"What do you mean? Who was she released to?" Cathmore stormed into the Serpent's Keep which was a pitiful collection of holding and solitary confinement cells beneath a scuzzy tavern.
He was seething as the guard followed behind him.
"Where is the guard that released her?" He demanded. The incompetent man before him pointed to a younger Nephlim who was perched on a stool against the bar. His eyes widened when Cathmore gripped him by the collar and hauled him backward. "Grogan," he growled.
"What the fuck, man" the guy squealed when he spilled his ale. He jerked free of Cathmore's grip.
"Who did you turn her over to?" He was so mad he was seeing red.
"Who? The fine piece of ass from this morning," the guy whistled through chipped teeth. "She's probably getting what's coming to her by now," the drunken asshole laughed- drooling down his beard.
Cathmore reeled his arm back and landed a cracking punch into the Nephilim's jaw. He took pleasure in watching his bottom jaw disconnect from its natural place, sending the man to the floor.
"She is my charge, she should not have been released to anyone besides me," he bent down to pick the disgusting man up by his collar. He didn't give a shit that everyone watched on in amusement. He landed a punch to the man's gut, causing him to vomit out of the side of his mouth, his jaw hanging freely. "Give me a name," Cathmore growled. "Bennett did not authorize you to release her." His eyes widened, he knew what that meant. He would face the wrath of the Crowned Magister if she was killed by anyone other than her Praeceptor.
He rolled and coughed up more vomit. Cathmore stood and let him crawl into a sitting position, attempting to hold his jaw up into his face.
"Marlowe," he spat at Cathmore who kicked him hard under his chin, sending him unconscious onto his back, the crowd gasping. The amount of blood pouring from his mouth was satisfying but Cathmore fought the desire to revel in the sight of it.
He should have known that the bastard had taken her, he just hoped he wasn't so stupid. He would find her and he would deal the appropriate punishment to Marlowe. He didn't care what the Crowned Magister had to say about it.
He knew he was walking a dangerous line, but he would be equally as mad if it was another one of his students. He had been undermined, someone had taken something that was his.
He pushed his consciousness outward, reaching for any piece of Amara out there but he couldn't feel her. The usual ball of fire, taste of wind that came with her presence in his head- was gone.
***
Darkness faded into a view of Marlowe's wicked grin. Manacles were clamped around her wrists, her knees scraping the ground as her partially limp body was pulled across the aged floor.
Shadows clouded her vision once more. She tried to make out the other voice in the room, tried to focus on the mystery tools that looked out of place mounted on the wall above an old dingy couch. Anger consumed her at her own helplessness.
"I don't want her feet on the ground, further up you idiot," Marlowe snapped at the unknown figure adjusting the chains that held her.
Her head pounded and her vision still faded in and out. She might have thrown up at some point and there was no doubt she had a concussion.
Amara awoke again to excruciating pain in her abdomen, she was definitely suspended by her arms, her feet dangling. She screamed as Marlowe carved something into her stomach with a blade. She looked between him and the dagger in her skin in shock.
"About time," he growled upon realizing she was awake.
Her torso was bare, he had taken off her shirt. He pushed against her, pressing the blade into her again, causing her to sway. Stars exploded in her vision causing bile to rise in her throat. Blood poured down her stomach, she cried out in agony when he sadistically began cutting a piece of flesh off of the side of her hip. He was going to gut her and skin her alive.
Someone appeared behind her with rough calloused hands on the bare skin of her back. He moaned in approval of her soft skin causing her skin to squirm as though she were covered in leeches. She would rather be. She screwed her eyes shut, her entire body trembling like a leaf in the wind. She tried to envision that it wasn't the stranger's hands on her back, or Magister Marlowe's fingers pulling on her pants.
She couldn't imagine Cathmore because of Marlowes foul breath invading her nostrils. She tried to remember something happy to pull her from her reality but nothing could drown out what happened next. Cathmore's hands, Katara's laugh, Avren's smile, Eros' dumb jokes. Please please give me something, anything. She pleaded with herself.
Marlowe dropped the knife and began tugging her blood soaked pants downward.
She raised her legs and kicked him as hard as possible. His carving of her abdomen rendered her weak, though, and did no damage to him. He laughed at how weak and helpless she was.
