Games of a Different Kind-{sequel to Toys of a Dangerous Mind}

Chapter 2

I lie awake, the sheets bunched up around my body, the cold creeping into each pore of my skin. The nights are cold, as Raxis likes them to be. Whether he does it, to see me shiver, or whether it is preferable to his temperature, I do not know. I know, that each night, the cold keeps me firmly covered up. The darkness brings terror, as I do not want to drift into sleep.

It's chance, what awaits me when I dream, but the fear that infiltrates my mind is for the Games of Pain, the stolen moments of sleep where I have to watch my loved ones and other innocents suffer and scream. My dreams are where I lapse in this emotionless state I am aiming to become. Happiness was taken from me long ago, hope was crushed in my heart, and love....love is useless. The negative emotions can still creep beyond my defenses, I may be able to withstand the good, but the bad can easily overcome me.

Raxis breathes softly, his black eyes shut, and I wonder whether he has enchantments protecting him, if I tried to kill him. The story of Amanda is foremost in my mind, and I remember the woman, who plotted every possible way to murder the demon, and failed, resulting in complete sadness, and ending the tale with a smoking gun.

Realizing that he had not changed her into a demon, my eyebrows furrow. Did she not last out the year? I can't remember the date of her death, in relation to how long she was his wife. A pale hand brushes my leg, and I jump up to sitting position, hating how Raxis's touch makes me feel. Looking at the demon, sound asleep, I think: what does he dream about? Does our mighty master find himself in nightmares? Does his worst fear come and destroy him? Does he have any fears?

So little I know, but I am perhaps, the closest living person to him. He confides in me, secrets of how he used to be a lowly demon serving another demon with a little more power, but 'pathetic' as he says, in the hierarchy of Hell. He whispers to me, how he killed his master, through a ritual designed to draw out the darkness of demons, and thus drain all their power, which weakens them greatly, leaving the final blow, the end for them.

Working his way up the chain of demons: he killed, betrayed, set up and tortured many of them so he could gain their position. One secret remained untold, why he was cast here. His tale of torture and horror stopped before one word of his exile passed his lips. The only reason I know of it, was because of the Zalia's dagger, which when I had touched, had shown me the terrible God of Darkness, and Raxis. And then he was cast here to Felicitas, the one and only country of Iltoria, a small planet mostly covered with water, and then Felicitas. Entirely alone, and so easy to conquer, we humans were.

"Yes..." The word lingers on Raxis's lips, another syllabyle of his sleep-talking. Occasionally, when deeply immersed in dreams, lone words drift from him, nothing of importance. I think they are showing his pleasure at an unknown entity in his sleep, as each word is filled with greed. Nothing of importance is his speech when asleep, but because the event may yet occur, I did not tell him of his nighttime habits. Raxis may already know, but most likely he does not.

Eyes drooping, I struggle to stay awake, but the time on my bedside clock makes me drowsier still. 3:30 in the morning, and Raxis demands a strict time for getting up- a sharp 7:00. He's a busy man, and prefers to drag me along on various errands and engagements, like a servant- but then, isn't everyone? Despite the muted terror, I settle down into the comfortable sheets, resting my head on the feather pillow. Sleep is needed for later, as I wish to avoid the blows which would follow my fatigue if Raxis is displeased with my work.

It is easy to give myself to sleep now, my stiffened body relaxing as the dreams and nightmares take over....

My ears are assualted by the hideous sound of agony, and begging, as it is always when I find myself in the Games of Pain. Surveying the cells presented before me, unwilling, but I am never in control apart from those five minutes of healing.