21. Liliana
I don’t know how long I sleep for. I know it wasn’t long and it certainly wasn’t peaceful.
Magnus strides into my cell, turning his nose up at the sight of me like he expected me to be smelling of roses and dolled up to the nines.
My skin prickles as he gets nearer and that jolt of adrenaline in my stomach makes me so close to puking again.
God, I can only imagine what he would do if I hurled up all over his shiny oxfords.
He clicks his fingers and two women appear, both of them are dressed in the same plain uniform that suggests they’re maids. With barely a reaction, they grab hold of me and I’m practically dragged from the darkness.
“Clean her up.” Magnus commands behind us. “I want her immaculate. I want her cunt so smooth I can eat off it.”
The reaction I get to that, the way my stomach suddenly heaves up bile, is uncontrollable, and before I can do anything I really do puke, all over me, all over them.
All over his pristine damn leather shoes.
He lets out a sigh as though I’m nothing more than an irritation. A fly he needs to swat. And then he waves his hand before leaving us to it.
In a way, I should be grateful for that. Grateful for the bath I’m given too. It’s hot, comforting. So much of me wants to give into the heat, slide into the water and pretend, but I can’t because my mind is already focused on what’s coming next.
The maids scrub at my skin, gently erasing all the smears of blood and grime. They exfoliate, they massage, it almost feels like I am at a spa. One holds my arm up while the other shaves me. Then they do the other armpit.
When it comes to my legs, I wobble, and I’m forced to lean on one while the other makes sure I’m presentable.
I shut my eyes when they start waxing my pussy. Every strip they pull off makes me jolt, but the pain is nothing compared to what I’ve been through. I don’t doubt they can see all the bruising, all the cuts, the way I’m swollen from all the abuse I’ve suffered, but they don’t say a word. They just carefully manoeuvre my labia around as if this is all perfectly normal.
And then they help me out, rub the softest towel I have ever felt against my skin and work moisturiser into my skin. It stings like hell when it gets into the bite that Magnus gave me, but I need that pain. I need that hit of reality because I’m so close to shutting my eyes and pretending, giving into the illusion of what this is.
But even this tiny bit of peace is quickly erased. I’m forced down, pinned down, and something is inserted into my arse. I scream out, trying to stop whatever the fuck they’re now doing, but they don’t stop, they just hold me there, keeping one arm twisted behind me in a pressure position to make me obedient.
Water or fluid or something is forced into my arsehole. I hate the feel of it, I hate the indignity, and I don’t want to dwell on what the fuck this might mean. On and on they fill me up. It’s uncomfortable, it’s completely degrading, but there’s nothing I can do but lay here and endure it.
When they finally drag me over to a toilet, I’m so grateful to be able to get it all out that I don’t even care that they’re witnessing this, witnessing another level of my degradation.
They fix a collar around my neck, securing it with a buckle—one exactly like the thing a dog would wear. I gulp, feeling my throat push against the tightness of the leather, but I barely get a moment to come to terms with it before the door is opened and Magnus is there, holding his hand as if I’d willingly take it.
Perhaps he sees it on my face, perhaps he has more sense than that because he walks in, grabs my arm, and takes away any last of my limited freedom.
“We’re going to try a new game, Liliana.” he states, dragging me down the corridor and up the steps. “Let’s see how long you dare to defy me now.”
I don’t know how to respond, but that fear grows at what awful thing he now has planned. Hasn’t he done enough? Hasn’t he hurt me enough? Christ, when will this end?
He tightens his grip, hauling me along, and my feet fumble, my toes slam into the stone forcing me to bite my lip to hide the noise.
Outside, I’m all but hurled into the back of a van.
For a second my heart leaps, is this it? Has he decided he’s done with me now? Am I’m being driven to some discreet place, to be disposed of and buried in a shallow grave?
The journey seems to take forever, the roads feel windy, uneven, all signs that this is the end. That I am being driven to my death. I only pray that it isn’t too painful. That whatever my end is, it’s fast and efficient.
