Page 35 of Devoured
Black tar poured from his eye sockets.
“This pathetic guilt does not satisfy! Where are the murderers? the betrayers? the ones who destroyed lives?”
He swept one massive arm across the room.
Bodies flew, hitting walls with wet cracks.
A woman near me—through me—was torn in half. Her scream ended in a gurgle. Blood painted the walls.
“We offer what we can find!” Varnar’s mother cowered.“Please, Lord Judge—”
“petty thieves! small sins!” The Judge grabbed two more cultists, crushing them in his fists like grapes. Gore dripped between his fingers.
“I hunger for true guilt! souls heavy with unforgivable acts!” He moved through the crowd like a tornado of meat and chain.
Every swing of his arms sent bodies flying. The floor became slick with blood—and worse things.
I pressed myself against the wall, even though I hoped the monster couldn’t see me, couldn’t touch me. But the horror of him was so complete it felt like he might break through time itself.
The Executioner moved then—just a small step that shifted his huge body between me and the blood. To anyone watching, he simply stood there, indifferent to the carnage around him. But something about where he stood felt intentional. He blocked the exact spot where I hid, like a wall of black leather. Like he knew I needed protection, even if no one else could see me.
“Enough!”
The Judge’s voice made the entire chamber shake. Bodies littered the floor—maybe fifty dead, torn apart. The survivors huddled against the walls, drenched in their friends’blood.
“You will learn to feed me properly or I will devour you all!”
Varnar’s mother, blood-soaked but alive, fell to her knees.“How? Tell us how!”
“Build the feeding ground,” the Judge commanded.“Create a place where suffering flows like water. Where guilt and pain never end.”
“Where?” she gasped.
“Here. on these stones. build your human cage here.”
Black tar dripped faster from his eye sockets.
“Make it a place of healing above, but below it will be mine. Every cry, every fear, every moment of suffering will flow to me.”
“We will,” she promised.“We will build it.”
“And one day,” the Judge continued, his voice dropping to something almost worse than a shout,“when the stars align, when the guilty one comes—one whose guilt burns bright enough to feed me forever—she will be mine. my feast. my bride of sorrows.”
At those words, the Executioner shifted his weight slightly. A tiny movement that brought him more fully between me and the carnage. Protecting me across centuries.
The Judge began to sink back into the blood-soaked floor.“Fail me again and I will wear your skins as decoration. I will make your children into furniture. i will—”
He stopped mid-threat. Those weeping black pits turned toward Varnar’s mother.“Actually,” the Judge said, his voice softening into something almost gentle—which was worse than the screaming.“A demonstration.”
He moved faster than something that size should. One massive hand closed around her waist, lifting her like a doll.
“Mother!” Young Varnar lunged forward, but other cultists held him back.
“I gave you centuries of service,” she said calmly, even as the Judge’s grip tightened.“I kept my bargain.”
“Yes. and now your son will keep it better.” The Judge’s other hand closed around her head.
“He has your hunger—but without your weakness.”
