The Burning Curse

Stone walls of the torture chamber loomed high and suffocating, their cold, weathered surfaces bearing silent witness to the horrors unfolding within. As the air oozed with the metallic scent of blood, the dim, wavering glow from the torches danced like spectral flames, weaving an eerie tapestry of light and shadow. It was as if the very walls themselves absorbed the pain, the anguish, the screams that had echoed through these halls for centuries, with an ancient darkness lingering in every corner.

A sharp crack of a whip sliced through the air, landing with a cruel strike against the captive witch protector. "Where are the other witch protectors?" demanded a gruff, menacing voice, its tone dripping with authority. 

She gasped, her body shuddering from the searing impact, yet she didn't give up. "You'll get nothing from me," she spat, her voice rough but unwavering. "Kill me if you must, but I will never betray my kind."

Tied to the ceiling in the center of the chamber with long ropes, the witch protector's arms were stretched above her head, bound tightly with thick, rough cords. She was barely standing on her toes, her body trembling as she strained for any support, the ropes biting deeper into her skin with each passing moment.

With each strike, the torturer's whip landed mercilessly, treating her pain as nothing more than a fleeting moment in their relentless quest for power.

"Tell us where they are!" another torturer shouted, slapping her across the face. The sound of the strike echoed, but she closed her eyes briefly, gathering strength from within.

"I told you," she whispered, her voice quieter but no less fierce, "I will not betray my kind. Kill me, if it's what you want. But I will never surrender."

The torturers stood around her, breathing heavily, their anger mounting. They drew closer, tightening the circle around her, their eyes full of brutal intent. But just as one of them reached for a dagger to torture her further, the door to the chambers creaked open.

Felix stepped into the room, his presence instantly commanding the space with a heavy, suffocating aura. His cold gaze swept over the scene, resting on the bloodied, beaten witch protector without showing any emotion. There was something chilling about the way he looked at her, as if the man who had once made sure no one died in the war was gone, replaced by a man consumed by a thirst for brutality—one who showed no mercy.

"General Felix Hellstern," the torturer who had been questioning the witch protector stammered, straightening at his presence. "We—"

Felix raised a hand, silencing him with a single motion. His gaze remained locked on the witch protector, who met his stare with a look of defiance, her lip trembling but her eyes sharp.

Without a word, Felix turned and gave a curt nod to the torturers. "Take her to the courtyard," he commanded, his voice cold, devoid of compassion.

As they led the woman out of the chamber, Felix followed, his mind fogging with his childhood memories. The witch protectors were the biggest threat to humankind. However, Felix's hatred for them was not a political affair—it was personal, heart- wrenchingly personal. One of them had killed his mother, and from that moment, Felix made a vow to himself: he would make sure no witch remained alive.

Outside, at the courtyard, under the vast, moonlit sky, the air was cool, but the tension in there was suffocating as it held the tales of pain and brutality of the witch protector. 

Felix stood with his arms crossed, the cold steel of his gaze cutting through the crowd of royal guards that had gathered. The witch protector, her hands still bound, was thrust to her knees before him, her head held high despite the blood that stained her clothes.

"General," the executioner said, his tone steady and devoid of emotion, "shall I proceed with the beheading and instruct the others to prepare the fire?"

"No," Felix's gaze shifted to the woman. "Tie her to the post," he ordered in a detached, almost casual tone. "Burn her alive. They must be watching us from somewhere far. It will be a lesson for them—that messing with humankind is not something they should ever dream of."

A cold silence fell over the courtyard as the guards moved to do as commanded. The woman's eyes never left Felix, her chest heaving with each labored breath, but she didn't make a sound. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line, her pride still intact despite the agonizing circumstances.

As the ropes tightened around her, she began to chant something. The air around her swirled faster than before, and then her eyes glowed purple for a flickering millisecond. Suddenly, she broke free, her hands slipping from their restraints with unexpected strength. She moved like a ninja—swift, silent, and deadly—and before anyone could react, she seized a dagger from the sheath strapped to the waist of one of the torturers. The blade gleamed in the moonlight, its cold edge catching the light as she lunged toward Felix, her eyes burning with fury and raw pain.

Felix barely flinched as the dagger struck his chest, the sharp point sinking deep into his flesh. "Really? Is that all you've got?" Felix challenged, his voice steady. A brief flash of rage flickered in his eyes, but he remained eerily composed as the guards quickly restrained the woman once more.

She collapsed to her knees, tears of failure mingling with her blood. "How can you humans be so cruel?" she cried, her voice breaking. "Haven't you had enough after killing thousands of our kind, our queen, and then our Last Witch? Why do you have to be so greedy and hunt down the rest of us?"

"Greedy?" Felix grasped the handle of the dagger and pulled the blade from his chest, his face betraying barely any pain—only firmness and resolve. "It's not greed. It's revenge. It's for protection. Filthy creatures like you should be wiped from this planet. You don't deserve to live."

The witch protector scoffed. "How merciless can you humans be? Would you show the same cruelty in your eyes if someone you loved died in front of you?" Her voice dripped with loathing and hatred.

Flashbacks of Felix's childhood surged before his eyes—the innocent boy, crying at his mother's pale, lifeless body. "Enough!" The words, sharp as a dagger, cut through the air, and for a moment, Felix's eyes flickered with something dark—something unsettling.

"Take her away. Burn her," he ordered coldly. "Make sure her screams echo through the chambers of witches."

The guards moved swiftly, hauling the woman toward the fire. She struggled, fear flooding her as she realized her fate—fear of being consumed by the flames, but none of them showed her mercy.

Felix watched, his gaze unwavering, as her defiance burned bright even as the flames began to rise, reaching toward the night sky. The guards bound her to the wooden pyre and began pouring oil over her. As the fire roared to life, Felix stood with his back to the flames, the heat nothing compared to the fire that simmered in his chest.

She screamed, and her agony echoed through the night, but everyone stood still, as if watching a winter bonfire. In her final moments, amid her pain, she let out a desperate curse. "I, Aagtha Barwitchess, the protector of the Chambers of Witches, curse you, General Felix Hellstern. The person you love the most will die before your eyes, in your arms, and you will do nothing but remember this moment, regretting your deeds that earned you this curse."

Clenching his jaw, his back still to the flames, Felix stood motionless as her curse rang through the courtyard like the heavy toll of fate itself.