The Devil's Blade

𝟸𝟸 || 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝙻𝚒𝚕𝚢: 𝙼𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚁𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚋𝚢𝚜𝚜

I rest my head on my mother's lap as the sunshine casts down on my face. The warmth engulfs me, and I dare to close my eyes and enjoy the sound of the soft humming of my mother's voice, who is cutting up some strawberries to eat. The sound echoes through the breeze and is carried by the wind through the leaves of the trees towards the streams of the rivers.

In this town, where the rivers flow,
There lived a boy with eyes as dark as crows.
In the shadows, the boy would hide,
Wishing for a strength, with no one by his side.

One desperate night, when the moon bleeds red,
His heart consumed with regret.
His greed ruled with a mighty hand, unable to forget.
Now he lost his way, walking on cursed ground everyday.

Oh, black lily, bloom in the night,
Give me strength, make me right.
From the pain, I want to be free,
Oh, black lily, won't you rescue me?

A throbbing pain pulses through my skull as I drift back to consciousness. Darkness greets my vision, interrupted by a dim, flickering light. I groan, the sound echoing off cold stone. My wrists are tied behind my back, the metal biting into my skin.

With effort, I turn around, feeling the rough floor beneath me. Slowly, I scan the space around me, taking in a flickering of light through the bars. I squint at the faint flicker of a fire but I can't see much.

Struggling to my feet, the chain clinks softly. Every muscle in my body protests as I approach the bars. Once again, I don't get to see much more besides a narrow corridor in the distance.

I retreat back into the cell and slide down the wall down to the ground. Dust crumbles of the wall I lean against, and I feel like this cramped space might collapse on me. Taking a look around, the room does appear ancient. The smell is damp and moldy, with a sink in the corner, an iron bed supported by two chains, and an old rusty bucket.

Carvings and scratches on the walls hint at previous prisoners that were kept here. Not just any prisoners— inhuman ones. And it becomes clearer what my purpose here is.

I rest my head against the wall and sigh. That small exhale echoes through the entire room, so I commit myself to complete silence for the next few minutes. Then, I hear footsteps echoing through the corridor outside. My heart races as the sounds grow louder. I scramble to my feet, pressing myself to the wall, trying to hide in the shadows.

The footsteps stop just outside my cell. I hold my breath, my pulse pounding in my ears. Two figures come into view, illuminated by the flickering light of a torch: the woman who knocked me out plus another man.

The woman steps forward, holding the torch high as her eyes scan the cell. Finally, her eyes settle on me. The man behind her approaches— he's tall and broad-shouldered, with a grim expression and a sword at his side.

"Well, look who's awake," the woman says, her voice playful. She steps closer to the bars, her gaze never leaving mine.

"Who are you?" I demand.

She smiles, and it's more intimidating than it should be. "I don't think introductions are necessary, since you won't survive the night anyway."

"Are you from some other organisation? Like Mavis?" I press.

She shakes her head. "I should be the one asking questions here, Alexander."

"Well, then why aren't you asking," I say.

Her eyes narrow as she studies me. "Fair enough," she says. "Let's starts simple. Why are you with Mavis?"

I contemplate whether I should answer her honestly or make up a lie on the spot. But either way, I have a feeling she has no interest in my answer.

Instead of answering her directly, I decide to press for more information. "Why do you care about my connections with Mavis?" I ask, trying to appear as confident as possible.

She smirks, a cruel glint in her eyes. "Do not test me, Alexander. I know all about you, and your kind."

"My kind?" I question.

The woman steps closer to the bars, the torch casting flickering shadows over her face. "Monsters. You're a monster, Alexander," she says coldly. "And you're no better than the things that you kill."

The words sting, but I hold her gaze, refusing to flinch. "The things that I kill have destroyed my life."

Her eyes flicker with a hint of curiosity, but the cold edge remains. "Destroyed your life, you say? How poetic. But your pain, your hatred—it feeds into what you truly are, doesn't it? A demon consumed by the very darkness he seeks to exterminate."