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Chapter Fourteen: "Morgana's Pledge"

Warning(s): a/b/o, major blood and torture

Disclaimer: Merlin is not mine unfortunately

Bold is the Alpha voice being used.

Italics in "quotations" is past words or words that are being read in the person's head/thoughts.

Author's Note: Some dialogue for what is going on back at the castle

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The stone halls were splattered with blood. Dull and dreary with a scent lingering on the walls that could make anyone fall to their knees in submission. Death whispered in the ears of the corpses, collecting their souls and taking them back to the unwanted home of the Underworld. Within this chaos, there were men and women. Alphas and Betas, sorcerers - serving the high priestess, the saviour for the many lives that were stolen from the dozens of slaughtered Druids, sorcerers and many other magic beings alike.

Morgana Le Fay.

As her footsteps echoed the halls, she had a wicked grin plastered on her lips, and a storm brewing in her mind. The simplicity of taking over the kingdom was too small, she wanted more. Yes, Uther was a relieving piece to her chess board, but there was also Arthur, and the rest of the world too. A lot had to suffer, so they could pay for the suffering they brought to others. Morgana's people.

There was no good will or hope in her heart, inside she was a dark horse, tainted with the blackness of havoc that was brought apon her. No one could even begin to understand how much she hated Camelot, it's people, it's royalty. The person she was had been trapped away in the form of a frightened woman, a lady who stuck to what was good, and ignored the bad, maybe that was wrong but she was hurting inside, the person she was had been told that she would be fixed.

No longer would she succomb to the people that raised her that way, what she was is who she is, and there was no potion that could keep that hidden.

The priestess came round a corner, catching sight of a broken door as she frowned, slowing her pace and making her way inside. Blood was pooling the floor, large puddles left at the window where a familiar body lay. Dried up blood stuck to the walls and windows, Morgana enjoying the art that displayed itself from the balcony and herself. Pieces of flesh were picked from this corpse, some scrambled on the ground, and as the woman squinted, she became dissatisfied with how little work she had done on this figure.

It's fingernails were plucked, some cut in half and bent backwards, causing a continuous spilling of vital fluid to leak out in gallons. Around other parts of the carcass, both ankles were snapped in different directions and toes cut off where they were also left in a pile on the floor. Whip marks had been made across the bare back of this person, causing open, infected wounds and scarring that would no longer heal.

At the torso, multiple things had been done to perfect the intensity of the pain. The word 'Magic' had been written across his chest, which complimented the person's lifeless body so well. It seemed fairly new compared to the other wounds as well, the blood a lighter red whereas the others were a dark, rusty colour. More cuts or stab wounds spread across the skin here too. Morgana bared her teeth to the masterpiece she had created of such a rotten man, taking careful steps over before kneeling next to his sickly face.

A smile parted her lips. "Oh, how lovely it is to see you in this state... I will play with this corpse till the day I die–" She plucked her dagger from her pocket guard, staring at it deliciously before placing the tip of the blade on his forehead. "I hope your soul will watch me as I take down everything you have built..." She whispered, starting to slice through the skin. A corpse could feel nothing, it was blind to the agony it was put under... But the image in Morgana's warped mind was playing out a satisfying scene of her foe's death, again and again.