Destroyers Little Pet | 18+

╨ two

When my body hits the ground, too exhausted to even attempt to move, I just close my one functioning eye and wait. I'm not going to use all of my energy fighting back. He's not done with me.

The pleasure he's getting from ripping my body to shreds is sickeningly apparent. He's hard as a rock. He keeps rubbing my body against it.

He alternates between hurting me physically—hitting, kicking, and throwing me around—and using my body as friction against his cock.

"If you beg for mercy, I may grant it." His tongue licks a long, sickening strip through the blood on my cheek.

He won't. I know it as well as he does. They don't know the meaning of the word.

Tilting my head away, I keep my face expressionless. I won't give him the satisfaction.

A rough hand grips my throat, and I brace for him to snap my neck. I know they kill humans for lesser offenses than stealing all the time. Instead of reacting, I play dead. If I don't scream, if I don't beg or whimper, he might get bored. There is no thrill in it if I act like I don't care. I might not have much of a life, but it's mine, and I'm not ready to give it up just yet. It's the only thing they haven't stripped me of. There is always a chance that I could find peace somewhere, as long as I don't give up. I won't stop fighting just for that slim glimmer of hope.

He snarls in disdain and drops my limp bones to the floor again. It takes several minutes in the quiet room to realize he's finally gone. I'm shivering so hard against the cold ground that it feels the same as the kicks and punches, and I slip in and out of consciousness.

My swollen and bloodied body aches even in sleep. I don't know if I'm awake or not; monsters slither in and out of my vision. My body is trapped in quicksand that is covering me so fast that I don't have time to escape it. I'm floating, completely alone, in the deep, black void of space. It's so quiet and cold that I feel like the only person left in the universe. Molten lava creeps toward me, the heat burning my skin, but I can't move to escape it.

When bright light shines against my closed eyelids and the soft feeling of dirt under my hands wakes me, I know I'm dreaming. This is different from the other feverish nightmares. I know exactly where I am.

The desert stretches out before me, and the hilly landscape is bathed in purple light as the sun sets on the horizon.

For the first time in so many years, the warmth of the sun touches my skin.

This isn't real. But it feels just like my memories. It's not phantom warmth, it's actual heat kissing my skin.

Even though my body aches, I force myself to sit up. The sandy dirt beneath me is so much softer than I remember. My bruised eyes burn as they well up with tears.

My home.

I was so young, it never occurred to me to stop, breathe in the warm air, and just be. Having the whole world and everything in it ripped away suddenly never even crossed my mind. The heat of the sun, the slight evening breeze, and the earthy smell of the desert. It's beautiful.

Falling back, I rest my body against the sand. My fingers trace lines and swirls, running over the pebbles and twigs. Earth.

A sound blasts through the air, ruining my peace. It's a sound I now know well. The Monturian war cry.

Looking up into the sky, I can see the ships approaching. Three of them in a row looming in the distance. Jumping up, I open my mouth to scream, but no sound will come out. I have to warn everyone. The warning won't do anything. They're already here; it's too late, but I have to try.