But that voice in my head tells me that this isn’t what’s happening. I’m not going to be executed. I’m going to be hurt. He wouldn’t have me cleaned up simply to do away with me.
No, wherever the fuck we’re headed, Magnus has something truly horrific planned.
My eyes dart across the building in front of me. The walls are high, imposing, and I can’t see a single window. The way the light hits the brickwork makes them look as though they’re actually bleeding. Who the fuck would want a building like this?
“What is this place?” I ask, even with all I know about the Brethren I’ve never heard any mention about this.
“Oblivion.” Magnus says, as if that’s meant to mean something.
“Oblivion?” I repeat.
His lips curl. “This is where we bring our Lords and Ladies to be punished. This is where those who have offended the Brethren can do their penance before they’re allowed to return to the light.”
I gulp, not quite understanding why I wasn’t sent here, if that’s the case.
“Only those who are righteous can come here.” Magnus adds, answering that question for me, because I’m not righteous am I, I’m not Brethren. By their rules, I’m nothing. Nobody. I don’t get a chance at redemption. I’m not worthy of such a thing.
“Then what am I doing here?” I ask.
No one replies to that.
All the men around us keep their eyes ahead like they’re expecting something to go down. As though this place is not fully under their control.
My heart picks up a beat. My breath starts to turn ragged. I know Magnus has a certain level of power, but if this place is what he described, what’s to stop those held here from rioting, from rising up, from taking over?
Inside, it’s even more foreboding. Dark corridors and dark rooms. All I can hear is the heavy beat of some awful music but filtering through is the sounds of cries, screams, and the unmistakable sound of people fucking. Grunts, groans, sounds of people trying to fight, it’s like we’ve arrived in the very pits of hell.
I come to a sudden stop, not that I was being all that compliant.
Magnus glances at me and lets out a sharp laugh. “Don’t worry about them. Where we’re headed will be much more fun.”
Fun? What the fuck is this? My body starts trembling worse than ever, my heart is racing so fast now I think it might actually give out entirely. God, please let that happen, let me just die here, right now and end it all on my terms.
I try to turn, to get away and I’m snatched back, dragged along and then thrown into a room that feels far too empty. One chair seems to dominate the space. Ornate, cushioned, the kind of thing that you’d imagine a king would sit on.
Magnus struts over to it, plonking his immaculate arse down while I’m then held in place in front of him like an offering.
For a moment, we just stare at each other. Me glaring at him and him, sat so fucking smug. Both of us refusing to blink like this is some sort of competition, though I doubt I’ll get any prize if he gives in first.
The sound of the door opening breaks this match off and my head turns to see a group of people shuffling in, with chains around their ankles and wrists, and what looks like dog collars around their necks, only theirs are complete with actual chain leads.
My eyes widen, I stare in horror then look back at Magnus whose eyes are positively sparkling with amusement. The man leading them steps up, handing over all the leads as if they’re not human at all but a pack of animals .
“You want to play hard to get,” he says. “You want to be a stubborn bitch, let’s see how much your pride is worth.”
“What does that mean?” I gasp. None of this makes any damned sense, and I’m too exhausted to even try to figure it out.
He looks from me to them, and then he tosses something at me. It hits my stomach then makes a thud as it lands on the floor.
When I look down, I can see it’s a dildo. Not just any either, this thing is grotesque, far thicker in girth than a normal man’s penis, with weird bulbous lumps and a head that looks like it would split you in half. I’ve heard about monster kink, I’ve heard about all those spicy paranormal books, but to see this in real life is something else.
“Fuck yourself.” Magnus says, placing his hands on the ornate goldleaf arms as if he’s making the most normal of requests.
“Excuse me?” I snap back.
He grins, jerking on the chains and one of the men is yanked forward. Magnus produces a gun, pointing the thing right at the man’s head. “Fuck yourself or I blow his brains out.”
“You, you wouldn’t dare…” I stammer, but my words are silenced the second he pulls the trigger.
The sound echoes in the room, I throw my hands up, covering my ears as if I can somehow drown it out. Something wet hits me, something covers my skin, and, as I realise I’m screaming, I can also taste what it is.