"Please," she begged. He ripped her pants, shredding the material. She was left completely nude with no way to cover herself up- her shoulders feeling as though they would dislocate from the way she was suspended.
"I'm just taking what's mine, a life for a life," he grinned sinisterly.
He reached up and cut the ropes that hung her, sending her colliding with the hard floor. Blood drained from the deep cuts, the skin of her knees splitting with the impact. She crawled away, her arms shaking. She was kicked onto her back.
"This is the pathetic thing that killed Bastian?" The other man in the room burst into laughter.
"I didn't mean to!" She screamed bloody murder when the fat gapped tooth sweaty man crawled onto her. She shook violently, trying not to inhale the rancid smell coming off of his shirtless body.
"You don't accidentally slit someone's throat!" Marlowe boomed. She was struggling beneath the whale of a man who had her pinned below his sweat covered stomach. Stop, stop. Panic was restricting her breathing, an invisible grip on her windpipe.
She was naked, utterly exposed to the disgusting man on top of her who was practically drooling. Marlowe crouched above her head and tilted his head tauntingly. He wore a disgusting smile of yellow, foaming at the mouth with excitement. Who was the man on top of her and why was he involved? She was hyperventilating under his crushing weight.
"You have such a sad little cry, like a baby bird," he pouted his chapped lips.
The big man grabbed her arms and pinned them above her on the floor, on either side of Marlowe's feet where he was crouched and looking down on her. The ceiling above them seemed coated in mold and damage, falling apart like the world around her. She hoped it would collapse and kill them, kill her.
The man straddled her and all she could think was that she was grateful he still had pants on, even if his torso was rubbing against her breasts and nipples.
"No one can hear you out here," the stranger laughed, drool dropping onto her face. Even Marlowe seemed briefly disgusted by it. She whimpered and squirmed beneath him.
Marlowe flipped the blade in his hand, twisted her palm upward to face him and stabbed the blade clean through her hand- pinning it to the floor. The scream that escaped her was inhuman, unnatural, and seemed to shake the building. She tried to reach for the blade with her other hand but he stepped on it, flattening it to the ground.
"Get off," Marlowe demanded of his pig-man accomplice. She tried to move, turning towards where her hand was pinned to the floor and pouring blood.
Marlowe dropped down on top of her while she fought the urge to pass out. She used her non-dominant hand to slap him hard. She thrashed against him hard but he was bigger, so much bigger than her.
"Fucking bitch," he grunted.
"Ge the fuck off of me," she screamed at the top of her lungs. He shoved his entire forearm against her mouth, forcing it open so that it silenced her. She tried to bite down but he didn't care, it didn't do anything to stop him. The weight of him pulled her body slightly away from her hand and she could feel tissue and tendons ripping.
He shoved another knife against her throat. Please just kill me, anything but this. She sobbed against his arm, trying to escape as he opened the fly of his pants. She looked down, eyes wide, she was already in shock and shaking violently but she cried and cried. Cathmore please, she reached out for him.
Tears poured down her face as he laughed at her helplessness, the girl who killed his brother- broken in the worst way beneath him. He forced himself onto her, into her. He didn't even force himself into her vagina, but her ass. The pain was even more excruciating than she could have imagined. She felt something rip with a burning that caused her to scream.
She couldn't move, she couldn't think, she couldn't fight. He would slit her throat if she raised her arm to fight him further, so she froze. She closed her eyes, begging for somebody, anybody to find her in the abandoned building. She was losing too much blood, she was fading in and out of consciousness.
"If she passes out or dies I'm still getting my turn," the pig-man spat. Marlowe ignored him.
Her blood from the wounds on her stomach soaked his shirt, when he saw it, he decided to carve a slice into her cheek. Her scream was muffled against his arm- the taste of sweat and dirt filling her mouth. Praeceptor. She reached out again before accepting that he could not hear her.
She didn't know how much time passed as he writhed on top of her but she was becoming weaker from blood loss, from shock, from the pain. She didn't know when, but he had removed his arm, knowing that she had lost the will to fight him.
