Rated 16+ for violence and brief sexual hintings.
Okay guys, this is Chapter 1 Part 2. Its a bit longer than the last part and I hope you'll bear with me. Critiques, comments or feedback are appreciated.
Please read Part 1 before reading this. Its not compulsory to understand this post (as far as i know) but it's advisable to do so.
The link being Here
Feel free to ask anything and I'll try my best to answer. And remeber - The harsher the critique, the happier I am.
Part 2
I woke up and found myself facing the dark stone ceiling. My attempts to rise were foiled by something that held me back. I frowned in confusion for I could feel each of my limbs attached to my body; they were functioning appropriately and yet something firmly held me back from my hands and legs. I bent my head forward in an effort to observe the unanticipated and awkward dilemma that I found myself in. What I saw was not pleasant. I was nailed down to a wooden platform. My eyes widened in shock and I felt as if I were about to collapse. My shock was followed by surprise as I gasped in alarm, realizing that none of my wounds hurt. I looked closer at my wounds and felt that they had already healed around the nails. I moved my right hand slowly and almost screamed in disgust as it slid painlessly around the nail as if the skin and bones that had now been replaced by the nail had not existed before.
I looked away terrified trying not to think about my hopeless situation anymore. I had been ready to face death even though my body and instincts strongly disagreed with my decision. But I had been oblivious of the tortures that would await me if I had yielded to the men that had been hunting me. Now that I was indeed experiencing theses tortures, I cursed myself for not trying harder to escape from the clutches of the hunters.
If it were not for the awkward way in which my legs were nailed down, widening the gap between and the rectangular shape of the platform, I would have been in a similar predicament to when our Savior Jesus Christ was nailed onto a cross. I smiled and then frowned angrily. Who was I to compare myself to our Savior? I begged for forgiveness silently before sighing. Having survived the initial shock of my capture, I now found myself facing the ceiling again, needlessly breathing and slowly approaching the gates of boredom. Unfortunately the vehicle that carried me towards these gates was impeded.
“Arianna Robinson. Daughter of Robert Robinson and Mary Robinson, Sister of William Robinson. Aged seventeen; black hair; blue eyes; disappeared three days ago while in your room. First act of treason: brutally murdering your parents and completely burning down the Robinson Estate. Am I right?” a cold smooth voice asked.
My surprise hindered me from denying what acts I was accused of. I had been able to neither sense nor hear the arrival of whoever spoke to me now. Being a vampire I knew that I should have heard him approaching. I willed my head to turn towards the voice, hoping dearly that my face had not betrayed any hints of surprise to this man.
Two men towered above me. I estimated that the man closest to me, standing still as if he was a statue, was twice as tall as I was. Also he looked as he was fully comprised of large muscles. To put it shortly he was colossal in stature and seemed to have mastered the art of immobility. A mask made of black cloth covered his face. His chest was bare and showed his huge physique. The only form of attire he wore apart from his mask was the short black trousers that covered his groin. I had never seen anyone as big as the man who stood beside me. I could instantly picture him as a guard or executioner of wherever I was in, and this thought increased my fear of him, for I knew his muscles were not solely for chopping heads.
The other man though was barely visible to my eyes, for he hid behind the shadow of the executioner. I looked back at the executioner before deciding that it was inevitably the shadowed man who had uttered the words earlier. I struggled to perceive this man, flouting the limited access to my movement and sight but found it impossible to do so. All I could observe was his slim hand, covered with a sleek black cloth that I had seen before worn by lawyers.
“You are most likely a newborn.” The same voice that I had heard before said.
If it were not for my heightened hearing, I would not have made out these whispered words. Before I could reply though, he started talking again. I was now completely confident that it was the small man behind the executioner that was addressing me.
“Our leader might let you live when he sees you. He likes… specimens with such… splendid gifts. That is, if you are willing to cooperate with us,” he continued.
I frowned and rethought my initial speech. I did not know that Vampires were allowed to live if they cooperated with humans. In church, we had all learned that Vampires were demonic spirits that bring sickness and anger, spreading their disease as they pass. What were these men implying then? Were they indisputably willing to let me live if I let them indulge in my sexual capabilities? I blushed at the thought, however perverse it seemed. Even through my ordeals with the vampire who had infested me with his sickness, I had succeeded in protecting my virginity. It was this achievement and the pride that came with it that enabled me to refuse this wicked proposal and stick to the rules of our Heavenly Father.
