Page 9 of Rescued By the Alien Acolyte

“Yes,” the other agrees, his voice husky with excitement. “I have some ideas. Master Finzar’s methods have left much to be desired. This one needs more than just pain and fear. She needs to be broken, shattered completely. To be made an example for all who would defy the sun gods.”

The smaller acolyte nods eagerly, his hand snaking out to caress my breasts. His touch is cold and clammy despite the intense heat, sending revulsion crawling across my skin.

I shiver violently, goosebumps rising on my flesh despite the sweltering air. “Don’t do this,” I plead, my voice barely above a whisper. “I have credits! I’ll pay whatever you want.”

“Credits won’t save you. You brought this upon yourself, heretic,” the acolyte growls, his face contorting with righteous anger. “You defied the sun gods, and now you will burn for your arrogance.”

“Please,” I beg once more, hot tears streaming down my face, leaving salty trails on my cheeks. But my pleas are cut short as the acolyte whips out a dagger from his belt, pressing its razor-sharp edge against my throat. I feel the cold bite of steel against my skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat around us.

The acolyte’s cold, unyielding gaze never leaves mine as he presses the dagger harder against my throat, drawing a thin line of blood. I feel it trickle down my neck. My heart races, pounding in my ears like a drum, drowning out the crackling of the coals.

“Please,” I choke out, my voice shaking. “You don’t have to do this.”

The acolyte sneers, his grip tightening on the dagger. “Silence, heretic. Your pleas are worthless here.”

So I stay silent as my legs and arms are bound to the wall by rope. And I watch silently as the acolytes set about preparing the Sun Room. I don’t know what they have in store for me, but it can’t be good.

Above the pit, a massive mirror looms, reflecting the hellish scene below. On its unforgiving surface, I catch sight of my reflection and barely recognize myself. My once-sleek red hair is a wild tangle, matted with sweat and grime. My eyes, bloodshot and swollen from endless tears, stare back at me with a haunted look I’ve never seen before. My skin glistens with a sheen of perspiration, angry red marks crisscrossing my flesh where the chains have bitten into me. The terror etched into every line ofmy face is palpable, a visual echo of the fear that gnaws at my insides. I look terrified. And I am.

The acolytes approach, bearing a contraption that sends a fresh wave of dread through me. It’s a massive glass globe, easily the size of a man’s torso, suspended in an intricate metal frame. They position it carefully over the pit, adjusting its height with practiced precision. Within the transparent sphere, a pool of liquid gold undulates, its surface rippling with a glowing reflection.

“What is that?” The question escapes my lips in a trembling whisper, fear making my voice crack.

The smaller acolyte’s eyes flick toward me. “Your purifier, heretic,” he replies, his tone dismissive and cruel.

I watch, mesmerized and horrified, as they meticulously adjust a series of mirrors around the globe. The golden liquid begins to roil and bubble, its glow intensifying until it’s painful to look at directly. Waves of heat roll off the apparatus, the air shimmering around it like a droughtland mirage.

The larger acolyte turns to me, his gaze devoid of any warmth or compassion. “Let us begin with your branding,” he announces, his voice carrying the weight of a death sentence. “This will ensure the truth of the sun’s light is seared into your very flesh, a permanent reminder of your transgressions against the true faith.”

He reaches for a metal rod, its end shaped like a miniature sun with cruel, sharp rays. The implement glows an angry, molten red, radiating heat that I can feel even from this distance. I thrash wildly, desperate to escape, but the acolytes’ grips are like vises, their fingers digging painfully into my flesh.

“This will hurt, apostate,” he says, his lips curling into a smile that chills me to my core despite the oppressive heat. His eyes gleam with a sadistic anticipation that makes my blood run cold.

“Don’t do this. I’ve done nothing wrong!” I beg, my voice cracking with desperation. But my pleas fall on deaf ears, lost in the sizzling air of the chamber.

As the brand makes contact with my shoulder, pain explodes through my body, white-hot and all-consuming. A scream tears from my throat, raw and primal. The stench of burning flesh fills my nostrils, making me gag. The sound of my agony reverberates off the mirrored walls.

I can feel my skin bubbling and blistering beneath the merciless brand, the heat burrowing deep into my flesh, searing through nerve endings. Tears stream down my face, evaporating almost instantly in the intense heat.

A wide grin splits the smaller acolyte’s face as he watches his partner work, his eyes alight with a twisted joy at my torment. “It will only get worse, apostate,” he hisses, leaning in close.

He turns to my tormentor, his eyes wild. “Now, let me brand her,” he demands, his voice thick with eagerness. He reaches for the rod, but the larger one yanks it away.

“No,” he snarls, baring his teeth in a feral grimace. “This is my turn. I am the one who will break her.” His grip tightens on the brand, knuckles white with the intensity of his determination.

The smaller acolyte’s eyes gleam with malicious intent as he fights to reposition the brand. Then, without warning, he presses it against my other shoulder. A fresh wave of agony rips through me, my scream echoing off the mirrored walls. The searing pain is even more intense than before, my nerves already raw and hyperactive from the first burn.

“There,” he says, satisfaction dripping from his voice. “A matching set for the apostate.”

I slump in their grip, my body trembling from shock and pain. The smell of my burnt flesh hangs heavy in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of my sweat and tears.

“Now, let us prepare for the main event,” the taller acolyte says, his voice filled with anticipation.

They drag me closer to the pit; the heat growing more intense with each step. My branded shoulders throb in agonizing rhythm with my racing heart. They secure me to a stone frame near the edge of the coals, the restraints biting into my wrists and ankles.

The acolytes move with practiced efficiency, adjusting mirrors and tinkering with the strange glass globe. The golden liquid inside bubbles more violently, its glow intensifying to an almost blinding level.

“Soon, heretic,” the smaller acolyte says, pausing to look at me. “Soon you will know the true power of the sun gods.”

---