His legs were chained to his tail. Any attempt to move them brought pain up his spine. Even his neck and horns weren’t spared, linked to each other. He hoped they hadn’t damaged his horns; he was rather proud of their stout lengths.
Every attempt to get free was in vain. Although he was large and daunting in this small room, he felt undeniably helpless.
All he’d wanted was help. He’d intended no harm to the Demonslayers, and yet they hadn’t even given him a chance.
Why?
Strange thoughts pressed into his mind, jumbled and heavy. He wasn’t accustomed to so much internal chatter. He wasn’t used to this level of humanity.
He groaned, wishing he could lay his aching head down so he could remove some of the weight. His brain felt hot and swollen within his skull.
Any time he’d gained humanity in the past, it’d been slowly. One stray and random human at a time – occasionally a second. Those humans had been shared between him and his kindred, slowing their progression.
How many humans had he eaten this night? Why does my stomach continue to grumble? Why wouldn’t the hunger cease? Even now, he could smell the blood of the humans he’d killed beyond the walls.
The coppery, tangy scent threatened to pull him back under the swallowing waves of his bloodlust and hunger. This windowless room was just enough to keep it at bay, the smell not so strong where he was being held deep underground.
His throat was parched, despite the well of liquid trapped within his beak. He swallowed.
The wooden door in front of him creaked open, and four Demon-looking uniformed humans piled into the circular room with him.
They also brought firelit torches, which they placed in metal rings bolted to the dirt-stained grey walls. Ingram hadn’t needed the light, perfectly capable of seeing without it, but he was sure it was easier for them to see his battered and helpless form.
His injuries screamed against his unusual position when he lunged – and barely achieved a centimetre of movement.
Only three of the four humans in front of him wore their black masks. Every single one of them had a silver emblem etched into the sternum of their uniform, but only the maskless one wore a blue-jewelled silver medallion.
Her unfeeling gaze inspected him like he was hate-invoking. She clasped her hands behind her back, stood tall, and flicked her long dark hair back over her shoulders with a twitch of her head.
“I know your kind can project your voices past your skulls. Will you speak?” she asked, looking down her nose at him.
His blue saddened sight flared crimson.
He snarled in answer. If they know we Mavka can speak, then they chose to attack me on purpose. They hadn’t wanted to communicate with him, so why should he do so now?
He no longer desired their help. Actually, he wanted them all to crawl inside his maw so he could swallow them whole and take their humanity. He would steal their cunning and use that to destroy the Demon King.
They could have made a friend, but they instead made an enemy of him.
“Has it tried to talk?” she asked one of the other people in the room.
“No. Not even as we brought it to the dungeon.”
Was that the name of this room?
Ingram might have tried to bargain with them as he was dragged into this dungeon, but he’d still been enraged. Much time had passed, and he’d been taken away from the scent of blood. He was calm now, although rightfully furious.
“Where is your bat-skulled companion?” the woman asked, her expression unchanging as though she felt nothing looking upon him.
He couldn’t help the whimper that exploded from his chest at the reminder of his loss. To hide it, he growled and tried to snap his head forward threateningly, but was met with the tightness of his constraints.
“Why did you come here? Was your intention to destroy our fortress?”
He didn’t answer.
She stepped forward and bravely cupped the underside of his beak to ensure he was looking upon her. The bridge of her nose crinkled.
“Listen here, you bird-brained fuck.” He wished he could crack her head open with a single slam of his bony forehead, or perhaps even with one of his horns Especially when she grabbed the shaft of a stick jutting from him with her free hand. “You will answer my questions.”
She yanked it from him, and a yelp exploded.
The pain of it almost threw him back into mindlessness.
“Did the Demon King send you?”
His snarl was so fierce that even he thought it sounded twisted as it bounced off the stone walls.
The Demon King is my enemy, he darkly thought. And had your people not harmed me, I would have asked for aid to destroy him.
“What is he planning? Why are there more Demons on the surface? Just a month ago, we lost many to a small army of them. Tell me why.”
When he gave no answer, she yanked another stick from him.
“Start talking, Duskwalker. Otherwise I’ll gain other answers I seek.”
There was a phrase he’d overheard humans say to each other, as well as Merikh had uttered it to him and his kindred. He’d never truly understood what it meant, why someone would say it, until this very moment.
It felt perfect.
“Fuck… off,” he rumbled.
Her screwed nose, like it had been broken, twitched and crinkled tighter. Then, a glint brightened her features as snide, cruel humour, when she leaned back.
“Have it your way then.” She gave him her back, her hands once more behind her. “Bring me the doctor, as well as Emerie. Make sure she’s aware that after her actions tonight, she’s been promoted to Elder and my replacement underling.”
“Are you sure you wish to bring her in for this, Wren?” a male asked.
“If she is to one day take my position, she needs to experience firsthand the extent of her duties.”
“As you wish, Head Elder.”
The man left, and the other two people came forward to crank two wheels he hadn’t realised were behind him – the door guard eventually helping when they couldn’t do it alone. The board his back was firmly against began to lift and tilt, his knees and then feet eventually coming off the ground. He was forced to lie upon it with his legs dangling off the edge from the knee down.
Wren, as the male had called her, came close enough to loom directly over his skull and peer into his red orbs. Her crooked grin caused his blood to boil; he didn’t like it, didn’t trust it. The scarring on her face made it appear evil.
“Let’s see how one of you ticks, shall we?”
Emerie stared at Bryce as he lay huffing next to her.
This bout of sex wasn’t particularly his fault, considering she’d been the one to instigate it. Could anyone blame her? They both could have died tonight.
She didn’t know if she’d just been celebrating not fucking dying, or just the emotional high from the fight, but one thing had led to another…
So why did she still feel so frantic and hollow?
Since she was lying over the bed on her front, with her pants around her thighs, she wriggled them back up and turned to sit on the edge. She placed her face in her hands as she leant her elbows on her knees.
She needed a proper moment to digest the night. She needed a moment to breathe. There had been many other times she’d been close to death, but nothing could compare to the frightening visage of a faceless monster roaring, snapping, and eating her companions.