The Blackened Blade (The Blackened Blade #1)

Chapter 1

I always wished this hellhole of a prison would burn, to watch it crumble and fall to ash…I just didn't think I’d be in it when it happened.

I watch on through the small bars on the door, only as wide and as long as my hand, as the smoke slowly billows through the halls.

The smell of burning cinders and ash seeps into my small room, as screams pour out from the cells around me.

Other prisoners beg and plead to be released, to not be left to burn… for someone to save them.

But no help would come here, at least not for us.

This was the solitary floor. A dark basement made of thick solid concrete on all sides with only a large metal door breaking it up. The only company down here was the cold and damp, or the yells from other prisoners, who were too deranged and broken to even form a proper sentence anymore.

This was The Facility.

A prison made for supernaturals by those that despise our kind.

They weren’t prejudiced in their selection; witches, warlocks, shifters, seers, demons, elves, fae, all types of supes…

we were all regarded with disgust and hatred.

No-one knew exactly who headed this group or how they came to be, just that they existed in the shadows.

Some call them hunters, others call them heroes , but they were so far from that. The very beings that call themselves human, were the least humane.

I used to think they were a tale told by parents to their children so that they would behave.

Tales told to place fear in little children’s minds so they would be obedient.

To have them listen and do their school work and control their abilities in public lest they be taken and locked away, never seeing their families or the light of day again.

I was a witch from a prominent clan. But one with no power of my own. And for that lack of power I was isolated, ridiculed and tormented by my own kind. I was an outcast and pariah, almost human in my own kind’s eyes.

But even that pain and isolation would not have prepared me for this.

Over these past six years in the Facility…

I’ve been beaten until bloody and broken.

I’ve fought against creatures and beasts for their ‘tests’ and amusement.

I’ve been starved until it almost drove me mad with hunger.

I’ve been physically and mentally tortured in ways I never imagined were possible, but for what, I still don’t know.

Smoke quickly pours in through the bars and in through the cracks around the door. Each breath I take pulls the deathly fumes into my lungs.

This can’t be my end. I’d survived all this time in this hellhole, fought through every torture session and experiment. I couldn’t die now. Not here and not like this.

I decided after my first few months here and a particularly bad ‘session’, that I wasn’t going to let them break me. That my spirit was my most powerful strength. They could break everything else, but not that. That part of me remained untouched, unbroken and still searching for her freedom.

I wasted too much of my life hiding away. I was too timid, too scared to fight for myself.

I used to think I wasn’t worthy of help. That there was a reason for my torment. Never realising I could fight for myself until I had to, here.

I narrow my eyes at the large metal door, its thick grey bars and rusted paint chips blurring slightly with the smoke slowly filling the small cell.

I wouldn’t go down without a fight.

I throw myself at the door, pushing my full weight against it as I clash with the cold metal.

I hear a crack, followed by a pain that sears through my left shoulder and down my arm, but the door doesn’t budge an inch.

I push the pain to the back of my mind as I try again, I’d been through worse anyway.

Thrashing against the door, I join the voices around me to scream.

I wouldn’t beg or cry for help, but I’ll make sure I'm heard, even if it's just by the helpless and broken inmates trapped around me.

My lungs begin to burn, my throat dry and hoarse as my vision begins to blur slightly.

Was the smoke blurring my view? Or did I inhale too much of the fumes?

I place my hands against the metal door, unwilling to give up, or give in to the fatigue slowly pulling at me. I drag my aching limbs up and push against the door again, pushing every last drop of strength into my arms. I continue until my head falls onto the thick cold metal before it.

All my life I gave up, or gave in to others.

I was always trying to please anyone who was even a little nice to me.

I had hoped that if I did, that I’d receive some of their affection in return.

I allowed myself and my worth to mean nothing to others, to be seen as a pushover, to be hit and hurt and laughed at.

A small chuckle leaves my lips, no humour laced in its hoarse tone.

For the majority of my life I was abandoned or neglected by those I loved, not worthy or powerful enough to receive their affection.

I became broken. An isolated shell of a girl who was beaten and bullied throughout her school years, a different kind of hell in my youth.

I was betrayed by the people I held the dearest, all their sweet whispers just bitter lies. And then I was brought here. To wither and slowly rot.

But I survived.

I had survived through all of it.

Even at my bloodiest, I still pushed forward. I learned quickly in this pit of hell that I could never give up on myself again.

I slam my hand against the door once again, but my legs suddenly give way, hitting the hard floor as my knees buckle. My cheek scrapes off the metal door as I fall downward and a warm trickle makes its way down my face as small black spots appear in my eyes.

My hands fall limply to my sides, too weak and heavy to lift again.

I tilt my head to look down at them, scars both new and old cover every finger and every inch of skin. Just above that, on my wrist, a thick silver and black metal band the size of a sleeve cuff, sits against my skin. It was a shackle placed there by The Facility.

I wasn’t sure exactly what it was made of, just that it always felt cold against my skin and that it made me weak.

It also made me slow and my body groggy and unable to move properly or recover quickly.

It was as if there were a permanent weight on me, so heavy my body couldn’t function properly and draining me of even the tiniest slither of strength.

They had only removed it when I was being sent for testing.

If only this wasn’t here. If only I’d known sooner that I wasn’t as weak as I had thought. If I’d known before what I was capable of, my life would have been different, and they wouldn’t have been able to take me. Nobody would have.

I shake my head, pulling for any last drop of strength left in me as I shakily turn and reach for the door.

I scrape and scratch at the thick metal as my breathing becomes thinner and raspy with each inhale. The smoke and fumes were clawing their way through my lungs, making each breath heavy and painful.

All I can see and taste is the fumes, the smell of smoke and ash surrounding me as I feel the warm embrace of death quickly circling me.

A sharp pain flares from each finger as I continue to scratch and scrape at the thick grey door, followed by a warm trickle. Small red marks cover the door as I try to cling to a sliver of hope.

I couldn’t stop now, I wouldn’t.

I had to do all that I could and what I should have done years ago.

I’ll fight until my last breath leaves this scarred body.

I wouldn’t cry for help, or beg or plead. It gets you nowhere.

There is no knight in shining armour coming for me and no saviour ready to rescue me. Long gone are the hopes for a hero.

My sight begins to darken, colours dimming around me as sounds begin to fade into the distance.

My hands drop to the ground once again. This time I can't muster any strength to pull them back up.

I try to pull some air into my smoke filled lungs, my mind hazing in and out of consciousness as I try to battle fate and will my body to continue to function… to live.

My mouth opens and closes as I feel my body tremble slightly. My vision further darkens as my body slumps limply to the side, the hard feel of concrete behind me as I shakily turn one final time toward the blood stained prison door.

My greatest regret in this life, and I have many, is not living freely, not believing I was worthy enough to defend myself.

That I took every hit, every hard word and cold look as if it was what I deserved. That I believed every sweet whisper and fake smile and questioned nothing, and that I held onto hope in relationships when there was none there to begin with.

My life was painful, and even in these short twenty-seven years, they felt like an eternity of misery.

I deserved better.

The younger me deserved better.

I should have bitten the hands that swung toward me even with no strength back then.

I should have made the bruises that marred my body during my academy years the wounds of my tormentors, not mine.

I should have grown, and not allowed myself to be locked in a cage, believing only her sweet words and their scathing looks.

To all those that made my life miserable…I wouldn’t be so forgiving.

I would fight to be free, not just from this prison, but from the rules and thoughts of others.

I would be me unapologetically.

Darkness completely takes my sight, my last breath seeping from my lips. The only sound being the last thump of my heart as the black void consumes me.