The legacy of the dark blood

Chapter 38

Back to obscurantism

The sight of Max screaming in pain as he felt his joints being subjected to brutal force had faded away, being replaced again by the image of the courthouse dungeons, with their signature rustic and ominous style. Liz never imagined that she would ever feel sorry for Max, even though her previous visions revealed that even when his integrity was threatened he could not let go of his arrogance and worse, that he had used them for his selfish and lawless goals. Even if they managed to escape the dark secrets of Reich der Finsternis, there was the possibility that Max's actions would ruin her reputation as an agent in the eyes of her organization and the European community.

Most likely by now their leader would be dead, or if not, all his limbs would be dislocated and his muscles torn, which in the short or long term would cause other illnesses that would lead to his death.

Liz was sweating, not only because of the heat accumulated by the torches that shone on the place, but also because of the dizziness caused by those strange visions. It had happened for the second time in a short amount of time, which she interpreted as a strong proof that her defiled state was worsening. She sighed, making an effort to breathe normally, but the returns to her tangible reality meant more and more adversity. She hadn't felt her heart rate so quickened since the monstrous encounter with the witch villagers, certainly not when she felt a sturdy hand grasp her shoulder and almost force her to her feet. Liz flinched at the thought that it was one of the horrifying beings the duchess had summoned for her extermination, but the rest of her spirit returned to her body as she encountered Bernard's face behind her back.

"Another vision?" he asked, helping Liz to her feet. She made a last effort to regain her senses and respond to her companion.

"Max," Liz wailed. Bernard looked puzzled, "I think we've lost him".

Liz filled Bernard in on her vision and although the man showed some level of disturbance over the tragic news, he did not rule out the possibility that Liz's visions were just involuntary reactions that did not match reality.

"Maybe Holzmann is trying to make you see things, to hinder our investigation".

"It all felt so real," replied Liz, looking for the first time more upset than Bernard at the situation.

The piercing screams of men and women being cruelly tortured spread from the deep and somewhat dark path marked by the brick arches, implying that on this occasion they had descended to a point where nothing but death and pain was being manufactured for the wretched victims of Reich der Finsternis' justice. Liz clung to Bernard's arm in her attempt to stand until her strength was restored.

Liz gave a brief summary of her vision to Bernard, who like her, shuddered at the visual image of Max's limbs being severed from his body under the action of increasing stress.

"We're here now," said Bernard, whose mood was also altered by the dreadful wailing coming from the adjacent areas of the hallway, "Do you think he sang everything, about our mission and his collaboration with..." Bernard then remembered that the story of Max collaborating with Warren and Rowland in the looting was based only on Liz's vision, which did not constitute as evidence of that story.

"I don't think so," she replied, "Even in the face of torture, he wouldn't give in to his pride. We'd better go and find out".

Bernard was about to object to what his companion had told him and suggested, but the girl had already started walking towards the main corridor. Even though he felt that his point of view was never taken into account, the agent ran after her, immersing himself in the gloomy place that carried him back to a time when the most macabre ideas of the human being were expressed in their maximum power and materialized in front of them to form part of their present. On the rocky walls hung chains ending in spiked rings, as well as many objects used to torture the victims, such as floggers, tongs, whips and saws. The shrieks of pain came from rooms blocked by old wooden doors that opened deep into the corridor of terror; some of them ajar, revealing those images of the torture rooms plunged in gloom that contributed to the dark and creepy atmosphere; on the floor of some of them there were traces of fresh or dried blood that in some cases reached out into the corridor and were lost along the way.