The Queen of Hell

Chapter 14

*

Despite knowing that my escape chance was gone, there was no way I was just going back to my basement room without resistance.

So instead, I sprinted down the next hallway taking out guards as I went along. I only used the daggers I had gotten from guards, choosing to keep my own daggers in their sheaths in case of emergencies.

As I made sure my daggers were secure, I remembered that I also had the hidden breastplate daggers. Glad to have even the smallest bit of extra backup, I continued on, hoping luck would somehow magically get me to an exit.

***

Apparently luck has something against me because I went up the next set of stairs and heard heavy footsteps. Lots of them. I ducked into another hallway, sure that I was going further into the heart of the building instead of out, but I couldn't get caught.

I waited until the footsteps passed before creeping back to the junction. I cursed when I heard 2 stray pairs of footsteps getting closer.

The echo made it hard to tell where they were so they appeared before I had re-concealed myself in the darkness. The 2 guards whose footsteps I heard spotted me and charged at me, weapons raised.

Sighing I readied my krusty dagger to defend myself. Swiping, I created a small circle that they couldn't enter without fear of getting stabbed. They kept making lousy attempts to stab me that I blocked and countered with ease. You'd think this guild would have decent guards?

I didn't have time for this so I disposed of the guards as quickly as I could, which still took longer than I wanted. I didn't even bother to check them for weapons, choosing speed.

***

I continued down hallways, turning one way the whole time in hopes of maybe finding an exit. But it seemed literally impossible.

I found another staircase and ascended it, astounded that no one was around. But of course, my luck ran out as soon as I got to the top of the third staircase.

There was a single door open, with light streaming through the open frame. I tiptoed up to it, slowing my heart rate so it was impossibly quiet. A yell sounded from inside and it made me jump slightly and almost lose my balance. The yell, of course, came from Frank. I peered in and his torture guy and some other guy who looked vaguely familiar were standing facing him, obviously telling him bad news. Mostly likely that I had gotten out.

Not wanting to linger any longer than I had, especially with Frank right there, I sprinted past the doorway and kept running, trying to distance myself from the explosion of Frank's temper that I was sure would happen.

***

Surely enough, after ascending the final staircase, it happened. I heard yelling and footsteps and frantic heartbeats; Frank was summoning his army and I was the one-woman opposition that was sure to lose.

The noises of orders being given and uneven footsteps were getting closer and I had no choice - my daggers would be the only thing that gave me a chance.

Resigning myself to my fate, I unsheathed my breastplate daggers, waiting for Frank's forces to arrive. I gripped my daggers, worried about my inability to punch. Well I could but it would absolutely kill because of my still-healing nails.

Once I could see just how many people Frank had gathered I almost gulped. There had to be at least 40 of them, all wielding new, sharpened weapons.

When Frank saw me he chuckled at my predicament. Everyone stopped as if pause had been hit and Frank just looked at me like a predator looks at prey.

"You sly bitch. You absolute piece of shit, worthless whore!"

It was a shallow dig, but I snorted to hide that. "I've been called worse things by better people."

He continued on as if we weren't shouting at each other down a hallway. "How dare you kill my men"

"They can rot for all I care" As if they were any different from the hundreds I'd already killed.

My words seemed only to aggravate him and he waved a hand, letting the men, as crazed as rabid dogs, surrounding him loose.

They charged forward as a pack, coming at me all at once. I honestly couldn't keep track of what or where I hit. But it was over in a flash.

I was pinned down and the daggers were ripped from my grasp. Then I was dragged back to my room, looking as defeated as a man on his way to the gallows.

When we got to my room, the table and chair was gone. As were the bodies.

I was thrown into a corner and manhandled to my knees, facing the wall. My hands are grabbed and pulled above my head, being handcuffed to the bar running around the room.

My shoulders burnt from being yanked up but they slowly settled into the position and became more of a slight annoyance.

My shoes were pulled from my feet along with my socks leaving my bare feet on the cold ground.

I couldn't see what was happening behind me so I had to focus on my hearing. I knew the torture guy was there, because he dragged me in, and Frank had to be the other heartbeat I could hear, but there was no one else.

They sounded like they were at the torture station, readying god knows what instrument.

Sighing in defeat, I prepared my body and mind for the painful hours that were sure to come.

***

They both came over and sat next to me. I turned my head and caught a glimpse of a knife in the torture guys hand.

I felt something slide along my back and a chill ran down my spine. Frank had cut the back of my suit open as well as my damn bra. Son of a bitch, that was my favourite bra. And my poor suit!

My back was bare as my suit, or what was left of it, hung from my shoulders.

They started playing connect 4 on my back, carving the board and 'pieces' into my flesh. They each had a symbol, intricate and painful to etch into my skin.

As they played I was asked questions, similar to the day before. They'd each take their turn, then the question they asked would be punctuated by a small prick with the tip of their knife.

I chose to stay silent; gritting my teeth until I was sure they would break, clamping my lips until they were bruised.

After someone won, or the 'board' got too bloodied or mangled, Frank would press his hands to the wounds, healing them until they were just set so they could continue.

Every time I moved too much or made a noise of discontent or pain, Frank would pour a strong disinfectant that I was sure was 90% alcohol onto the bloody mess that was my back. The sting would make me groan through my gritted teeth.

They played for hours and the constant pain almost made my body go into shock. I was sure I blacked out a few times because I was slumped into the handcuffs, being held up by my wrists alone.

Silent tears were falling down my face, my pain being ignored but constantly added to. But little did I know it could only get worse.

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A/N
I feel really mean

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