Chapter 27 – Chains of the Past
Chapter 27 – Chains of the Past
Darkness.
Heavy, suffocating, absolute.
Jessica Moran had long since learned not to fight it. Struggle only made the bindings tighter, the cold bite deeper. Resistance was the reaction they wanted. They fed on it, delighted in it.
She had refused to give them the satisfaction.
But she was tired.
Gods, she was tired.
The weight around her throat was the worst. Thick iron, rusted but unyielding, pressed against her windpipe with cruel precision, forcing each breath into a shallow gasp. The chains on her wrists and ankles kept her in place, limbs splayed and vulnerable, rendering her little more than a fixture in the damp, rotting dungeon.
A prisoner of war.
A defeated warrior.
A trophy.
She had been here before.
And now, she was here again.
The dream wrapped around her like a vice, drowning her in its echoes. She could smell the blood-stained stone, the sickly stench of unwashed bodies, the acrid sting of something burning in the distance.
She could hear them coming.
The heavy, deliberate footfalls of demons dragging their misshapen claws against the walls. A mocking rhythm, a slow, taunting announcement.
She did not flinch.
The first voice slithered into the air, thick with false amusement.
"Oh, how is our little plaything doing?"
Jessica did not answer.
Another chuckled, lower, rasping.
"She still has that look. That one. The one where she thinks she is above us." A pause. Then a sharp, delighted intake of breath. "Shall we remind her?"
Metal clanked. A bucket was dropped beside her, its contents sloshing thickly.
She knew what was coming before she even smelled it.
The first splash hit her chin, warm and slick. The scent hit next—copper, thick and raw. Goat's blood.
Jessica exhaled slowly through her nose, keeping her face carefully blank.
They hated that.
"Drink," one of them cooed, stepping closer, its breath hot against her ear. "Drink, and maybe we'll let you rest for a while."
She said nothing.
Clawed fingers tangled in her hair.
"Or perhaps... you need a little encouragement."
Her head was wrenched back with cruel force. The world tilted, the ceiling of the dungeon blurring in her vision. The rim of the bucket pressed against her lips, the foul liquid forced down her throat.
Jessica did not gag. Did not thrash.
She swallowed once. Twice.
Then—she spit.
The blood sprayed across the demon's face, staining its grayish skin with deep red. The reaction was immediate.
Silence.
And then, laughter.
Cruel, delighted, eager laughter.
Yes.
This was what they wanted.
"Still proud," the first demon purred, wiping the blood from its face with lazy amusement. "Still defiant."
The second demon hummed, stepping closer.
"Then we must keep her busy." A low, pleased murmur. "A healing slut is an obedient one."
Jessica's body tensed, instinct flaring even as she forced herself not to react.
The first brand touched her stomach.
Searing, blinding agony.
Her breath caught, her muscles locking as the heat ate through her skin, the scent of burning flesh filling the air. She barely had time to process before the next one pressed into her arm.
The world pulsed with white-hot pain.
She could hear them laughing, murmuring their sick little comments.
"She burns so nicely."
"Not screaming yet. How disappointing."
"Give it time. She'll break."
Another press of searing metal. Another wave of pain.
Jessica bit down so hard on her tongue that she tasted blood.
She would not scream.
Not for them.
Not for anyone.
A blade slid against her collarbone, a slow, almost affectionate touch.
"You know," one of them mused, "the only reason you're still breathing is because you are his motivation."
Jessica's breath was ragged now, the burns throbbing in waves of unbearable heat, but she remained still. Unyielding.
The demon leaned in, whispering against her ear.
"You should be honored, you know. Our Highness thinks so highly of you."
Another sharp, biting pain—this time, a spike of jagged earth magic spearing through her shoulder.
Her head swayed slightly at the impact, black dots creeping into the edges of her vision.
But she did not break.
The demons clicked their tongues in mock disappointment.
"Still stubborn," one sighed. "A shame."
Then—something wet and heavy hit the floor with a sickening thud.
Jessica's breath stopped.
She didn't want to look.
She didn't want to see.
But she did.
White hair.
Pale skin.
Lifeless, unseeing red eyes staring up at her.
Her body reacted before her mind did.
Her pulse roared, her breath turned shallow. Rage—hot, molten, uncontrollable—ripped through her veins like wildfire.
No.
Her muscles coiled.
No, no, no—
Something inside her cracked.
The chains rattled.
She barely registered the pain as her arms moved, as her shoulders dislocated, as her body fought against the unnatural constraints holding her back.
The demons were laughing, amused at her reaction.
And then they weren't.
Because the chains were breaking.
Jessica's entire body burned—not from the brands, not from the wounds, but from something deeper, something primal, something older than even she understood.
The demons' expressions twisted.
Confusion.
Then—fear.
The chains snapped.
And then—
_
The dungeon flickered.
The cold, damp stone blurred, shifting into something different, something... cleaner.
Her body was no longer bound in an awkward, lunging position.
No.
She was on her back.
Straps bit into her wrists, ankles, and chest. A gag pressed against her teeth.
And the figures surrounding her—
The demons—
No.
The healers—
No.
Their faces shifted, blurring in and out of focus.
Red eyes turned to deep blue, then black, then the unnatural, gleaming gold of something not human.
Their robes flickered from pristine white to tattered cloth, from armor to leathery flesh.
Their voices layered, merging into one another.
"Oh, look at the little princess—"
"She's waking up."
"Still so stubborn."
"Welcome back to the world of the living."
"You should be honored."
Jessica couldn't tell which words were real.
She could still feel the heat searing against her stomach.
Still feel the pain in her joints, still feel her muscles spasming from restraint.
Her breath came fast, too fast.
Her body was in two places at once.
The past. The present.
And she couldn't tell which one was real.
She panicked.
She fought.
And the demons—the healers—held her down.
And the voices continued.
"Restrain her."
"She must be kept weak."
"Lucien, hold her down."
The bindings broke.
_
And then, the real torture began.
___
Lucien gritted his teeth. "Stop!" he snapped. "It's not working!"
But the senior healer had already called for more mana.
Lucien barely had time to react before four more healers rushed forward, their hands glowing as they pressed into Jessica's thrashing body, dumping everything they had into her.
It was like they were taking down a wild animal.
But Jessica wasn't an animal.
She was just a frail, broken girl.
Yet—the rage in her eyes didn't fade. Even as her body seized and convulsed under the crushing flood of mana, her stare was sharp, cutting—like a predator who refused to die.
Something in Lucien shattered.
Tears slipped down his face.
He didn't even understand why.
His voice came out as a whisper, so uncharacteristically small, so unlike him.
"I said stop."
"Why didn't you stop?"
The healers hesitated, startled.
They looked at Lucien—a noble of the highest order, a man known for his cold detachment—now standing there, tears rolling down his face.
The senior healer finally found his voice. "She was hurting herself. She—she was dangerous. If we let her go, she could have killed—"
Lucien barely heard him.
His heart twisted painfully.
Because for some reason, deep inside, he knew.
He had seen that face before.
But that was impossible.
Because he had never seen it before in his life.
And yet—why did his heart tell him otherwise?