Page 85 of Devoured
“You killed Theo and felt the hollow absence where remorse should be—then spent months torturing yourself for that absence. That self-loathing, that perfect spiral of shame eating itself—it’s exquisite. You come pre-broken in exactly the right ways. MyBride ofSorrows. Mother of new agonies. We’ll birth suffering together that will make Hell itself weep with envy.”
He showed me visions of Theo’s death—but twisted. In these versions, I kept him alive for days, slicing off pieces while he begged. I smiled while I worked. I took photographs. I called his mother so she could listen to him scream. And in the visions, I enjoyed every second, with the pure sadism I’d always feared lived inside me. “This is what you wanted. What you’re truly capable of. What you fear you are.”
I gathered what little moisture I could and spat directly into his burning face.
The rage that twisted his features made the bone walls crack. The throne groaned like a living thing in pain. The temperature spiked until each breath seared my lungs.
“Such spirit requires special attention. Let me show you the price of defiance.”
Chains of solidified agony held me spread in the air like a mounted butterfly. These weren’t just hot—they carried every pain he’d ever inflicted, condensed into material form. Thousands of deaths flooded through me simultaneously. I drowned while burning, while being flayed, while being crushed. All at once. All eternal.
But worse was experiencing their punishments from the inside. I wasn’t just watching Marion’s legs being destroyed—I was Marion, feeling acid eat through muscle. I wasn’t just seeing Isaac’s tongue carved away—I was choking on the blood. Sela’s skin peeling became my skin.
“Your defiance caused this,”the Judge said. “Every second you resist costs them more pain.”
The guilt hit harder than any physical torture. I was the reason my friends were broken.
He began burning symbols into my skin with fingers that wrote in fire. My fingers he broke and healed—just to break again. Molten metal poured into wounds that sealed around it, trapping the heat inside forever.
Through it all, the Executioner roared. He fought chains that should have been unbreakable, and I could hear metal starting to give way.
“You were made to serve, not to feel,”the Judge called without looking at him.
“For centuries I was your blade. Nothing but steel in your hand. But she looked at me and saw something worth saving.”The Executioner’s voice came out strained against the chains. “You taught me cruelty. She taught me mercy.”
The metal restraints groaned as he struggled, blood running down his arms where the burning chains cut deepest.
“The difference isn’t the pain but whether they deserve it!”His words came out raw, desperate. “I was your monster. Now I’m hers. And monsters can love without destroying what they care for.”
The chains cracked louder as his muscles tore and reformed, ancient bindings finally giving way to something stronger than divine compulsion. The Judge turned with genuine surprise. “Impossible.”
The Executioner burst free in an explosion that sent shrapnel through servants. His blade swung for a killing blow.
The Judge caught it bare-handed. “You still don’t understand your place.”
He ripped the weapon away and began the real punishment. Skin peeled in patterns. Bones broken with patience. He forced the Executioner’s head toward me.
“I pulled you from the void when this realm was young. Gave you form, purpose, power.”The Judge’s voice was molten fury. “You are nothing without me. Less than the dust beneath my feet. I can unmake you with a thought—scatter your essence so completely that even the memory of your existence burns away.”
His grip tightened on the Executioner’s skull. “Look what your pathetic weakness caused. Her pain is your fault. Every scream, every cut, every moment of agony—all because you forgot what you are.”
The Executioner’s helmet turned to me. Through the eye slits, I saw everything—desperation, love, and an apology that broke what was left of my heart.
“I should have protected you,”he said through damaged vocal cords. “I’m sorry.”
The Judge leaned closer, his burning breath searing the Executioner’s exposed skin. “You should have. But you couldn’t. You are my creation. My weapon. My tool. Nothing more. And tools that break get replaced.”
When the Executioner couldn’t move anymore, the Judge pinned him down. His foot came down on that ancient helm.
“Watch him die,”the Judge looked at me and even though I wanted to look away, I couldn’t. “Watch the only thing that ever cared for you become nothing.”
The chains holding me suddenly released. I crashed to the ground, limbs useless, unable to do anything but watch.
The Judge’s foot pressed down on the Executioner’s helmet. It began to crack. Through the widening splits, his crimson gaze stayed on me. The helmet shattered. The Executioner crumbled to ash that scattered on winds from nowhere.
At the same time, something inside me shattered too. The grief came out as a sound that scraped my throat raw. I clawed at my own face, tore at my hair. “Please,”I begged. “Bring him back. I’ll do anything.”
The Judge fed on my despair. Then the grief transformed into rage so pure it felt like swallowing molten metal.