“I refuse to act in any such a wicked manner! Please, I... I didn’t want to become this… thing, but you must help me, please!” I did not fear these men for they were humans, my own kind. They would understand the plight I was in and assist me in any way they could. “I can get you money if you want; I've got a lot of property under my name too. You could become rich, I’ll…”
“What makes you think we want money you filthy hag!” spat the small man, the hatred and vile pleasure in his voice were clearly audible to me.
I was shocked at this sudden change in his tone and the hatred that it contained. I could not speak for a few seconds for I was rethinking my initial conclusion relating to these men.
“But we are all God’s children... Our Lord does not turn his back on the sick or the weak! Please! I beg you to…” I began again, angry and confused at his previous answer.
“Silence!” the man commanded, the power in his voice made me stop speaking almost instantly. Achieivng the necessary silence, the man continued, “You have no right to use the Lord's name. You were fated to become a bloodsucker ever since the day you were born. God never loved you; he would never love a bitch like you. You were born a bastard, and you lived up to your title by burning the innocent Robinson family alive. You do not deserve to live, let alone breathe the air we breathe.” The man stopped to take a breath before continuing, but seeing my face, decided that he had done enough damage.
My face was unperceivable to me, but I could imagine the hurt and distressing expression it was wearing. My face contorted in an attempt to weep, using muscles that had recently been used thoroughly. I found myself unable to reply to his accusations. I had never thought that a human could be this cruel. Surely they understand the position I am in? Surely they would not believe that God has forsaken me?
“Please, I…” I began to plead, but again, he cut me off.
“Do not try to trick me! I will ravish your very soul until you assume your true voice!” his voice was firm and I did not, however impossible as it seemed, doubt his ability to do so for even a second.
“What have I ever done to you?” I whimpered angrily, unable to do anything in my nailed state.
The man smiled as if he had been expecting this question, he walked around the table until he was behind me and then whispered, into my intent ears, “You were born.”
I did not know how to speak after his reply. The damp ceiling seemed to spin around me, a whirlpool of rocks. Something seemed to awaken in me then, something that had been lying dormant in my mind since I had last taken a life.
“Show yourself if you dare!” I spat out, barely restraining myself from snarling.
My surprise at this sudden outburst did not last for long for I felt a burst of energy pulse throughout my body. I snarled and started to struggle, opening up the wounds inflicted by the nails. The pain seemed to further increase this madness inside me. I was swept in its titanic waves that pushed me with it, resisting my resistance to its appealing pull. I did not give in to it completely but judging from the way my body began to writhe, I could assume that this sudden temptation had already taken control of most of my body. I felt as if there was another presence in my mind, refusing to let go of the control it had gained after a prolonged period of slumber.
The man started to laugh. He laughed as if he had won something, as if he was right and everyone knew it. I knew better though. This was just one man who did not have faith in our Holy Father. This man was a parasite himself, achieving entertainment from his torture of Vampires. I knew that there were more of him, but humans were better than Vampires. They had humility and humanity. Vampires on the other hand did not have either of them. The Church had made that clear to all of its followers. It had taught us the evils of life and that we must do anything and everything in our power to escape from these evils. Maybe that was why this man hated me so much. Maybe he did not know that I was innocent. Maybe if I proved my innocence, he would understand my troubles and help me.
As if reading my mind the man replied “If you are willing to help us… restrain more of your kind, we are willing to let you go free.” He had resumed his former position behind the executioner. All hatred and passion in his voice had been lost and gone.
The prospect of freedom did not temp me. In my current being, freedom seemed worse than imprisonment. Yet if I could persuade this man to ensure my safety and cooperation, his suggestion would not seem biased or flawed. But something stopped me from agreeing. Would I choose to help these human or help the Vampires, the same Vampires who had captured me, turned me and left me for dead. But I would be imprisoning more innocent souls like me, indirectly leading them into torture, leaving them in this prison to rot for eternity.
“Could you… could you help me then… to live I mean, instead of granting me my freedom?” I asked almost whispering this time, whispering due to the guilt and empathy that intensified inside of me.
