When the Fallen Prince closed his eyes, he saw her in the small boat, drifting in the sea, her hands bound and body trembling with fear and thirst. His rage grew, and he clenched his jaw, dark wishes sprouting to life in his mind. Thoughts of Luella watching him enact his revenge—killing the Fallen and fucking her on the bloodied floor?—
But no. She was too good to be defiled on the floor and taken like an animal.
Too good for him—too good for any of them.
Except maybe Azgorath.
"Tell us, and it will all go away," Graves whispered.
The Fallen’s eyes filled with ire. "You’re an excuse for a Prince. You should’ve stayed gone, and maybe the angel bitch you all fuck would never have been hurt. All’s fair in protecting a home," he spat.
Tharen tsked, and the scent of smoke filled the room, overpowering the salty tinge of the sea.
"You should not have said that," Graves said calmly, but inside, he was anything but calm.
The Fallen’s screams grew to be white noise, buzzing in the back of his head as he worked. Each plea and bubbling sob was ignored.
"You had your chance," Graves said. After extracting all the information they needed from the Fallen—specifically which hand had touched Luella first—he carved off each finger. Blood sprayed on his face.
Bloodied stumps raised before him, the Fallen gasped as he stared at the mess of his hand.
When the male was unrecognizable, and the air tasted of iron, Graves stepped away and admired his work.
Shiny strands of his intestines spilled from his cut-open stomach.
Graves brushed shoulders with Tharen, who hummed in appreciation. "Always so grotesque. My methods are far better."
Graves narrowed his eyes on the Prima, as Bastian stepped forward lazily, finger tapping on his temple as he got to work on the Fallen’s mind.
"You cheat with your magic," Graves replied.
A low hiss drew their attention to Vale, who faced the wall, clenched fist against it as he worked to maintain composure.
"That might be a problem," Graves said to Tharen. "He needs to shift."
He didn’t bother saying what Vale truly needed:
To claim Luella.
"Bastian was, too. Until he gave in," Tharen said, and the ends of his words grew muted from the Fallen’s strangled gasps and screams.
"Fuck! No. Get them off me. They’re here! Stop—please!" The Fallen struggled and strained against his bindings, causing more blood to pool from his many wounds. He battled invisible enemies as Bastian brought his worst fears to life.
"I thought you said you were going to get answers?" Vale’s broken hiss filled the air. He turned his head to stare at Bastian, golden hair hanging in his eyes.
Bastian smirked. "Did I?"
The Fallen’s screams ceased; he hung limp in the chains.
And in his mind, Graves heard:
You wanted to see him succumb to his fears. I couldn’t resist.
Graves’s lips twitched as he thought back,Thanks.
It’s the least he deserves,Bastian answered. All the while, he stared unflinchingly at the unresponsive Fallen until blood bubbled from his lips, trailing from his ears and trickling from his closed eyes. The Fallen’s body jerked, wings lashing. Bastian sighed, and then the Fallen grew utterly limp. Dead.
Bastian stepped carefully away, mindful of the blood. He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, "After drinking from Luella, any other blood is worse than effluvium."