It’s in my mouth.
In my eyes.
It’s covering my chest.
I’m drenched in his blood and brain matter.
The man hits the floor like a dead weight, and I guess that’s exactly what he is now. Dead.
I don’t know how my legs keep me up, I don’t know how I don’t pass out. I thought seeing Ronin hanging there, above me was bad enough but this, this is so much worse.
Magnus yanks on those leads and another one, a woman this time, is dragged in front of me.
“Try again.” Magnus says, pointing the gun.
I shake my head. I stumble back, slamming into the mass of the man who’s preventing me from running.
With a tut, Magnus pulls the trigger, and the woman cries out as she lands on the ground, barely a metre from me. Her eyes find mine and I can see the fear, the desperation, all of it reflected in them.
There’s blood streaming from a hole in her chest, millimetres above her heart. It pools around her, rapidly filling the dark void between us.
I scramble to her, desperately trying to stem the bleeding, but all I have is my hands and it’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough.
It’s so warm, so thick, as it covers my fingers.
“Don’t die, don’t die.” I start repeating over and over like it might mean something. Like I can do anything.
“So caring.” Magnus sneers. “So fucking pathetic. You think this woman matters? You think any of them matters?”
“They’re worth more than you.” I spit back, fighting the furious tears that threaten to erupt.
He throws his head back and he laughs. “You just don’t learn, do you?” he says before pointing and aiming at the woman in my arms. Her head instantly turns to mush. Her face becomes unrecognisable.
Once more I scream, but no noise actually comes out, despite the high-pitched ringing in my head.
“How many more?” Magnus barks. “How many more will I have to kill to make you obedient?”
I shake my head, feeling my tears stream down my face. I can’t let these people die. I refuse to be as selfish as that.
But I also can’t give in either.
My pride is still there .
I won’t simply bend to this monster’s will and become the obedient pet he wants me to be.
Magnus yanks on the lead again, and a girl who must be half my age is dragged into the mess of blood and death around me.
“You do it.” Magnus says and I frown, confused by those instructions before I realise they aren’t meant for me.
The girl reaches forward, grabbing the monstrous dildo and she spreads her thighs, sitting back on her haunches as though it’s a rehearsed position, one she knows well. Slowly, she starts to push it inside herself. Her face screws up, she whimpers as each nasty bit of rubber forces her wider, but we can all see how much the thing is hurting her.
“What a good little slut.” Magnus murmurs. “She’s been such a quick learner these last few months.”
I narrow my eyes, but I can’t look away from the scene in front of me. It’s like a car crash, it’s like an actual horror playing out. The girl is sobbing, but her hips are moving, and she is doing it, she is fucking herself as we all watch.
Will he spare her life? Will he grant her some sort of reprieve after this? Is that why she’s playing along? Perhaps if I knew that was the result, I’d be more inclined to do it myself.
One awful, horrific moment to spare me from more horrors.
“Harder.” Magnus snaps.
The girl whimpers, tightening her grip and picks up speed.
Magnus pulls the trigger, narrowly missing her knee, and she screams in terror with the thing half out of her.
“I said harder, not faster. Learn the fucking difference,” he says.
“Don’t.” I gasp, reaching out, trying to stop her. “You don’t have to do this.”
Magnus laughs, as do the men stood around, watching this all play out. “Yes, she does. Because she knows what the consequences are. ”
“What could possibly be worse than this?” I snarl, as a tiny voice in my head tells me that perhaps I can push him enough for me to be on the receiving end of that bullet.
Would I get that lucky? Can I offend him enough in this moment that he’s forced to do it, forced to kill me to save his own pride?
Magnus doesn’t reply. Neither does the girl. No one answers that as if it’s something so horrific no one wants to even contemplate it.
I can see the blood starting to drip from where the toy is doing so much damage. But the girl doesn’t relent, she just keeps raising her hips, slamming it inside her and from the length alone, I know it must be ramming into her cervix.
But her cries do turn to moans. Perhaps she’s faking it, perhaps she’s the world’s best actress, but we can see the way her body is starting to jerk, the way her cheeks are now so flushed. She is getting off despite the pain.
