“I think they’re called ‘octopus.’ Have you ever tried one?” I asked as I walked down the stairs into the cathedral’s underground cells.
I’d been hoping to lighten the mood at least a little, but as I arrived at the cells, I fell silent. Even as I stood right in front of the devil-touched prisoners I’d tortured earlier that day, none of them reacted at all to my presence. They were all staring off into space with unfocused eyes, devoid of any will or vitality.
Looking them over, I felt a sinking feeling as wheels turned in my head.
“If they’re just playing possum and waiting for an opening, they’re incredible actors...”
I unlocked the door and stepped into the cell to examine them up close. Nothing. I tried touching them; I even lifted up their arms to put their hands around my own throat. Still no reaction. They just sat there with the blank gazes of dolls.
“I’d been planning to apologize, for whatever it’s worth...”
This wasn’t because of what I’d done to them. Not even people who’d broken under torture ended up like this. If nothing else, they’d still have an instinctive avoidance response to the person who’d hurt them. This total lack of any reaction was something else entirely.
In other words, someone else had done something to them while I wasn’t around.
“How are things on your end, Brother Karm?”
As I walked back up the stairs, I put in a call to the person I least wanted to talk to. At first I’d been hoping I could go through Glasses as an intermediary, but I hadn’t gotten a response no matter how many times I’d called him. So I’d been forced to contact Karm directly. I hated owing him a favor, but if he could help assuage the sick feeling in my gut, it was worth it. Before I’d headed out to the port, I’d sent the zealot over to the saint’s orphanage.
“It’s pretty much what you expected,” he answered. “I couldn’t find a single one who remembers.”
I quietly took in his report. “I see.”
I wasn’t especially shocked. After seeing the state of things downstairs, I’d already more or less understood. But at the same time, deep down, I’d still been hoping I was wrong. I felt my shoulders slump a little. As my thoughts turned to what I needed to do now, my heart grew heavier and heavier.
“Thank you, Brother. I’ll handle things from here, so...” I sighed. “I appreciate your assistance.”
“The Gods have spoken to me, Sister. They bid me leave this city now.”
“Do as you please. If you’d like me to repay you, please send an invoice to Glasses.”
“Sister.”
There was something odd in Karm’s tone. I unconsciously stopped in my tracks.
“What is it?”
“You are an arrogant and vainglorious bride, Sister. Please be careful not to forget that.”
“I’m fully aware, Brother.”
Outside, the sky was covered in clouds, and the light of the moon had disappeared. Our call had already disconnected, and the world was enveloped in darkness. Only the scant flames of a few candles painted the world around me in faint silhouettes. That was why we sought the light—to sustain our hearts when they were on the verge of breaking. To illuminate our paths as we walked this world of shadows.
“But it’s not as though our sins disappear in the dark either...”
I straightened the rumpled collar of my vestments and turned on my heel, heading for the grand cathedral. I made my way to the Holy Saint, she who had descended to this earth to save all who suffered.
Amid the darkness, I stepped forth to unmask the saint’s sins.
+ + + + +
When was it I stopped being able to sleep in the dark?
That’s obvious. It was when they captured me.
Back then, the pain was the only thing that let me know I was still alive. My throat was parched, my voice was failing, my flesh was carved away, my bones were broken—but even then, I couldn’t die. I didn’t resent life’s hold on me, though. If anything, I was grateful for the pain.
I’m still alive. I’m not dead yet.
Clinging to life was how I rebelled against the monsters that tried to break me—not just my body, but my spirit as well.
It all started on a regular autumn night, back in the village where I grew up. We were on our way home from the Festival of Thanks when we saw someone’s corpse lying in the road in front of us. Someone’s—we couldn’t tell whose it was, not anymore. Then we heard the screams. They were coming from the village square, where people were still cleaning up after the festival. Something was out there in the darkness, and people were dying.
My legs froze up. I knew we needed to run, but my body just wouldn’t move. I slapped at my legs to force them into motion, and then I grabbed my sister’s hand and pulled her away. Not toward home—out of the village, out into the woods. It wasn’t safe here. We just needed to get as far away as possible.
My mom had drilled into me what I needed to do if demons ever attacked. I went through her instructions over and over inside my head as we fled into the forest. We ran and ran, stumbling over countless tree roots, almost falling... Until the darkness swallowed up our path.
When I came to, we were chained up inside the church. That was when I understood that I’d never know peace again.
They were torturing my mom. All that was left of my dad was a head lying on the floor. I could see other familiar faces all around. My body already knew what was going to happen to us—what they were going to do.
My little sister hadn’t woken up yet. I hugged her close as I searched for an opening. Even if the rest of us were done for, I had to find a way to save her, at least. There weren’t that many demons; I could only see three of them. There was still hope...
But my sister was the first one they ate.
They did it right in front of me.
Right before my eyes, as I screamed at them to stop, they toyed with her and tore into her flesh.
After that, I lost track of whether it was night or day, or even whether I was awake or asleep. Still, my mind refused to break. In the midst of my vague, indistinct awareness, the pain was all that remained—the sole evidence that I was still in the world of the living. My heart never grew numb. My rage, my grief—all the emotions in my body would run wild in an outburst of murderous fury. And then I’d be disciplined for it, time and time again.
My throat was parched, but never crushed. I must’ve been more fun to play with that way. I was just a toy—a toy that groaned and shouted and screamed bloody murder.
Early on, I’d felt the presences of other children nearby every now and then, but they’d all long since disappeared. I was the only one left alive.
Even then, not a single part of me wished to die. I held out, I clung to life, I waited and waited. The longer I refused to break, the more bored they got with me. If I kept on biding my time, I’d get my chance sooner or later. I’d find an opening, and I’d kill them all...
But then, one of them had an idea for a change of pace.
“How about instead of making it break, we try and play with it without breaking it?”
They all laughed at the new fun they’d discovered, and from that point on, they got more careful. More precise. They made a game of trying to crush every scrap of my human dignity, every shred of my attachment to life. They wanted to see me beg them for my own death.
They fed me a diet of their fluids and parts of my own body. Whenever they broke anything, they’d fix it. Whenever they flattened anything, they’d pump it back up. They kept on toying with me, trying to find the very limits of how far they could push me.
I would’ve been spared so much suffering if they’d just killed me. But I still didn’t die, and some vital, human part of me refused to let me break—no, refused to let them break me.
I prayed and prayed. I prayed to the Gods—to the shards of idols that lay ruthlessly shattered around me. I prayed for a power that would let me kill those monsters. I prayed for a future that would let me see them wiped out for good.
And my prayers were answered.
Their darkness itself became my ally.
+ + + + +