There was a brief pause. It seemed as if the man had not expected my question. Yet he recovered his cool soon enough and replied, “Very well, we will help you in any way we can.”
Although his voice seemed firm I could tell from the slight curvature of his voice into a higher pitch that he was evidently lying. I smiled to myself, although I deeply resented being a Vampire, the powers that came with it were indeed valuable at certain times.
“No,” I forced out the word that would leave me to rot in this prison for the rest of my life.
The executioner that had stood still, barely breathing; now spoke, “I told you sir this. These Bloodsuckers are all the same”
I could guess from his accent and words that this man was from an uneducated background. In any circumstances I would have enjoyed mocking him by comparing his stupidity to my intelligence, but given the current situation I was in no position to do so; and his stupidity did not in any way reduce the threat that he was to me.
The man behind him sighed. It was a smug, conceited sigh that completely extinguished all doubt I had in my decision and replaced it with rage yet again.
“I suppose your prior assumption was correct. But I expected her to contemplate the implications of her choice.” Said the man his voice still contained the conceit I had felt before.
He was mocking me with his sophisticate words that the executioner evidently did not understand for all he did was grunt.
“Carry on then,” the man said.
“Yessir,” the executioner said; his voice tainted with excitement.
Before I could grasp his intentions, the colossal chunk of bone and muscle removed my hands from their nail prisons. I screamed as pain suddenly shot up through my arms, engulfing me in its scorching grasp and retreating again almost as soon as it had appeared. The agony that I had felt in my hands had vanished now, replaced with a cool sensation that eased me greatly. I looked at my hands and smiled for they bore no evidence, apart from the blood that stained it, of the holes that were present before.
My mind had been naïve before, unable to comprehend the damage that had been done to my physique while it had slept before. It assumed that an overwhelming sense of anger could drive me to fight back and gain superiority among the humans that stood beside me but it was sorely mistaken. Apart from the anti-violent theme that dwelled in the foreground my conscious, my body was too frail to do so either. Before I could argue against it, the executioner hauled out my legs off the nails. This time though there was no time to indulge in the pleasures of the relaxing sensation I had felt before for the man turned me around, handling me as if I were a twig, devoid of delicacy and without any effort. To my absolute horror the vile brute then replaced my hands to their previous positions, pushing them down with such force that my skin and muscles were torn apart as my hands were driven over the nails. The moment after the excruciating pain left my body I regained control over my muscles and tried vainly avoid the detainment of my legs. Concrete hands seized my ankles and thrust my legs back onto the platform before forcing them onto the nails again. My legs resisted the push of the hands for an instant, giving me a moment of hope, but the sound of bone breaking and awareness of skin tearing that came with a wave of insufferable torture wiped out the dim light of hope, forever barring it from me. As before though, the wounds healed over the nails, slowly this time, but healed nonetheless. I was relieved for I thought that these men would succumb to the pain they had given me and imprison me.
“You parasites have the vile ability to heal yourselves, an ability Satan has bestowed upon you. But there are wounds that even the dead cannot repair. One of these substances is the rare Werewolf saliva. They may be your brother clan, but they have one of the only substances that can prove lethal to your kind. It burns your skin and prevents the process of healing that you rely on so much. So we… humans have found an effective way to utilize this valuable liquid other than just throwing it away. Observe.” The intellectual man said, still unseen to me.
I turned my head as far as possible, trying to view the actions of the executioner. He poured a liquid onto a long black whip, letting it pour down naturally, covering virtually every inch of the whip. He let go of the beaker that had contained the transparent liquid, it fell onto the floor and clattered to a stop. I turned my head again, resuming my prior, comparatively relaxing position. Whether or not the man had lied, I would have to endure a certain amount of pain. My lack of preparation for this oncoming whipping made me shudder in fear. Tensing my muscles, I waited my looming doom. Nothing happened for a few seconds, relieved and believing that they had no intention of whipping an innocent woman I relaxed and attempted to speak. The whip landed on my back with a horrific speed, meeting its mark and cutting through my thin clothes. I screamed out loud as the pain shot through my body. I realized almost instantly that the man had indeed spoken the truth, for neither the pain nor the sting subsided. My only comfort was the thin layer of cloth that dampened the ferociousness of the blows that I received. But to my misfortune the man who stood hidden from me realized this as well.
