The Truth

Lyra's days passed in a monotonous routine: wake, eat, endure experiments, eat again, more experiments, sleep, and repeat. During that time, she realized the horrifying truth. These people, these monsters in human skin, had created her not out of some grand ambition but to sell her. To sell her as a top-tier slave, a prostitute for those willing to pay the highest price.

Disgust welled up inside her, but she kept her mask in place, waiting. She was going to kill every last one of them, but she had to be patient. Even with her power, escape wouldn't be easy. The lab was well-guarded—mages, alchemists, powerful artifacts, and potions. She would need to bide her time.

….

Months passed, and the experiments grew harsher, more painful.

They subjected her to electric shocks, heat, and even ice-cold temperatures, all in controlled amounts, to test how much pain her body could endure. The scientists measured her responses, taking perverse delight in how little she cried out, noting that she could endure suffering longer than expected, which made her a more "valuable" product. 

They trained her voice to be soft, alluring, and submissive by forcing her to sing for hours, using shock collars that tightened around her throat when her tone wasn't "perfect." The strain on her vocal cords was immense, and often she'd lose her voice entirely, only for them to forcefully heal her with potions and make her start again.

To break her spirit and make her more compliant, they kept her awake for days on end. They used loud noises, flashing lights, and painful shocks to prevent her from sleeping. The lack of rest caused her to hallucinate, lose control of her body, and break down mentally. They recorded her reactions, noting how the deprivation weakened her resistance to orders.

One morning, they injected her with a new substance—a sedative. Lyras body resisted it but she pretended to loose consciousness. As they moved her from her room on a stretcher, Lyra extended her mana, scanning the facility beyond the confies of her small cell.

It was a labyrinth of fortified chambers and powerful defenses. Escaping wouldn't be easy. But she could sense that her journey wasn't yet over. They were moving her deeper underground, through a portal, to somewhere unknown.

Eventually, they approached the portal. It shimmered with magic, and they stepped through, arriving in an underground facility. Lyra had hoped this was her chance to escape, but the new location seemed even more fortified than the lab. Worse, she now understood why she had been moved. They were going to "test" her quality—to make sure she was the perfect product.

Hours passed as she lay on the stretcher in a cold, dim room. She knew what was coming. She could sense it.

The door creaked open. A large, fat, man lumbered into the room, his piggish face leering at her. His eyes roamed her body with sickening interest.

"Hm, not bad," he grunted, stepping closer.

Lyra's eyes narrowed. "Stay back."

"And if I don't?" The man chuckled darkly

She could see the malice in his eyes, the confidence of someone who thought himself invincible in this dark, fortified place. He reached for his belt, slowly unbuckling it, and every second that passed felt like a ticking bomb inside her chest.

Lyra scanned the room, her thoughts scrambling for a solution. She couldn't use her magic—not yet. If she did, they'd know, and then she would never escape. But she wasn't going to let this monster touch her, never.

Desperation surged through her veins, giving her a split-second idea. The stretcher. It lay at an odd angle near the door. If she timed it right…

The man was almost upon her now, his belt unfastened, his hands reaching toward her like claws. Her instincts screamed at her to move.

He took one step onto the edge of the stretcher, and in that moment, Lyra struck. She shot forward, grabbing both ends of the stretcher, and with a sudden burst of strength, she yanked it toward herself.

The man's eyes widened in surprise as the stretcher slid beneath his feet. His massive body toppled backward, crashing to the ground with a thunderous thud. The air seemed to vibrate with the force of his fall, but Lyra didn't stop. She couldn't. She leapt onto him before he could recover, grabbing a jagged rock from the floor.

She brought it down on his head—hard.

Crack.

The man let out a roar of pain, his hand flailing as blood spattered across the cold, damp floor. But Lyra didn't stop. She slammed the rock down again, her arms trembling with the force, her vision blurring with the sheer violence of it. She could feel his skull yielding beneath each blow, the sickening crunch reverberating in her bones.

But it wasn't enough.

With a guttural growl, the man's massive hand shot out, grabbing her arm in a vice-like grip. His strength was terrifying—inhuman. He flung her off him like she weighed nothing, sending her crashing into the stone wall. Pain exploded through her back and shoulders, the impact knocking the wind from her lungs.

"Goddamnit!" he roared, stumbling to his feet, blood running in thick streams down his face.

Lyra gasped for air, her chest heaving as she scrambled to get back up. But the man was already on her, his hand fisting in her hair and yanking her head back. White-hot pain shot through her scalp as she was forced to look up at his grotesque, bloodied face. He was grinning, his teeth stained with blood.

"You pest" he hissed, raising his fist.

Before she could react, his fist came crashing down. The punch landed squarely on her cheek, and for a split second, the world went black. Stars exploded behind her eyes, and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth The man didn't stop—his hand grabbed her face and cruelly smashed her head against the cold, unforgiving ground. 

The back of her skull slammed into the floor with a sickening crack. A wave of nausea rolled through her, and for a moment, Lyra feared she'd black out. But she couldn't. She couldn't afford to lose consciousness.

Fighting the pain, she instinctively sent a tiny thread of magic through her body, just enough to dull the agony and keep her awake. Her eyes fluttered shut as she went limp, feigning unconsciousness. The man, breathing heavily, loomed over her, staring down at her still form with a self-satisfied sneer.

"Stupid woman," he spat, leaning down to grab her shirt.

As his fingers brushed her skin, Lyra's eyes snapped open.

With every ounce of strength left in her, she surged upward, slamming her forehead into the exact spot where the rock had already cracked his skull. The impact was brutal. She felt the sickening give of bone, and the man let out a garbled scream as he stumbled back, his hands clutching his head.

This time, he didn't get back up.

Blood poured from the wound, pooling beneath him as his body twitched, then went still. Lyra's breaths came in ragged gasps as she knelt beside him, her heart thundering in her ears. She reached out with trembling hands, pressing her fingers to his neck.

No pulse.

He was dead.

She had done it. She was alive.

For a moment, Lyra just sat there, staring at his lifeless form, her mind reeling. Her body ached, her face throbbed where his fist had connected, and the back of her head was still pounding from where it had slammed against the floor. But none of that mattered now.

She had survived.

Lyra slowly rose to her feet, her breathing ragged, her body trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline. She wiped the blood from her mouth, her eyes filled with cold determination.

 She glanced down at the man's still, grotesque form, his lifeless eyes stared blankly up at her, and for a long moment, she just looked at him. 

And then, a cold smile tugged at her lips.

She leaned down slightly, her voice a quiet, mocking whisper. 

"…Stupid man"

Her words dripped with disdain, echoing the very phrase he had hurled at her moments before.