Ravenous Beast & The Ambition Part 1

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WARNING: BLOOD AND GORE

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"WE ARE SORRY!"

"PLEASE SPARE US FOR THE LAST TIME! PLEASE, NICK!"

"WE BEG YOU!"

"PLEASE SPARE US!"

The girl with raven hair and her two friends pleaded and cried out in their screams as they were dragged into a spacious room, ominously referred to as the torture chamber, which was illuminated by the fiery glow of torches.

"Shut up!" Nick's voice thundered through the grand hall, his tone laced with raw fury.

Nick's piercing gaze bore into them as he tightened his grip around the bound wrists of the raven-haired girl. "If you truly cared, you never would have carried out those heinous deeds in the first place. Now, prepare to face the reckoning you rightfully deserve." 

With an unyielding pull, he dragged the girl forward, his strides echoing against the cold stone floor as he advanced toward the imposing throne—a masterpiece of black, gold, and crimson that loomed over the chamber like a silent judge. Without hesitation, he shoved her to the ground, where two boys already knelt in subdued defeat, their hands bound just as tightly. Wendy, his unwavering partner, had delivered them there alongside Nick, ensuring they, too, would share in the fate that awaited them.

"Please! We were only following orders from the higher-ups!" the blonde boy beside the raven-haired girl stammered, his voice quivering with fear. Desperation clung to his every word as his wide eyes darted between Nick and Wendy, searching for even the slightest hint of mercy. "You don't understand... If she saw us—if she knows—we're as good as dead!" 

But his pleas fell on deaf ears. Nick and Wendy exchanged a glance; their smirks were unnervingly calm, as if his terror amused them. The weight of his impending fate settled over him like a suffocating shadow, but the two before him remained unmoved, their unsettling composure far more terrifying than any threats they could have uttered.

"Wasn't death the reason for hiring me and leading you all to her? The three of you are well aware that I am Nick Lockwood, Her Majesty's left hand. What did you expect when you saw me at your doorstep, if not death? "I thought everyone already knew," Nick drawled, his voice a low, ominous rumble that sent a chill through the air.

"I am Her Majesty's personal Grim Reaper of doom, the one who collects the souls she... drops dead." 

A wicked smirk curved his lips, accentuating the sharp allure of Nick's handsome features. The eerie gleam in his dark, striking cerulean eyes flickered like a predator savoring the hunt with his expression effortlessly blending charm with something far more dangerous and foreboding.

"Nick, enough with the intimidation," Wendy mused, a smug smile playing on her lips as she twirled a strand of her sleek dark red hair, the black highlights catching the dim light-like threads of shadow. "We wouldn't want them to exhaust all their tears before Her Majesty has the chance to enjoy the spectacle, now would we?" 

Her tone was light, almost teasing, yet laced with cruel amusement. Tilting her head slightly, she cast a lazy glance at their trembling captives. "Why not let them bask in what little happiness they have left? After all, it won't last long."

A low, sinister chuckle rumbled from Nick's throat, and his amusement was evident as he gave a slow, deliberate nod. Meanwhile, the remaining trio had already crumbled beneath the weight of their fear, their eyes glistening with unshed tears before breaking into full-fledged sobs.

The grand doors, an intricate wooden piece of gold and black, creaked open with an air of regal authority. As they parted, a breathtaking young woman stepped through, moving with an effortless grace that commanded attention. She was draped in a flowing white elegant dress, its delicate fabric whispering against the floor yet trailing behind her as if weightless, defying gravity with every poised step. 

Without hesitation, Her Majesty glided toward the towering throne, her presence both ethereal and imposing. The moment she neared, Nick, Wendy, and the trembling trio dropped into deep bows, their heads lowered in unquestioning reverence.

The moment her gaze settled upon the trembling trio, a wicked smile unfurled across her lips, a silent promise of the tempest about to be unleashed. They were not just captives—they were doomed spectators, bound to bear witness to the wrath that lurked just beneath her poised exterior.

"Nick, there's something that piques my curiosity," the brunette seated upon the throne mused her voice, a rich, ominous melody that slithered through the air. "Would you do me the honor of indulging it?" 

As she spoke, Wendy, positioned gracefully at the left side of the throne, extended a glass of wine into her waiting hand. Dressed in a sleek black leather jacket and matching pants, the silver chains accentuating her attire gleamed under the dim light, adding an edge to her already formidable presence. 

Nick, clad in the same dark ensemble, dipped into a respectful bow, his movements precise and unwavering. Both he and Wendy were not merely servants or comrades—they were Her Majesty's grim reapers, harbingers of fate who stood at the ready to enact her will.

"Yes, Your Majesty. I would be truly honored," Nick replied, offering a bow in acknowledgment with his gaze lowered in utter respect.