“Harder.” Magnus commands again.
I don’t even know how she can. Her arm doesn’t have the strength. She whimpers, desperately trying to obey and just as she starts climaxing, Magnus does it again.
He takes aim and pulls the trigger.
Her body slumps. She lands beside the second lady, her face falling into the armpit of the man, with that toy still buried to the hilt. It’s as undignified an ending as I could ever imagine.
For a moment I just stand there, blinking, as though my mind can’t register the scene before me. And then it clicks, that she’s dead. That he killed her, even though she was doing what he wanted.
I want to scream. I want to launch myself at Magnus because she was being obedient, why the fuck did he kill her?
I’m on my feet before anyone can register the movement, but Magnus is there, and he grabs my face, stopping my attack before it even begins. His fingers dig into my cheeks, and I can feel all the blood and grime beneath his grip.
“Your turn,” he says so quietly. “Unless you want more people to die for you?”
I can’t think. I can’t formulate words. It’s like something inside me shuts down and I become some sort of robot.
All my sense of reason, all the parts of me that would fight this, seem to curl up, fold up, disappear as though I’ve locked them away for safe-keeping in some nice little treasure box.
I shut my eyes, but I’m falling to my knees, reaching over the body of a dead girl, reaching between her thighs and grabbing the awful thing that’s buried inside her.
As I pull it out, I can feel the resistance, the way her muscles are still gripping it so tightly and it gives off an awful squelching sound as it finally comes free.
It’s covered in her juices, in smears of her blood, too. Nothing about this can be sanitary, but then I guess that’s the least of my problems right now, isn’t it?
But the feel of it it’s not rubber, it’s not plastic like I first thought. It feels like skin, like leather. I stare back at Magnus and his lips turn into a curl.
“It’s his cock,” he states. “Ronin’s. I cut it off, tanned it, turned it into something useful.”
I gasp, half choking on that knowledge and revulsion slithers through me. Who the fuck even thinks of doing such a thing as that?
“Of course it wasn’t quite big enough to cover it, I had to stretch the skin to make it fit he entire circumference.”
I shut my eyes, trying not to dwell on how horrific those words are, trying not to imagine how the hell one stretches skin out.
“He almost fucked us by running to you.” Magnus states. “So now you’re going to fuck him in return, metaphorically speaking. ”
I shake my head slightly, disgust once more threatening to manifest as more puke. But Magnus raises that gun and points it, making it clear what the consequences are for my refusal.
God, I hate him. No, hate doesn’t go nearly far enough to define what I feel. I let out a shudder, I move it between my own legs, trying to pretend that what I’m feeling is not his flesh, that it’s not Ronin’s actual taxidermied fucking dick.
Magnus holds his hand up to stop me. “Dip it in her blood.”
“What?”
“You heard,” he says.
I blink back, staring at him in total disbelief.
“Coat the thing in her blood,” he barks. “You caused her death with your disobedience, it’s only fair you’re punished for it.”
My hands shake, I bite my lip so hard to keep in the reply I so desperately want to make. But there’s still half a dozen other slaves in the room. One wrong move, one stupid comment could get them all killed.
“Do you want more, is that it? You want all these people dead? There’s a hundred more where they came from,” he states. “You want me to kill every fucking whore in this place? Is that what your pride is worth?”
I whimper, my shoulders slump and I hate that he’s right. That I am prideful, that he may have pulled the trigger, but I didn’t have to fight him on this. It wasn’t like he was asking all that much, and it isn’t like he hasn’t already degraded me enough times for it to actually matter anymore.
I shuffle over, holding my breath as if that might make any of this better. With my right hand I dip the toy in the blood still trickling from her mutilated face.
“Coat it.” Magnus repeats more forcefully.
And I do. I swirl it, like it’s a damned popsicle and then I shift back, trying to put as much distance between me and the dead bodies as I possibly can .
Magnus sits back in his throne, his hands on the arms and his right ankle propped up on his knee like he’s ready for the show to start now.
