Page 8 of Rescued By the Alien Acolyte

The door closes witha heavy thud, and I can feel the vibrations of Finzar’s footsteps growing fainter as he walks away. I’m not sure where he is going or when he’ll be back, but I appreciate the reprieve. However long it lasts.

My heart is pounding in my chest, my breath coming fast and shallow. I shiver in the frigid air, goosebumps rising on my naked skin. My arms ache from being bound above my head, but the pain is nothing compared to the hunger gnawing at my stomach.

My mouth is parched, my throat raw. I have had nothing to drink since they captured me. The stone altar under me is cold and hard and my chafed wrists are bruised from where the chains hold me tight.

I have never felt so conflicted before. Despite my condition, there is a part of me that wants him to return, that wants to submit to him, to feel his hands on my skin again. But the rational part of my brain, the one that has kept me alive for solong, screams at me to fight back, to resist his attempts to break me.

I can still feel the weight of his gaze on my body, the touch of his fingers on my skin. The memory of his touch sets my skin aflame, and my pulse races all over again. At first he was all cold brutality, his pale eyes full of violence and zealotry. But the fire I saw earlier has gone, replaced by an uncertainty that intrigues me.

Even with his brutish ways, there is a mystique about him that stirs something deep inside me. His touch was not that of a tormentor, but of a lover, a male who wants to please rather than cause pain. Did something else shake his faith? Or is this some kind of game, a twisted manipulation meant to make me compliant and pliable? Either way, I must figure out how to get out of here. My life is on the line.I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to focus. There has to be a way out.

The creak of the door opening snaps me back to reality. But it’s not Finzar who enters, it’s two new acolytes wearing purple robes. They stand over me, their faces impassive.

“Master Finzar has been lax in your purification. I see no blood, no burns, no sign of pain or suffering,” says the larger of the two. His voice is laced with venom.

“We can’t have that. High Inquisitor Sakar will be most displeased,” the second agrees.

I tense, struggling against the chains. But the metal holds me tight, keeping me pinned to the altar.

“Let me go, please!” I plead, desperation creeping into my voice.

The acolytes ignore me, their crimson eyes burning with a dark hunger. I know what’s about to happen. I saw the scars and burns on the bodies of prisoners when I crashed into this temple. I saw their brands, how they were flayed and tortured until they submitted.

This isn’t right. This can’t be happening. I’ve been through shit before, but this is something else, something much worse. The idea of these fanatics torturing me is terrifying. Finzar really isn’t the biggest monster here. I can tell by the gleam of their red eyes; these two acolytes have the darkest of hearts. Bastards.

I scream, but the darkness of the room swallows the sound up. The acolytes move closer, their shadows looming over me.

“You have not suffered enough. Not yet,” the first says, his voice like ice.

The other acolyte moves toward the table of instruments, his fingers hovering over the array of cruel devices. But the first stops him, a fanatical gleam in his red eyes.

“Let us take this heretic to the Sun Room,” he says, his voice dripping with religious fervor. “Let her burn before the gods. Let her know the truth of the sun, its cleansing flames searing away her impurities. Through that she shall achieve true purity.”

“No, please!” I cry, my body convulsing against the unyielding chains. The metal bites into my flesh as I thrash, desperate to escape. Without warning, the acolyte’s hand strikes my face, the impact reverberating through my skull.

“You will submit to the sun,” he growls, his breath hot on my face.

“Please,” I whimper, my voice barely audible. But my pleas fall on deaf ears.

They grab me, their fingers digging into my arms with bruising force. I’m hauled off the cold altar, my bare feet scraping against the rough stone floor as they drag me from the room.

“Master Finzar will not be pleased,” the smaller acolyte muses, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“I do not care,” the larger one snarls, his face contorted with zealous determination. “He grows doubtful. We will not allow this heretic to go unpunished.”

We enter a corridor bathed in blinding light, the sudden brightness searing my eyes after the dimness of the chamber. I struggle against their grip, twisting and pulling, but their hands are like iron shackles, unyielding and merciless.

“Let go of me! Let me go!” I scream, my voice raw and desperate.

But my cries fall on deaf ears as they drag me into an open-roofed chamber. A pit of glowing coals dominates the center, its heat radiating in pulsing waves. The stone walls are covered in glass and mirrors, reflecting and amplifying the scorching light, creating a dizzying, hellish kaleidoscope. The oppressive heat hits me like a physical force, stealing the breath from my lungs.

“Welcome, heretic, to the Sun Room,” the taller acolyte announces, his voice echoing off the mirrored surfaces. “Here, you will burn for your crimes against the true faith.”

My eyes fix on the pit of coals, their angry red glow promising agony. Terror claws at my insides as the reality of my situation sinks in. They’re going to throw me into that inferno.

“No, please,” I beg, panic rising in my voice like bile. “I’ll do anything. I’ll confess! I’ll join your cult, whatever you want. Just don’t throw me in there.” My words tumble out in a frantic rush, desperation making my voice crack.

The taller acolyte’s lips curl into a cruel smile, his eyes glinting with malicious anticipation. “Perhaps we should have some fun with her first,” he suggests, his tone dripping with dark promise.

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