Death is My BFF Rewritten (Book 1 of the Rewritten Death Chronicles)

Chapter 35: Lost Soul

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P.S- THE PARALLELS IN THIS CHAPPIE, THOUGH.

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A bucket of water hit Alexandru’s face in a smothering wave, dripping down his face like molten lava down his naked body. Immediately, his face blistered and his fatigued muscles were forced to contract from the tormenting sensation of claws scraping over and over again over his wet skin.

The memory of the sweltering sensation on Alexandru’s skin was too realistic to for him to determine if it was a dream or reality.

               “Demon wh0re!” the man who threw the holy water laughed out in Latin, then spit on the golden haired young man.

“MMMMM!!” The muzzle over Alexandru’s mouth prevented him from opening his mouth, and unable to control himself, his fangs unleashed and punctured through his lips. Blood dripped down the facial hair on his chin. The smell of his own skin burning, combined with the blood pooling in his mouth, made him nearly vomit.

               “Rot in Hell!” Alexandru tried to move away another bucket of water, but the layers of chains around his throat, arms, and limbs, both suspended him in the air and prevented him from moving an inch. The sting of the liquid was worse this time, peeling away a few layers of his skin. He cried out, only to make the men around him chuckle louder.

              

               Slumped forward in his chains, body slightly convulsing, and breathing ragged, Alexandru felt like he was dying.

        The men who were laughing and smoking around him were definitely demon hunters, according to the tattoos on their necks and hands. Alexandru’s father had briefly described to him what kind of tattoos were a dead give away. Hunter's tattoos usually had a cross or a dove weaved into some sort of intricate design.

              

               Alexandru tried to focus on anything but the white-hot pain, and tried to remember how he had gotten there; chained in some pungent, damp, stuffy, and hot basement filled with smoke. Suddenly, he remembered the fight he had with his father and leaving his own home. He had run away and fallen asleep somewhere on the streets, miles from his home, when he was attacked in his sleep. Calloused fists slammed into his jaw and steel boots slammed into his gut. He was caught off guard, dragged by the arms down an alley and down into a cellar.

 

               His father would find him soon, and although he knew his father would kill these men, it would not be to save Alexandru, but to save the “Champion”. Alexandru was nearly the most victorious and lethal gladiator to ever exist. He was his father’s most prized possession.

 

               And when he wasn’t a gladiator for his father’s bidding, Alexandru was truly a whore, and a well admired one at that, purchased by many wealthy women in the nearby community to his. Sex was a numb factor of his life and he was used to being naked. He had lost respect for his own body because it was always a repulsive tool.

        

               Behind the hearty laughter of the men around him, Alexandru’s sensitive ears picked up a small feminine gasp. “ENOUGH!” A young blonde woman pushed fearlessly through the beefy men, stared at Death in horror and then whipped around towards the men. Clearly searching for a particular person, her eyes fell on one of the men and she hurled a cooking utensil at him.It was her husband, Alexandru realized.