I want to curse, to swear, to lob this thing at his horrifically handsome face.
But I don’t. Instead, I sit back, spreading my legs and I force the awful thing inside me.
Christ, it hurts. Every inch it feels like it’s pushing me too wide, too open. I don’t think my muscles are meant to expand this far. Nothing about this feels good. And when I remember that all that wetness isn’t lubricant, that it’s blood, I very nearly puke everywhere.
I keep my gazed down at the bastard’s feet. I don’t dare look up, but my tears are streaming anyway. I’m a complete, uncontrollable, mess as I start to fuck myself, just as he commanded.
“There,” he taunts, “that wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
I grit my teeth so hard I swear they might shatter. If they do, I’ll swallow them, I’ll choke on them rather than give him any further satisfaction.
Between him and the other arsehole who raped me, my insides are already butchered. I don’t know how long I can do this for, I don’t know how long I’ll even be able to stay conscious.
“Make yourself come.”
I knew those words were coming. I knew that’s what he was going to ask of me. That’s clearly his focus for me, his way to prove my shame and his power over me.
I shake my head because there’s no way I physically can. This hurts too much. My body is too damaged from everything he’s done to, me and everything he’s forcing me to do in this very moment.
“Make yourself come or I will kill every one of them.”
“I can’t.” I sob. I can’t fucking do it. Will that cost them their lives? Will my failure now result in more people dying? Guilt sweeps over me and I turn my face, silently begging forgiveness from the soon to be dead people in the corner.
Perhaps he realises it, perhaps he can see what the issue is because he raises his hand, pulling the six chained up people who are left, to where I’m on my knees.
“No.” I gasp. I don’t want them to die. I don’t want to be responsible for this.
He smirks, tilting his head. “My whore needs a helping hand,” he says tauntingly. “Clean her up, get her ready for me.”
My stomach drops. I don’t know what those words mean, but apparently everyone else does.
Hands grab at me, I’m forced onto my back and I lash out, I kick, I try to fight them off. Why the fuck are they even obeying him anyway? He literally just killed three of them, why aren’t they fighting back? Why aren’t they helping me? Perhaps if we all teamed up together, we could overpower them… and then what? We can’t escape, I doubt we’d even make it out of the room.
That awful toy is removed and tossed and, in its place, a man settles himself as if this is all perfectly normal.
“What the fuck is this?” I scream into what feels like the void.
“Relax,” another whispers into my ear. “Don’t fight. You’re dead anyway so you might as well make it as pain-free as you can.”
I turn my head, staring in horror at the woman who said it. Her eyes look so glassy, she looks almost like a living corpse. God only knows what she’s been through, what she’s endured.
Her hand comes up, she pushes something into my mouth, slips it in past my lips and then holds my jaw shut like she knows I’m going to fight her.
I can taste it on my tongue. It’s sour, bitter, unpleasant.
Whatever the fuck this is, I refuse to swallow it. I twist my head, trying to get her off me so I can spit the liquid out, but she clamps my nose shut as if that will make me give in .
Something wet, something warm, something far too slippery pushes it’s way right up my core and in my shock, I gasp out, and I swallow.
The woman grins, a creepy, almost too toothy grin, and she lets go of me and then moves around to keep my head in place with her spindly hands.
The man between my thighs starts licking, lapping, literally cleaning me up and I squirm hating every second of this new violation.
Hands grab at my legs, keeping me wide open. Mouths latch onto my breasts, sucking at my nipples, teasing me.
More tongues trace my arms, my legs.
None of it feels good. None of it feels nice.
And then, to my absolute horror, it does.
Everything changes. My body seems to lurch from being twisted in pain, to being twisted in the complete opposite. I let out a gasp, forcing my brain to focus, forcing myself to fight whatever drug they’ve clearly given me.
It feels like a fever. It feels like I’m on fire.
I arch my hips, I stretch my back, needing space, needing air, needing more, more, more.
I’m still half-covered in blood and brain matter but inch by inch, they lick me clean. They worship my flesh like I’m some sort of goddess.
