The sound of horses' neigh and grumble rouse Lyra from her sleep, squinting her eyes to shake away the sleepiness. Her muscles ached from her uncomfortable posture while lying on the cage floor. She was back in the confines of the cramped space, the women captured, battered, and bruised. She cursed under her breath, reeling in her focus as her head throbbed. She had been so close to freedom, only to be dashed by the conniving woman who glared daggers at Lyra while leaning her back against the rails.
Running her tongue over her split lip, it stung. The brute had done a number on her, leaving a metallic taste in her mouth. Aria nudged Lyra's arm, grateful to see she was still alive. Aria patted her back lightly and spoke,
"You were out for a couple of days. After the stunt you pulled, we haven't stopped since then,"
Lyra was shocked at the revelation. Days? Her body felt stiff, and her muscles ached with every subtle movement, which would explain the discomfort. Some of the women speaking in hush tones and gasps diverted Lyra's attention to everyone fixed on the site coming to view.
Thundering clouds, with rain refusing to fall, rumbled over the dark fortress—Rasar Fortress. Dread coursed through her veins as anyone would, with the foreboding nature oozing in the air.
Entering through the grand entrance, the rusted gate rolled down with a screech behind the group, snuffing the light of hope out of prisoners' eyes. Their fate was sealed the moment they set foot in this place.
Led down beneath the fortress, the stench of death permeated the air. Clenching her nose and mouth, Lyra stomached the foul smell as they were led deep into the dingy hallway. Anguished cries echoed across the halls, sending a chill down her spine. They were brought to a large room with torches dimly lit, where all twenty women lined in formation. Keeping their distance, the captors stood off to the side of the room. Belfor, among them, scowled. His wound was healed, leaving a ghastly scar over his brow, down his cheek, his eye unscathed. The bitterness boiled his blood. He couldn't wait to get his hands on the vixen at fault.
Lyra couldn't help but voice out the lingering question hanging in the air, "Why are we here? What do you plan to do to us?"
Silence hung in the room as the lecherous demons refrained from answering. The suspense tortured her until a deep chuckle echoed across the walls. The temperature in the room dropped as the source of the voice led to a man seated on a throne in the dark. The light from the torches barely reached the daunting figure. His posture in a bored manner, his long, lean leg swung over the other with his head resting over his knuckles on the armrest.
"I don't think you have the power to make such demands," the man responded, his voice smooth as silk. Straightening up from his chair, he stood taking slow, measured steps; his boots clicked against the cold stone floor as he approached the line of women. Coming into the light, the man before them resembled a handsome prince. His stature was lean but toned; his loose garment had a couple of buttons revealing his smooth, unblemished skin, his pecs peeking out. Some women blushed at the handsome figure before them as he approached them, slowly examining the prospects.
With a grin, he drawled, "To answer your question, you will all find out soon enough." Landing before Lyra, he winked before returning to sit on his throne.
"Take them to their cells," he orders the men. He waved his hand with grace and finality. His free hand held his cheek as his elbow perched on the arm of the throne. His silky hair fanned his perfect face as his underlings did his bidding.
"Yes, Master Troy," the demons bowed in reverence.
Filing out of the room, the prisoners were led to their cells. Troy kept his gaze fixed on the closed doors. He contemplated about the woman who spoke and was captivated by her alluring eyes. He would enjoy adding her to his list of activities he will indulge in the future. However, he would have to be patient for now and deal with the annoying archdemons that summoned him to the main hall.
Reluctantly, he strode out of the door, leaving the comforts of his abode as the tormentor of his victims. He relished in his title as 'Troy the Deceitful'—his stunning features prey on the helpless as they fall for his façade only to shatter their spirits in anguish.
As he approached the main hall, many underlings bowed in reverence until he stopped before two large obsidian doors opened on his arrival. four archdemons were seated below the vacant high throne. There were nine chairs on the dais reserved only for the archdemons of the realm. The four who were present held a look of disdain as Troy made his appearance.
His lips curled in a sardonic grin. His red eyes gleamed at the four figures he had to answer to despite his mutual feelings for them. Mammon, Azmodan, Maze, and Tiamat. He knelt before them, placing a hand over his chest in the highest regard.
"It is such an honor to be graced by your presences, your excellencies," Troy drawled, being subservient to the high echelon above him. Though he was an archdemon, he didn't claim the title of their nine positions. The sound of his voice came off more of sarcasm than grovel. Tiamat narrowed her gaze.
"Cut the pleasantries, Troy! Your words mean nothing until you bring us the Vessel," Tiamat scorned; her patience was thin as a fine thread. Flames sparked from every breath she made as she spoke,
"For centuries, you were tasked to find the child of the prophecy and provided with no results," a guttural growl rolled from her lips, her scaled formed up her neck wanting to take her form and squash the insignificant insect of a man.
"I wonder what your father would say if—"
"There's no reason to involve him in my pursuit," Troy cut her off, his gaze fixed on hers. The smile on his lips faded as he clenched his jaw in discomfort before he continued his reason.
"I assure you all, the fruits of our labor will come, and the day our rightful King will return. The latest arrival of subjects seemed promising," staring up at hot-tempered dragon.
"It better be," Tiamat scoffed as she rolled her eyes. The other three nodded in approval for now. Azmodan cleared his throat to Tiamat to simmer down and returned to look down at Troy. The archdemon held the allure like Troy but his bulk frame with large black polished horns extending from his scalp and red mane gave Troy a run for his money—After all, who can outdo the demon of lust?