He taunted her for being so weak and pathetic. He told her that his killing her was a mercy compared to embarrassing herself in the next trial. She lost sight of the pig man but heard him fidgeting with some kind of tools out of view. Marlowe disgustingly finished onto her stomach where his seed mixed with her blood. She choked back another sob and cringed, the blade still pinning her hand to the floor.
A thunderous crash from the boarded up window behind Marlowe signaled it had been busted in and filled the room with sunlight.
The first person through it was Cathmore, she would recognize his build and raven hair anywhere. More men came in behind him, others through the front door. Marlowe fumbled with his pants, wiping the blood off of him.
She heard the pig-man trying to run away. She struggled against the dagger in her hand, reaching for it but too weak to pull it out.
The men descended on Marlowe, everything happening in slow motion. Their wings crowding the room. Their wings. She had never seen Nephilim with their wings extended- even Cathmore who rushed to her and fell to his knees- had onyx wings towering over him, extending from his back.
He moved quickly and precisely to the blade and yanked it out without warning. She was thankful for that small mercy. He tore his long sleeve free and wrapped her hand as thigh as he could.
"I've got you, I'm here," he whispered while chaos erupted between the pig-man and whoever caught up to him.
Cathmore placed a hand on her cheek, his eyes soft, concerned, but it was short lived. Anger took him far from her. He stood and turned to Marlowe.
With the swiftness of a junglecat, he backhanded the Magister, she could have sworn claws protruded from his hand just before impact. Magister Marlowe crumpled, blood pouring from his face. The other three Nephilim grabbed him, and chained him with silver chords.
Amara was covering herself- her breasts with her forearm, her vagina with her other hand. She was still bleeding from her abdomen but had no way to stop it. Cathmore came back over to her and crouched down, his wings expanding outward and covering the two of them. He protected her from the view of the other men- who were dressed in the gold of the guard of the Sanctum Metere.
"Here," Cathmore used whatever his Imperium was to materialize a shirt into his hand and give it to her. He pressed some other cloth into her stomach, against the bulk of where her skin had been carved. She tried to make sense of what she saw. He summoned items out of nowhere.
He worked quietly and quickly. He was gentle as he bandaged her midsection, pulling materials seemingly out of thin air. Watching him work intently on her wounds was like seeing a glimpse at the man he wanted to be- at a doctor.
She could feel heat coming off of him as though his blood were boiling with anger, the temperature increasing as he assessed her wounds further. His breathing was shallow, she could feel the bitter taste of fury from him.
Once her midsection was wrapped, he helped her pull the shirt over her head. It was big on her and it smelled like him. There was another problem though... warm blood gathering beneath her where she sat.
"Praeceptor," she whimpered weakly. She raised her hand from between her legs where she was bleeding heavy from where Marlowe violated her.
He looked down with wide eyes, black hair sprawling wildly over his forehead. He wrapped bandages into a ball so that she could hold it against herself and absorb the blood.
Loose athletic shorts appeared and she pulled them on, thankful for the privacy of his wings. She could hardly take a mental inventory of everything that hurt. It was too much, too overwhelming.
Once she was dressed, he lifted her in his arms, supporting her under her back and legs. He dropped his wings, they twitched as he tucked them behind him. She could only stare at them in awe.
"Torture, rape, kidnapping, attempted murder," he listed off the offences to one of the guards who nodded. "I will meet with Bennett once my student is back on her feet."
"Yes Captain," one of the men said. Captain?
"I want him and Grogan taken to the old cellars while we await approval for wing removal and sentencing to the Abyss," Cathmore ordered. "The human-" he nodded to the pig-man. "-is mine, put him in the pound," he said coldly.
The Nephilim hauled Marlowe off who was fighting against them and trying to reason with Cathmore. The pig-man was screaming some nonsense about not having touched her.
"It's only a few minutes to fly back, can you handle it?" He asked her, looking into her eyes. He was so demanding and stern with the men but with her...
"I'm afraid of heights," she groaned. Her entire body hurt, she was exhausted, and her soul had been completely shattered. He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. The irony of someone designed for the sky but terrified of it seemed to amuse him. "Just hold on tight, and don't look," he instructed and directed her hands to lace around his neck.