And then, a shadow falls on me, on us. I look up, seeing not one but two of Magnus, flickering, towering over us all. I blink, then blink again, and as they merge into one fully formed monster, I whimper.
“Are you ready for me now, pet? Ready to submit?”
“No.”
I don’t know how I even get the word out. How I even make my tongue form the syllable, or my mind stay coherent enough to even fight him .
Magnus let’s out a chuckle, pushing the bodies off of me. And then it feels like I’m weightless, that gravity no longer affects me. I’m flying, soaring, floating before I land once more on something hard, cold, and unforgiving.
My eyes roll around, they struggle to focus, but I realise I’m on a platform of some sort, with Magnus now straddling me.
“Stop.” I choke. “Stop.”
His left hand wraps around my throat and though the grip is punishing, it sets off fireworks in my brain.
His right hand reaches down, too far, too deep, it warps as if he has no bones, and then I feel them, his fingers buried inside me, searching out all those little injuries, feeling where that toy stretched me to oblivion.
He twists them around, pushing inside me further, pushing right on my G-spot and I scream out, shutting my eyes so tightly I think they might implode.
“Come, my little whore, submit to your master.”
“Never.” I spit.
He tuts, lowering his gaze before he bites down on my right nipple in punishment.
I scream out. Tears stream down my cheeks and he traces his tongue up to catch each and every one. “Stop being so stubborn. Stop being such a bitch.”
“I don’t want you.” I snarl. “I will never want you. And I will never submit.”
It’s like those words energise him. His eyes seem to sparkle with equal amusement and annoyance.
He withdraws his fingers, spinning me around, flipping me so quickly my brain feels like it’s doing somersaults around and around in my skull. He pushes my cheeks apart and without another word, he forces himself into my arse .
I scream out, I claw at the hard surface beneath me. I’ve never done anal, never once considered it. And this man is not giving me a second to even adjust.
“Fuck,” he groans, “your arse is even better than your cunt.”
I can feel him moving inside me, existing where he has no right.
He slides out, forcing my muscles to stretch further and then he pushes back in with all his impossible weight.
One hand is planted by my head, keeping me pinned in with his body. The other he returns back to my pussy and to deep inside where he once more pushes on my G-spot.
I hate how good it feels. I hate how much my body is screaming for this moment, this pleasure, this reprieve.
“No,” I sob. “I won’t do it. I won’t.”
“You will, pet.” He groans. “You will come right here for me, you will come in front of all these witnesses, and you will submit, like my good little whore.”
I can’t think.
I’m too stuffed, too overstimulated and far too fucking exhausted. The drugs are making me see things I know are not there. Flashes of colour, flickers of light. All the faces staring at us morph into gargoyle-like figures, all laughing, all mocking, all enjoying this perverse show.
And Magnus, Magnus continues his assault, continues raping me over and over, while those fingers try to make me act like I’m wanting this, like I’m getting off on this.
My body ripples, my sweat pools up my spine, collecting at my neck. I scream out, I try to roll him off and he grabs my hands holding them down far above my head.
“Come, you little bitch.” He snarls. “Give in and come.”
I bite my lip, I repeat over and over in my head that I don’t want this, that he just killed three people, that their blood is still on me, in me. That he made me fuck myself with a dead man’s cock, and I’d be just as fucked up as everyone else here if my body responds in any positive way.
But my body is reacting.
Those awful drugs are forcing me to obey.
I try one last time to throw him off, to fight, to do anything to stop what now feels so horrifically inevitable.
His fingers bring me right to the edge of my climax, my body pushes back and my need for a release takes over every logical part of me.
I bite down, driving my teeth into my tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a moan. Blood spurts in my mouth from how I’ve practically severed the very tip.
But I am coming.
I am combusting.
I hate that I do it, I hate that I can’t stop this.
I’m screaming, convulsing, giving in entirely to the wants of a psychopath.
And then something in my mind explodes. Something breaks. I fall into the darkness. I escaped into it. I welcome it like a friend, silently praying that I won’t wake up, that I’ll fall sleep now and never open my eyes again.