"The child of the prophecy spoke of a woman with hair black as the abyss and soul untainted," Mammon's squealed. His protruding belly that his attire failed to cover with a snout to top his appeal. Two robust tusks ebbed from his mouth adding to his ghoulish appearance. Crumbs and slobber oozed from the corner of his lips as they fail to seal.
He was intrigued by the Troy's process. "How do you deem that woman is the vessel?"
"I have my ways, your excellency," Troy deflected his question, refusing to divulge his secrets. It was inhumane to invoke the traits that lay dormant in the vessel's body. Mammon would know better than sniffing around his lair. The greed of this man held no bounds.
Azmodan was displeased by his remark but let it slide. He smirked at the lower archdemon for his confidence. The four archdemons expected results, and soon, their resolve would be met with the return of their leader and reigniting the war they all were eager to commence.
"I expect good news soon, Troy," Azmodan huskily stated before the four archdemons vanished in smoke and flame. The empty throne room left Troy to rise to his feet with a smug look on his face. He had an inkling that fate was on his side, and he would attain the vessel. He could imagine rubbing it in their faces as he singlehandedly resurrected their ruler and was credited for his efforts. His smile broadened at the thought. Turning his heel, he gingerly left to resume the task at hand.
***
The women were hastily led to their dingy cells. Aria was shoved down to the ground along with Lyra, who managed to catch herself from falling. The demon guard was about to shut the door when Belfor stopped him.
"Take her to the chamber," He spoke to the guard, turning to face as Lyra felt apprehensive, shaking her head in defiance. "Today is your lucky day, harlot!" He spat, laced with venom.
"Noo!" Lyra cried. Fighting the pull from the man's vice grip on the chain, he dragged her out of the cell. Her body was sluggish from the lack of sustenance, and her nerves tensed.
Brought up to another dimly lit room with a long table flushed to the side and cracked walls stained with blood. Devices of mass torture decorated the surface of the table, causing Lyra to quiver. Her eyes took notice of the pile of loose teeth with bits of gum stuck to the bone, and the lump in her throat remained stuck. Death would be merciful compared to the hellish experience she was about to endure.
Tugged by the chain on her shackles, Belfor clasps a meat hook over the link, hoisting her arms over her head and pulling the tether higher to the point her toes dangle at the surface. A whimper spilled from Lyra's lips with the binds biting into her skin, Belfor's eyes lit with amusement.
"Comfortable? Good. I'm going to enjoy our time together," he sneered, smiling menacingly.
Belfor nodded to the guard to dismiss him and left them alone in the chamber. He stepped over to the table; his hand grazed the items like a child deciding which toy to play with. His yellow smile broadened on the item he chose as he turned to face her. He unraveled a leather whip.
"Let's start with something small, shall we?"
Releasing the whip with a crack in the air, Lyra flinched. Her legs quaked as she began to hyperventilate. He stalked around her with her back facing him, and he lashed out. The end of the whip licked her back, elicited a shriek from her lips. Flogging her till the fabric on her back was shredded, revealing her skin riddled with angry red marks. Tears streamed down her face as she wailed, her voice growing hoarse. She didn't realize the lashes ceased until she heard a melodic voice rung in her ears.
"Belfor," Troy drawled, his body leaning against the doorframe.
"Master Troy! I-I prepared the first captive for you," Belfor was startled by the interruption, only to pale at the man's presence entering the room.
"Hmm."
"I granted only a small taste of what's to come," trying to appease his master, his head slightly lowered.
Troy didn't answer, his eyes narrowed. He walked over to Lyra with her head hung low. He pinched her chin, forcing her to look up at him. Her eyes striking aquamarine, Troy was captivated, as if finding an oasis in a desert he could drown if he stared long enough. He could overlook his underling's careless act for now.
"H-help. Me," she croaked to the handsome man staring down at her, desperation in her eyes.
Running his tongue over his canines, he gave a devilish smirk—a glint in his deep crimson eyes. "Poor thing, you must be thirsty," he snapped his finger. An imp appeared beside them with a goblet in hand. Picking it up and bringing it to her lips, Troy urged her, "Drink."
Apprehensive, Lyra opened her lips, allowing the inky liquid to enter. Her eyes widened at the acrid taste, and her lips shut tightly, spurting the contents over the man's face. Troy's sharp jaw clenched; his brow ticked by the sudden display. He drew his hand over his face, wiping the black fluid from his face; his smile widened.
"…"
"Now, don't be stubborn," he spoke in a low, husky tone. The grip on Lyra's jaw tightened while he brought the goblet to his lips, emptying the contents before he slammed his lips to hers. His long black hair fanned to the sides, concealing them both in their private moment.
He flung the goblet to the ground as his hand snaked around her waist, reaching her blistered back; he pressed her firmly against his chest. She whimpered as her teeth unclenched, gaining access for his tongue to roam. The black substance flowing down to her throat, Lyra retched. His lustrous lips sucked and nibbled at her tender ones. Troy ravished them like a starving man. Drawing blood from her lips, he ran his tongue over them, enjoying the taste.
Repulsed by the heinous act, she squeezed her eyes shut. His face's beauty and voice's seduction only masked his cruelty. Breaking away from the kiss, Lyra's eyes burned with resentment. Troy found it amusing. He would savor her suffering soon enough. With a devilish grin, he dropped his hands into his trousers pockets, observing her.
A sudden burning sensation clawed at Lyra's stomach, and an unsettling feeling washed over her. A sharp pang shot through her chest, causing her back to arch as she screamed. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, convulsed in agony. Suddenly, she went limp, blacked out from the affliction. He leaned closely to her ear as he whispered,
"Welcome to Ozend," Troy's voice trailed off, a sadistic smile etched on his face.