“Stop!” he commanded.
The executioner, clearly puzzled by this command, none the less stopped. I heard the man’s footsteps echo through the room as he approached me. Even with my overwhelming curiosity I could not lift my head and face the man for my body was too weak to do so. The man pulled at the back of my shirt and started cutting it with something sharp until I was bare-backed.
“What soft skin you have,” he said gently tracing my spinal cord with his fingers sending a chill through my body, “too bad you refused to indulge in the pleasure we offered you.”
His fingers sent shivers down my spine. I blushed, embarrassed at this exposure of me. My wounds restricted me, restricting me from struggling or resisting his touch. He did not have any right to treat me in such a sinful manner, I felt exposed and… hopeless. He did this several times, sending chills that added to the pain from the wounds. But then a few moments later he withdrew his hand and said “continue” to the executioner who did not seen disturbed by his actions.
The whipping started again. I screamed aloud as it did, trembling as the whip reached my back again and again, making my body convulse in agony. The lack of cloth exposed my skin to the malevolent whip as it touched my skin, searing through it, allied with the power of the saliva. I was swept away by its powerful push. No amount of struggling or resistance allowed me to bear the pain that I felt. I screamed again, my shrill suffering voice echoed through the chamber and succeeded only in increasing my torture. My body quivered and trembled against my wished, trying to endure the suffering. My mind was blank, only pain remained in its empty halls, increasing, spreading through the endless corridors.
The executioner on the other hand was having much fun. I could hear him snigger lightly when I whimpered painfully. After a while he started playing a small game to rid himself from the growing boredom. His ghastly game, trying to whip an open wound yet again and again, succeeded in making me scream and cry out at the same time. No tears exited my eyes to flow down my cheeks but I was still crying, crying in the burning agony. He whipped me for what seemed like an eternity of torture, indulging in my screams as if they were cushions that soothed his skin and eased his body.
Finally the executioner, or more appropriately torturer stopped and without wasting any more time, removed my hands and legs from the nails. I felt nothing. My body had been given torments until it could take no more. I would not know if someone cut me into pieces now, I would not care either. My mind and body had gone past its limit, now I lay on the platform, paralyzed and vulnerable, unable to think straight, pain lingering in my mind even though the torture had stopped. I was lifted off the table and thrust down onto the ground. The man then removed the remaining shreds of cloth I had covering my chest. This took a certain amount of time for my shirt had bonded with my skin becoming somewhat like an outer crust due to the amount of blood I had lost. I was now waist-up exposed. I would have blushed or instinctively covered my breasts if I could, but I could not. I lay on the wall innocently, unable to defend myself even if this horrendous creature decided to rape me. I felt as if I was… better dead than alive now. Once my shredded shirt was on the floor, the man lifted my hands and forced me into another shirt, clearly made for male prisoners. I impulsively attempted to wince every time the shirt touched one of my open wounds, but could not feel anything other than a cold, ethereal feeling that blocked all movement of my limbs. The shirt fit loosely around me, somewhat similar to what I had worn before. I was then, almost instantly dragged through the numerous halls by my legs.
It was while being dragged through these dim passageways that I felt my senses returning. I could feel the cold, hard stones of the barely smooth floor rubbing maliciously against my wounds, ripping them further apart, hurting me more. I could feel my head banging on the uneven ground and smell the scent of copper and burning rubber overwhelming all others. Pain shot through me in rhythmic patterns, the muscles in my body tensing and vibrating ever so slightly.
Now I know what a broom feels like.
That was what entered my mind as I was dragged on, a brief and futile attempt to awaken my sense of humor and optimism. Yet I could not think freely. It was as if something was barring me from doing so, slowly willing me to let go. I resisted, impulsively.
The executioner stopped in front of a large prison and then lifted me off the ground. I heard a rusty door of a cage open, barely enough for me to enter. I was thrown into the cage then, as if I were a bucket full of garbage. But I was more relieved than anything else while I fell into the cage, relieved that I had not been an instrument to satisfy his sexual desires. As I fell into the cage I happened to glimpse three pair of bloodthirsty eyes staring at me. The next thing I knew, my face and the ground became one and I let go, embracing the feeling of liberation that had been pulling me before.
Thanks for reading, that's it for Chapter one. Well, what do you think?
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