Page 368 of Psycho Devils: Aran's Story 2

It was humorous that Dick went to such extreme physical measures to contain me when physically I was as weak as a human. Maybe weaker.

Sadly, his actions weren’t surprising. Everything about the realms of the High Court was ghastly and primitive.

The people in these realms worshipped brawn and feats of toughness. Didn’t they know anyone could learn to be strong?

It was intellect that couldn’t be taught.

Wit was the true differentiator.

At least, it was back at home.

My fingers twitched, water streaked down the sides of my face, and my tears provided a few lucky micrometers of skin with insulation from electric shock.

I sank deeper into my mind and focused on my plans, the revenge that I would successfully execute in the future. Violently.

Ten years ago, my thoughts never would have turned so primitive.

These realms were getting to me.

Dick had treated me like a dog for so long that a part of me had learned to think like one. Like the rabble that surrounded me.

My adoptive brother, Jax, and his mates snored on the three beds they’d pushed together.

Every muscle cramped in my body as the volts of electricity caused a migraine to throb through my skull.

As always, I suffered in silence.

My life was defined by a triumvirate of imprisonment: cuffs, electric shock, and secrets.

So many secrets.

The tangle of lies was so knotted that there was no “truth” anymore. There was just blackmail and distortion.

One word summarized my entire existence: exploitation.

I was a rare species from a faraway galaxy that didn’t go through puberty until twenty-five years old.

I was twenty-four years old.

Dick forced me to masquerade as a child.

It shouldn’t have been that large of a lie; after all, I was still technically prepubescent, and it was only a ten-year difference.

But it made all the difference.

No one could truly comprehend what could be accomplished in a decade of exploitation.

Ten years.

In my case, it was the difference between a war being won or lost.

The things I’d been forced to do were so shocking that it hurt to think about them.

Electricity burned my neurons.

One more year until adulthood. It was so close. Yet so far away.

Not that it mattered. Adulthood couldn’t change the fact that as a child, I’d been sold by rare species traffickers. It wouldn’t change that I was enslaved to the High Court.

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