A sinister grin spread across Her Majesty's lips as she took a slow sip of her wine, the rich red liquid lingering on her tongue, adding enriched flavor to the chaos brewing in her head. Her soulless eyes, brimming with unsettling darkness, remained fixed on the trembling trio before her as intimidating domination kept emanating from her.

Bound by fear and submission, they knelt in silence, and their heads bowed low with their bodies stiff under the crushing weight of her presence. Though no words escaped their lips, their quiet, ceaseless tears betrayed the depths of their despair, which acted as a silent offering to the one who now held their fate in her grasp.

"Nick, tell me," Her Majesty purred, her deep, velvety voice slithering through the air like a cold whisper against everyone's spines. "Do I appear beautiful in this attire?" 

A heavy silence fell over the room, the question hanging like a blade poised to strike. 

Nick met her gaze without hesitation, his expression impassive, devoid of fear or flattery, as he replied confidently, "No, Your Majesty." He then added with his tone flat and unwavering, "You don't."

"That's precisely why you hold the favored position in my court. I despise the color white. So, would you object if I choose to adorn it with something more exquisite—like blood? The process might turn rather gruesome," Majesty inquired, taking another sip of her wine.

"No matter the method, Your Majesty, you must always exude beauty—after all, you are our 'King,'" Nick remarked, his lips curling into a dark smirk. 

His words hung in the air like a whispered oath, and as if in response, an even more sinister smile spread across their King's exquisite face—a smile laced with danger, power, and amusement that sent chills through the very torture room.

The instant Her Majesty's smile and Nick's chilling words settled into their restless minds, a dreadful realization struck them like a dagger to the gut. Their hearts plummeted, sinking deep into their stomachs, while their already frantic pulse spiraled into a wild, uncontrollable frenzy. 

Terror seized them with an iron grip, for they now understood the cruel truth—Her Majesty was toying with them, savoring their fear, just as a cat toys with a helpless, beaten-down rat before delivering the final blow.

Satisfied with the response from her most trusted confidant, Her Majesty leisurely extended her empty wine glass toward Wendy, who wordlessly accepted it before stepping back into the shadows. 

A shift rippled through the air as Her Majesty's silver-grey eyes darkened, bleeding into a deep, menacing crimson. Folding her arms across her chest with an air of absolute authority, she turned her piercing gaze toward the trembling figure in the center, with her presence suffocating every captive kneeled before her.

"You!" Her Majesty's voice sliced through the air like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. Her crimson gaze bore down on the trembling figure in the center, suffocating the girl under its weight. "You, in the middle! What compelled you to pursue that boy—the one I explicitly deemed… forbidden?" 

The room grew colder with the sheer force of her presence as she stated, "I distinctly recall issuing a warning to each of you," she continued, her tone laced with chilling authority, "I made it undeniably clear—emphasizing the imperative of avoiding any contact with that boy. And yet," her voice dropped to a deadly whisper, "Despite my explicit directive, your coven dare to defy me. Why?"

"Your-your Majesty, please! Forgive us! We-we're only doing what we were—"

"Do you believe I crave your pathetic apology?" Her Majesty's voice dripped with disdain, each word striking like a lash. "How utterly foolish of you to assume such a thing." 

She took a slow, measured breath, though the weight of her presence only grew heavier. "Your words are nothing but wasted air," she continued, her tone smooth yet laced with an unshakable finality, "Save your breath—for I will unearth the truth, whether you offer it willingly or not." 

Her piercing gaze swept over the trembling trio, exuding an air of calm so unnervingly potent that it made them feel as though the very ground beneath them might crumble at any moment.

The trio trembled uncontrollably, every fiber of their being consumed by the suffocating grip of fear. Deep down, they knew—no plea, no desperate excuse could alter the inevitable.

Their fate was already sealed, and there was no escaping the death that loomed over them ever so closely.

The tan-skinned, raven-haired girl, kneeling at the center, drew in a shaky breath, summoning what little courage she had left. Without pausing to consider the consequences of her defiance, she dared to speak—unwittingly calling death a lot earlier than they could've anticipated. 

"Your Majesty," she stammered, her voice wavering yet laced with quiet resolve. "Since you're not—not going to spare us… we have no reason to answer any of your—" 

Before the raven-haired girl could finish her sentence, her words were violently stolen away. In the blink of an eye, as if materializing from thin air, Her Majesty appeared beside them—swift and merciless. 

With a single, brutal motion, she plunged her hand straight through the throat of the kneeling teen to the girl's left. A sickening crack echoed through the hall as flesh and bone gave way beneath her unrelenting grip. The girl's cerulean eyes widened in sheer horror, and her breath caught in her throat as she watched her best friend, Oliver, collapse backward—lifeless, with his body hitting the floor with a hollow finality of loud and clear 'thud.' 

Shaking with tears brimming in her eyes, she forced herself to look up. But the sight awaiting her sent an even deeper wave of terror crashing over her.