and wrap my arms around them as I stare at the familiar crack in the dirty and blood-stained stone floor.

The memories reach their sharp and jagged claws for me, and I forcefully push them back.

This is a level in the Choosing. I have to calm down.

I force myself to take three deep, calming breaths. Ideally, I should do more, but I don’t have it in me.

I need to get out.

I have to get out.

I can’t be here.

Not again.

Not again.

Shit, I’m panicking again. Forcing myself to take more calming breaths, I refuse to let any of the words filter through my mind again.

Finally feeling slightly more grounded, I stand up.

Before I can fully straighten up, the chains clank, and I stare in horror down at the manacles wrapped around my ankles and wrists.

These are the ones that he had specially designed.

They’re wide, three inches or so, and have hundreds of needle-like spikes on the inside that dig in and make me bleed.

Already, there is blood pooling underneath them.

Then there’s the worst part of them, etched in a deceptively pretty script, is the name Ink on one and Neith on the other.

He had been watching me long enough to know that Van called me that at one point, and that I was still fond of it.

Not anymore.

That name is associated with pain, so much pain and death in all manner of ways. Every way that he could think of to kill me, he tried. He was obsessed with my pain and what it could do for his magic.

Through sheer fucking determination, I don’t fall into the pit of extreme panic that is trying to pull me under.

I need to get out of here.

Feeling a tiny bit more aware, I look around the cell. If I can find one thing that isn’t the same as my memory, then I can use that to anchor me, and I can get out.

I have to get out.

I will get out.

Then I hear it, the sound that shatters all of the delicate calm that I had gathered. The slow, steady footsteps echo through the dark, damp stone corridor that leads past the many cells that are only occupied by the dead and rotting corpses of his previous victims.

My heart pounds in my chest, and I freeze as the humming fills the air. The same tune, jagged, but upbeat, far too happy for the situation that I’m in.

“Ink darling, what shall we do today?” the voice that haunts my memories and my nightmares taunts. “Maybe we’ll go with the saw? Or the blow torch? It’s been a while since I used that one. Choices, choices.”

I freak out and lose all grip on my calm. Blood drips down my hands and soaks my bare feet as I pull against the manacles, desperately trying to free myself. I’m no longer aware of how I got here, or why I’m here. All I remember is what comes next.

The footsteps get louder, and my panic heightens even more.

“Ink, Ink, Ink,” he says happily, before he goes back to humming.

“Trial!” the voices scream at me.

The fact that they’ve said something to me and they never have before shocks me into stilling, and I frown. They have spoken to me, and this isn’t the first time.

Trial.

I’m in the Choosing. This is a trial.

If it’s a trial, then it’s not real. I need to find the door I need to get the fuck out.

My whole body is shaking with fear, but the footsteps are slowly getting closer. I need to get out.

I can get out. This is a trial.

Not real, not real, not real, I repeat it over and over again, and it offers me a small amount of grounding. The manacles slip away, clanging to the floor and then disappearing.

Not real.

“The cell door,” the voices order urgently.

I don’t question them. I’m holding on to my mind by a thread, any second now my panic is going to pull me back under. I limp my way to the door and pull it open.

Stepping through, I’m no longer in the cell, I’m in my room back at the castle, but the relief doesn’t come.

I can still see the cell, smell it, hear his humming, and my own pain-filled screams.

My breath comes out of me in harsh pants, and I call Asael to me. My hands wrap around his hilts. It doesn’t ground me as I hoped it would.

The door to my room opens, and I’m vaguely aware of the guys rushing in, but before I can feel any sort of relief, I’m pulled back into my memories.

Someone comes at me, and I scream, lifting my swords in defense.

I can hear a voice trying to talk to me, it sounds like they’re panicking, and there’s a distant part of me that knows their panic really matters to me, but that part is quickly drowned out by my panic and my fear.

He steps into view, the saw in his hand, and that’s it. I’m lost in my mind.