He showed her that he had a firm grip on her and promised not to drop her. He shot into the sky faster than she could have prepared for with a single beat from his wings. No wonder the flight was only a few minutes. She buried her face in his chest as the cold wind bit into her, he pulled her closer, and she focused on his breathing.
His wings pounded the air a few times and then they were soaring through the sky. Part of her wanted to open her eyes but fear forced them to stay closed. She laced her fingers tighter around his neck, determined to stay attached to him.
"You're not going anywhere," he said into her mind. His words were comfort, safety, and hope.
"I think I'm going to pass out," she pushed into his mind. Adrenaline was fading away, the blood loss and shock trying to take her.
"No, you have a concussion. Stay with me," he pleaded and dug his nails into her skin. She jumped but it helped keep her conscious.
They touched down in a large courtyard where one of the units was training. The conscripts gasped in awe when he landed gracefully, and tucked his wings back before they disappeared all together.
"Most of you know Praeceptor Cathmore, he's just come back from a rescue," Praeceptor Sloane said to the unit.
"Amara?" Beck ran up to her. She was happy to see him and smiled weakly, still holding on to Cathmore.
"Back up, she needs a healer," he warned. Beck did so and looked at her worriedly.
Cathmore took long strides into one of the cobblestone buildings, the one she knew to have an infirmary.
Some of the healers were human and some were Nephilim. Five crowded around her as tears streamed down her face. Cathmore laid her on the cot and pushed her hair off of her face.
"Don't go," she asked through their mental bond. He looked around, his eyebrows furrowed. One of the healers shoved him out of the way.
"She's hemorrhaging," a healer said and moved in front of Cathmore. He tried to push back through to her but there were too many people working on her.
Her hand was sprawled on a flat surface where two healers assessed it to stitch it up, her abdomen was being disinfected in preparation for stitches, and they were discussing more... invasive stitches for the tear in her ass.
"Concussion due to blunt force trauma, complete penetration through the right hand, accompanied by two fractures in the bone. Extreme rectal tear due to forced penetration. Stitches required in hand, abdomen, face, and anus," the one who seemed to be the doctor was talking to someone. She looked over to see that it was Crowned Magister Bennet and Cathmore on the other side of the curtain. She was crying, again. She was utterly terrified and mortified.
She ended up requiring a total of thirty stitches in her abdomen, ten in her anus, and two in her face. It was an impossibly painful endeavor for them to clean the cuts and stitch them but she pushed through. It was her hand that was the worst, requiring stitches inside and outside of her skin. She lost count at forty. She knew this would put her behind in the Abyss trial with it being less than two weeks away and that was the emotionally devastating part of it all.
She couldn't walk with the damage from the assault. Her entire body was on fire and nausea consumed her.
Cathmore had gone to speak to the Crowned Magister while the healers finished their work. He was not allowed to stay given the nature of her more intimate injuries.
They allowed her to rest for some hours, gave her some kind of concoction for the pain, and then released her back to Cathmore. The sun had set and the Crowned Magister requested to speak to her in the gardens the following morning. Great, because that went so well last time.
***
"Amara!" Katara exclaimed when she limped into the dormitories for the evening. Avren, Juliet, and Eros joined her as they jogged up to greet her. The others circled around her as well.
"They said Cathmore landed on the training field carrying you and you were bleeding," Avren said, inspecting her face. She raised up her shirt where the stitches dressed six differing deep slices.
"Why," Juliet gasped.
"It was Marlowe, revenge for his brother," she answered, acceptance in her tone.
"So it's true then, you murdered someone before being brought here?" Avren asked, taken aback. Katara and Eros didn't seem phased by it and Juliet appeared to solve some riddle in her head.
"I knew you were the murderess!" Juliet chimed in. "But not like in a bad way... it happens," she shrugged when the others looked at her. She almost wanted to laugh at her friend, thankful to even see her again.
"I have paid my debt for my crime, it's done," she said and slowly moved over to her bunk.
Her close friends wanted to talk to her more about what happened and how the pound had been but she didn't have the energy. Once lights out happened, she was able to take a deep breath as prying eyes closed for the night.
