Chapter 14 #4
Voicebound is just a fancy word for prisoner. Their voices were robbed from them both figuratively and literally as they’re imprisoned to serve for a crime they’ve been accused of. Accused being the main word. There is no such thing as a fair trial when the verdict has already been decided.
They trickle in one by one in a single file line, heads bowed, and hands cuffed in front of them.
Each holds a small black cup in their grip.
The Veil at my back presses flush up against me.
I can hear his breaths and feel the rise and fall of his chest synchronizing with each intake.
Could it be Ambrose? I would know right away if it was him, wouldn’t I?
I can’t think clearly enough to work it out.
What would generally be akin to breathing is now an impossible puzzle. I could typically pick him out of a hundred men while blindfolded, but all of my senses have been diminished to the point of being useless. My mind feels like my head is being held underwater and severely oxygen-deprived.
A voicebound stops in front of each of us, head down and hands held out.
“Drink up, cadets,” the smarmy professor instructs from somewhere close by.
We’re meant to reach out and take the small chalice and drink, but both of my hands are currently being held captive behind me in an unforgiving grip.
A grip that screams punishment for my defiance.
The captor at my back seems to realize this at the same time and moves both of my wrists into one large hand, his other taking the drink from the worn-down-looking female.
Dirty-blonde hair hangs in front of her downcast eyes. Her lips are chapped and scabbed over from extreme dehydration, and her prison uniform is threadbare.
The brute at my back holds the small cup in his large hand, tilting my chin up and gently pressing it to my lips. “Drink,” he whispers.
Goose bumps race up my arms.
The thought that hits me first is how incredibly intimate the gesture is. I consider defying him for a second, but he would probably just waterboard me with it instead.
I slowly do as told and sip the warm liquid. It has a faint earthy smell and a smoky taste as it goes down. I swallow all of it and lean back into the Veil’s chest.
He leans close to my ear. “Good girl,” he murmurs.
I rest my entire body weight against him because at this point he’s all but holding me up. Surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything and just allows me to settle in.
“Battle stances,” a deep voice calls out.
The Veil at my back doesn’t move into a battle stance but remains standing stoically behind me. I thought Veils were sticklers for following orders, but apparently not this one.
At first, I feel nothing. Just the continued hazy feeling that portrays the room as spinning, and an overly smoky taste that lingers in my mouth. Then it slowly morphs into a rapid burn licking along my ribs. Not pain but heat—raw and palpable.
It doesn’t happen quickly. It’s more like a rising inferno. Slow and steady. The room gradually fractures around me, and my vision explodes into white-hot fury as the heat spreads throughout my body. I feel like I’m burning from the inside out.
I collapse to my knees, my hands clawing at the ground searching for salvation that isn’t coming. My breaths come in ragged gasps between the screams that tear from my throat. The heat becomes a burn that mutates into liquid molten, replacing the blood in my veins.
Pain. Immeasurable, indescribable pain.
A scream tears from my throat.
I fall to my side in convulsions, my spine twisted. Something has begun, and I honestly don’t care if I survive it.
In fact, I pray for death.
Beg for it.
Salvation. An end to the torment.
Whatever they had us drink wasn’t meant to heal or enhance.
It was meant to remake. I scream for what feels like hours, maybe days.
My throat is raw from it. That and from begging for death to claim me.
I have no idea how long the agony lasts, but eventually, it subsides enough for me to peel my eyes open.
Death didn’t listen to my pleas. It typically doesn’t. The ceremonial hall is still here, along with all the key players.
My world was ripped apart vessel by vessel, but nothing changed in theirs. The Veil remains standing rigidly in front of me, looking down upon my broken body, both of his hands curled into fists.
“Get ready…They’re starting to emerge,” a low and steady voice rings out.
The sound of weapons being drawn echoes around us. Groans of agony come from both sides of where I lie. What threat could we possibly pose? We’re all indisposed at the moment, and even at our best, we couldn’t compete with upperclassmen or professors.
A shrill scream pierces the air and collides with the bellows of a man in agony.
I raise my weary head to look in their direction. The student is hunched over, pulling at his hair as if he’s trying to tear it from his scalp.
I blink slowly.
I must be hallucinating. His form elongates, his fingers transform into claws, and black scales emerge across his body, replacing flesh.
He raises his head to roar, throwing his chair across the room in the process.
I freeze at the sight of his raging red eyes darting over the heads of the upperclassmen who have their weapons drawn and ready to return any kind of attack.
The shrieking of a female, hunched over, arms cradling her stomach, draws the beast’s attention.
He turns and tears toward her in a full gallop, his claws shredding the wooden dais.
A dagger is thrown from the left, lodging in his hind leg, but he doesn’t falter.
He grabs the shrieking cadet, his teeth tearing into her neck.
Blood sprays across his face. She frantically grabs his head, and ice starts to coat his entire body.
Chaos erupts all around.
Complete and utter pandemonium.
Veils are forcing cadets to the ground left and right as their powers erupt in uncontrollable anarchy. Noctryns throw daggers and unleash shadows with lethal precision. A first-year close by screams as shadows erupt from his hands, and his body contorts in an unnatural angle.
The professors linger in the back, arms folded, just watching the mayhem unfold. Sentinels relishing the unraveling order they’re meant to control.
I shake my head to try to clear it.
It’s absolute anarchy in here.
I call out to Mallory as she thrashes on the floor, her hands clutching her head, but my voice cracks, and sound refuses to come out.
Finnley remains in his chair staring straight ahead, but his eyes are vacant.
Mayline rushes over, grabbing onto Mallory’s hand.
Shadows ripple around her, but not in a disorderly way. She seems in control. Calm.
I try to rise on all fours, but my arms tremble, and my legs feel numb and hollow. Powers erupt and emerge around me, but the only thing I feel is my broken body. Nothing materializes from within.
I flinch and cover my head as a Noctryn tackles an initiate right next to me.
The student is bearing fangs and looking at me through bloodshot eyes like I’m their next meal.
He writhes and screams beneath the dark wielder but is thoroughly subdued by the upperclassman.
The Veil, standing guard over me, leans down and scoops me up in his arms. The familiar scent of a stormy tide washes over me.
Darkness coils at the edge of my vision.
The darkness isn’t cruel or loud, and I gladly let it take me.