Page 21 of His to Break
KARA
T he cold stone floor bites into my skin, but the discomfort is nothing compared to the agony in my chest. I look up, eyes wide, and freeze at the sight before me.
Azrael is chained to a post, his powerful frame trembling as blood trickles down his back from fresh wounds inflicted by a dark elf's whip.
Each crack of the lash sends shockwaves through my body, twisting something deep within me.
“Stop!” I scream, my voice echoing through the chamber like a desperate prayer. But they just laugh, reveling in their cruelty as if my pain is nothing more than an amusing distraction.
My heart races; each groan that escapes Azrael’s lips feels like a dagger plunging deeper into my soul. A swell of rage erupts within me—fueled by helplessness and anger—but there’s something more: the incubus blood coursing through my veins ignites like wildfire, demanding release.
I close my eyes, squeezing them tight as I try to harness this new power pulsing beneath my skin.
My breath quickens as I feel it building, coiling around me like a serpent ready to strike.
I focus on the guards; their laughter fades into silence as they turn towards me, expressions blank and vacant.
“Kill each other,” I whisper, feeling the weight of those words hang heavy in the air.
The atmosphere shifts instantly. Their eyes glaze over with a strange obedience. In this moment, I am not merely a slave—I am a force to be reckoned with.
As if compelled by an unseen hand, they draw their weapons simultaneously. A twisted grin stretches across my lips as they lunge at one another with frenzied ferocity. The sound of steel meeting flesh fills the chamber—a cacophony of chaos that echoes back at me like music.
Blood sprays against the walls, painting grotesque patterns that blend with shadows dancing in flickering torchlight. The guards fight tooth and nail—each stab and slash bringing forth primal screams of betrayal and fury. It’s beautiful in its brutality; a storm unleashed by mere whispers.
“Let me go,” I command now, feeling emboldened by their carnage—their deaths invigorating me further.
With unsteady hands, I grasp at the chains binding me to this wretched place; they rattle under pressure but do not yield. Yet even here—on this cold floor—something stirs within me; an ancient instinct driven by power and revenge.
Azrael gasps from his position; his gaze meets mine through bloodied lashes. There’s pain there—but also something else: respect? Understanding? Whatever it is sparks a fire inside me that pushes back against despair.
I fixate on him amidst the madness unfolding around us—the way his muscles tense with every strike he endures while still managing to meet my eyes without flinching.
He doesn’t plead for mercy or show weakness; instead, he seems proud—a silent acknowledgment that we are bound together in ways neither of us fully understand yet.
Suddenly one guard falters, caught between fighting his fellow soldier and obeying my command. The hesitation gives me pause; can I push this further?
“Finish it!” I shout fiercely, willing them all to succumb to chaos until only one remains standing—or none at all.
Their resolve breaks entirely at that moment; they surge toward one another once more with renewed fervor fueled by blind rage—and suddenly it feels electric—the power surging through me feeds off their violence until it consumes everything in sight.
One final cry pierces the air before silence envelops the chamber once again—a chilling stillness settling over what remains of those who dared torment Azrael and challenge me.
Panting heavily now amidst broken bodies and spilled blood, I take stock of myself—the pulsating energy within begs for release still—but right now all that matters is Azrael’s battered form struggling against chains far more unyielding than those around my wrists.
I rush to Azrael’s side, heart pounding in my chest. My hands tremble as I fumble with the bindings that keep him chained. The metal feels cold and foreign against my skin, but I focus on his face—his eyes are shut tight, brows knitted in pain.
“Hold on,” I murmur, desperation lacing my words. With a final tug, the last chain snaps free. He slumps forward, groaning softly as he leans against me for support.
“Azrael!” I catch him, my arms wrapping around his broad shoulders. He feels heavy against me, but I won’t let him fall.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. “I should have listened to you.”
He lets out a shuddering breath, his head resting against mine for a moment before he pushes himself away slightly to look at me. His glowing red eyes pierce through the dim light, filled with an intensity that causes me to shiver.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he rasps, each word a struggle as he straightens himself, using me for balance. “You put yourself in danger.”
“It's my fault that you're here,” I reply fiercely, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. “I had to do something.”
Azrael’s expression softens for just a moment before shadows cloud it again. “Power is not something to be taken lightly.” He winces as he shifts his weight onto his feet. “You don’t understand what you’re tampering with.”
“Maybe not,” I say defiantly, lifting my chin. “But I felt it—what’s inside me is real.”
His eyes narrow slightly as if weighing my words carefully. “It can consume you if you let it.”
Before I can respond, the distant sound of footsteps breaks through the tension-filled air—a reminder of how precarious our situation is. Panic flares in my chest as I glance back toward the entrance where dark elves could appear at any moment.
“We need to move,” Azrael insists suddenly, his voice low but urgent despite the pain lacing through it.
I nod quickly and help him steady himself; together we stagger towards a shadowed corridor just off the main chamber—the only escape route that might lead us away from danger.
With every step deeper into darkness beside him, something primal awakens within me—a fierce determination to fight not just for our survival but to claim what has always been denied: power over our fate and those who would see us broken.