As she tried to sleep, she found herself reliving the tortures of the day. Her body ached, the literal constant pain in her ass reminding her of what Marlowe had done to her. Her abdomen was swollen and heated to the touch. Despite her desperate need to shower, she wasn't allowed to with the stitches. Nor could she eat for twenty-four hours. They wanted the wounds to start closing inside of her before she relieved herself again. Luckily she had already gone nearly a full day without eating anyway.
She felt as though she was coated in the men's sweat and bodily fluids. Despite the crushing weight of what had happened though, she was out of tears. She had begged for her life, begged for him to stop, but it was for nothing. She felt weak and pathetic, she felt utterly destroyed beyond repair.
Everytime she closed her eyes, she felt Marlowe cutting her open, forcing himself into her. The one time she finally dozed off, she awoke screaming, Juliet and Eros by her side to comfort her. She realized that sleep was out of the question after hours ticked by. She took an extra dose of the pain relieving mixture so she could take a walk.
Eventually, she found herself mindlessly wandering through the tunnels beneath the grounds of the Sanctum Metere. She had no destination in mind, she just knew she couldn't stay in her bed for another second. The library had the keepers who would rat her out, so she ambled through the doorway that would take her to the old lookout tower. The stairs were more exhausting than before, and she had to take them slowly so as not to tear her stitches. She paused a few times, her labored breathing causing pain as her stomach expanded on each deep breath.
It wasn't until she noticed the door slightly ajar at the top of the stairs that she remembered that the door downstairs should have been locked. Still, she pushed through it. She knew only one person could be up there besides her.
Sitting slumped against the wall, asleep, was Praeceptor Cathmore. He didn't stir when she made her way onto the landing, his head leaning back, sleep softening his features. His arms were crossed, his hands being warmed under his armpits. He looked uncharacteristically still and serene. He was usually so stiff, active, demanding, and his facial features were always hardened. All of those things weren't present as he dozed calmly beneath the stars of the cold night. It was almost entirely too cold, she didn't know how he fell asleep.
She felt suddenly as though she were looking in on a private moment that she shouldn't be, so she turned to begin the trek back downstairs.
"Come here, Brat," Cathmore sighed softly. She turned to him cautiously, of course he sensed she was there.
She padded over to him and sat very carefully beside him, he leaned his head back on the wall once more and looked over at her. Heat was radiating off of his body as though he was his own heat source, maybe he was. She didn't know all of the powers the Nephilim possessed, much less what his Imperium granted him.
"I felt your pain today. I don't know how," he admitted transparently.
"Is that not normal for empaths? I thought our connection was due to the similarities of our clairvoyant abilities," she turned to him. She winced, her butt tender.
"No, it's not normal," he sighed.
"That's how you knew what happened to me," she surmised. He nodded and looked away from her. She winced again and sat back against the wall when it seemed as though he was finished talking.
"I'm so sorry, Amara," he murmured as he fell asleep.
Time passed in comfortable silence and she found herself falling asleep, her head leaning on his shoulder. She allowed his protective nature and warmth to comfort her as she got some much needed rest.
***
The morning sun rose over them, awaking Amara. She was on her side, laying in Cathmore's lap, facing his body, her face nearly buried in his stomach. Her hand was curled into his dark shirt, wrinkling it. His hand was draped across her upper arm and he seemed to still be sleeping peacefully. Her entire body was warmed thanks to the heat coming from him.
He straightened suddenly, which prompted her to sit up. Her abdomen hurt far worse than the previous day and she panted from the strain it took to get up. Fuck.
Cathmore looked around and shot up to his feet quickly.
"What's going on?" She asked, sleepily.
"I have to take you to meet Crowned Magister Bennett," he informed her.
He was uncharacteristically patient with how slow she needed to walk. She was grateful that for once he wasn't being abrasive and demanding. They wound their way through the maze of neatly trimmed hedges before they were finally greeted by Crowned Magister Bennett.
"Ashenfall," the Crowned Magister greeted her. She said nothing. His calm demeanor and hands crossed in front of him made her skin crawl.
"A great wrong was committed against you. For that I am sorry," he said sincerely. She couldn't wrap her head around the Crowned Magister actually apologizing to her.
"I do not tolerate gross abuse of power," he began. She fought the urge to scoff. "Marlowe broke a number of oaths that he swore in order to hold the position of Magister here at the Sanctum Metere. His bold willingness to defy my orders, torturing a sired child, kidnapping, and sexual assault are individually punishable to the highest extent."
