A girl in disguise. An heir in hunt. A world divided.
Iris Lavera is born into the civilization of the least respected ones. The lineage where it's predicted to birth a curse. A low born who will be the downfall of an entire nation if left alive.
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M A R L O N
The bones shattering beneath the flesh has a unique sound. I must admit that, it isn't as disgusting as it looks. The unpleasant thing was the view of the Rixilian spitting out his flimsy blood. The scourger twists his arm further drawing out a churning scream, he looks at me through the mane of his greasy locks from the floor- a trail of blood seeps out through the gash by the side of his face.
"Think you are close to breaking me Lord?" my title is venomous in his tongue, but I appreciate his hatred- it only meant he was loyal to his land. I like patriotic prisoners, they are the hardest to break. A challenge that I am here for-
"I don't need to hurt you, Kaleb. What the guard here does isn't my taste. Such treatment of our guests is against my morals" I hold his chin for him, his sticky blood and bodily fluid stain my palm- I should have worn my sheath today. His dropping eyes drills into mine and I feel a surge of power. He believes I have something worse planned than having him physically shredded. As a matter of fact- I do.
Isn't it why I am the dungeon's last resort when a spy or defector has a heart of iron? An iron heart so I can melt it. In a literal sense.
It was an accidental finding, I was attempting to regenerate a dying goat's lungs, but-
"I haven't tried this on humans Kaleb, nor on animals because it's deemed to be exceedingly painful" I bring the vial to him, retrieving it from my coat. The blue liquid is beautiful to look at, but my prisoner here doesn't seem to share the same notion, his muscles tensed at the sight- of the victim's seal on the cork. I flicked it open and an immediate pungent smell and spice fills the room. I had to squint at the disaster I created- it could be such a deadly weapon in war if leaked.
Something that hurts like death but doesn't kill.
My parents ground me for a reason.
"What is that sir" the scourger, twice my size backed with contempt as I bury my nose by my collar to breathe "Is that a stimulant?"
He is allowed to be appalled, I seldom bring a tool or stimulant to torture vault. I often use my intellect to strip them of their fidelity, frighten them into getting what I need. But this wise- I lack patience and motivation. Some things have occurred, unexplainable things- there are people somewhere out there claiming to know the core.
To have seen it.
To have found what the world has been after for centuries.
"We know it's someone among your people to have confessed about the Prism," I say, prism- a term commonly used for Core among Rixilians as their study considers the void to be a reflective platform that causes the mutation in us. But I don't, I believe it exists till this day controlling the element it gifted us with- Feeding. Living. Existing. Alive "Tell me the name and, ta-da- I dig a grave for this little nuisance in my hand because honestly, I don't dare to be credited for something so awful"
