Twisted Retribution

Chapter Twenty-Eight - True Loyalties.

They had come earlier that day. Lou had been untouched, yet that did not mean he missed out on the agony; his had been mental; Modria's physical. Though the lynx had to wonder if there was much difference between the two, they would both leave their respective scars; did it matter if they came from emotional trauma or from a poison covered blade?

Everything Lou had witnessed over the past few days had been for him, he had come to realise. Modria may have been the one being physically tortured, but to Serina she was now of no consequence. Yes the queen hated the rebel, yet she was not being hurt for what she was, she was being hurt to serve as a reminder. A reminder that Lou either obeyed, or he would be the cause of the pain and suffering for others. Lou's kind heart made this type of torture especially excruciating.

Serina  would argue that a reminder was all she did this for, though nearly everyone knew the true reason of her ire. She had been betrayed, and it had cut deep. Lou was glad for that, though he hated that it had to be at Modria's expense. Yet, he could not deny the thrill, the happiness he had felt in his heart, and in his soul. He had won. Lou had pained her. If he were to die now, he would die content.

Serina had not returned after her first visit, she sent guards down to do her dirty work for her. They were gone now, finished for the day, but they would return tomorrow and the day after, and unquestionably the day after that too. Unless, Ragnohl came to their rescue, an incident Lou considered being very unlikely.

The shackles at his wrists had bitten profoundly, rubbing the flesh raw. His Beastanic nature had healed those wounds quickly, but the iron had dug in so much that the flesh was now beginning to grow around it; the shackle was now a part of him. That feeling did pale in comparison, however; to the continuous burning sensation upon his face. Ironic really, since fire was supposed to cauterize wounds and his were still bleeding profusely.

Modria was no longer being held up, she was chained to the floor where she shuffled and twitched irritably, more of a rabid beast than resembling anything human, or even anything Beastan!

"Modria," Lou whispered, spitting the blood that dribbled into his mouth, "Modria."

The vampire bat didn't blink; her jet black orbs just stared straight ahead. She was hungry. Beastans could survive without food or drink, though of course they would become very volatile after a too longer period of time. Those linked with vampire bats were different, however. They were more like the mythical creatures that Lou's father had told him about than the animal they were linked too. Blood was their primary food source, and without it was likely that they'd go mad with thirst. She was at the stage now where Lou wondered if she would ever recover fully even if she were feed at this exact moment in time. "Modria," he tried again.

She exploded into movement, her wings beating frantically, lifting her from the cold ground. Snarling, hissing, she scrabbled across the floor; clawed hands flailing out towards Lou. They came in so close at one point, Lou swore that she had mauled his calf; he reasoned that he couldn't feel it because of the overwhelming agony about his face.

Modria finally went quite about five minutes later, slumping back down, eyes staring once more at walls. She needed help, and soon, before there was nothing left of her. The lynx hoped that Elijah wouldn't allow Ragnohl to abandon them; that the ex-rebel would either come to their rescue or force Ragnohl to. But then again, perhaps he wouldn't. Doubts and despair settled in, dampening Lou's hope.

The black veins that crawled over his temples and the cut of his hair were really the only differences between Elijah's and Ragnohl's bodies. Their features were the same, exactly the same. It made Ragnohl uneasy as he stared at the mirror's reflection, the face that could very easily be his own. Ragnohl had known that he and Elijah were similar, but witnessing it made more real. A clone, an exact replica that was what Elijah really was to him, not a brother. Elijah was him... just thirty or so years younger, not that the years mattered to the timeless Beastans.