If she had been just human the punishment wouldn't be so heavy. It's why her only punishment for Bastian's murder was to still enter the Crucible . She looked around for Cathmore who had paced away into another part of the garden.
"With that being said; Ruslan Marlowe will have his wings clipped at sunrise before the entirety of the Sanctum Metere. He will then be cast into the Abyss where he will suffer for eternity as a traitor to Hadeon and to his kingdom. He will be known as a coward for his heinous actions against you," Bennett spoke so calmly in a matter-of-fact tone. She nodded and hugged her arms to her body, careful of her stitches. Cathmore emerged behind the Crowned Magister and listened in silence. She fidgeted with a leaf on one of the hedges.
"You showed great courage in the situation, you showed a fighting spirit, and you showed that your stubbornness will not allow you to be killed so easily. So that this wrong can be righted, I hereby grant you one silent pardon from one of the two remaining trials," he offered.
She gasped and looked to Cathmore who bowed his head, seemingly to hide a smile.
"What is... I..." she stammered. "Thank you." The Crowned Magister grabbed her uninjured hand, clasping it between his.
"Your Praeceptor will give you the details, but to see you standing before me after what you endured- I believe we can expect great things from you in the future, Ms. Ashenfall," he praised her. His words put her more into a state of shock than she thought she had been after the assault, though she still hadn't come down from the events either. She had a feeling that when she did, she would crumble.
"Thank you," was all she could say. She was left wondering if her impression of the Crowned Magister had been wrong. When Cathmore led her away, Bennett called out;
"Gragnor will serve time in Mistscar, three decades." Cathmore nodded his thanks and they made their way through the gardens and back towards the dormitories. Mistscar?
"What's Mistcar?" She asked him.
"It's a less severe punishment than the Abyss. Nephilim in Mistcar are held and tortured but can be released after their time served," he explained.
"A prison," she nodded.
"Yes, it's just... worse than most human ones," he cringed. She wondered how he knew the details of Mistcar. "I'm going to take you back to the dormitories so you can rest. You need to limit movement. You won't be participating in the events with the other units today," he instructed.
"At least the dorms will be quiet," she offered a weak smile. Cathmore resummed walking. "What are you going to do to the pig-man?" She asked. It had been nagging at her.
"The... pig-man?" He turned to her with perplexed amusement. She shot him a vicious glare, not in the mood to joke about the nickname.
"I didn't exactly catch his name," she shuddered, recalling his excitement at a turn with her.
"I'm going to find out why he was involved and then I'm going to kill him for touching you," he said simply.
"He's not the one..." she shifted on her feet. "He's not that one that-" he interrupted her.
"I know that," he sighed. "But I saw him on top of you. I felt your terror," anger tensed his shoulder muscles.
"He's human," she sighed. "Just because he can die, doesn't mean he should die," her morals betrayed her anger towards the man. Cathmore slightly tilted his head and crossed his strong arms.
"You don't want him dead?" He seemed to have trouble understanding why.
"The only reason the other two aren't dead is because they're immortal right?" She sighed.
"Marlowe is getting the closest thing to death that we can offer," he reasoned.
"Human's mortality does not make them less than us. The beings in this kingdom are far too happy to kill them," she voiced a frustration she long harbored as she paced slowly in front of him.
"But he deserves to die..." Cathmore reasoned, speaking through gritted teeth.
She cringed as she recalled him writhing on top of her and drooling on her. It made her entire body shake.
"I killed a human. This was the price I paid for that. I will not have another one killed," she resolved herself. He turned his back on her, his muscles tense.
"Do you think you deserve what happened to you?" He spoke away from her.
She didn't answer. Somewhere deep down, she felt like she did.
"That's bullshit. Noone deserves that," he lost his temper, whirling back on her. The look on his face sent her heart right into the ground.
"Why do you care?" She matched his tone, getting in his face.
"You are my charge!" He roared. "This is on me," he pushed past her.
"If you kill him, you are doing it for you. I will not live with his blood on my hands too," she walked away from where he stood and resolved herself to go back to the dormitories. Her wounds were aching and she felt weak.
He let her walk away from him.