The blinding lights of the town square went on through the night spilling into daybreak. Women carried off their drunken husbands as children tucked into their mother’s bosom for warmth.
Light and joy permeated the atmosphere.
Unbeknownst to the Viconian denizens, to the Eastern Ward, the gothic mansion of Devoncourt manor stood alone.
It was under the homestead where the acrid smell of rot filled a subterranean chamber.
Spatters of crimson painted the front side of church regalia, as the golden treads of Zulla were smeared with feces and other unmannerly waste.
It was Laymen Granderford whose knees pressed into his stone prison.
A tuff of mud-stricken hair plastered to his forehead as his grey-hued skin peeled due to the incessant moisture in the air.
The obsidian chains aloft overhead jerked his arms upward as he felt his weight pull at his shoulder socket. Intense and unrelenting pain coursed through the dazed man.
Slawed flesh decorated the walls emitting a stench that caused stomach fluid to travel up Granderford’s esophagus landing on the stone floor.
Droplets of water from the ceiling reverberated through the cavern. Granderford’s strained his eyes as he focused on any detail he could.
His breathe seared into his chest as his ribs expanded in agony. The consistent pain kept Granderford barely lucid to his surroundings.
The essence of time was no longer a concept. The extensive darkness disclosed any possible significance of seconds, minutes, hours, nor days. His bones shook influenced by the subterranean chill.
Granderford’s silken robes did not contain his body’s heat, at the mercy of his stone imprisonment. His wrist bled at the unceasing friction of flesh and metal.
The clattering of his chains caused Granderford’s body to flinch as every noise intensified in the darkness, grating at his ears.
Granderford peered through the everlasting shadows, shapes of white light swam across his vision before floating away. Reappearing and disappearing as if it was taunting him.
An unsteady grasp on reality induced panic, Granderford’s need to preserve his mind was his foremost task.
‘One—Two— Three—.’ Granderford mumbled to keep his mind focused and not wander toward the taunting shapes that appear and disappear.
‘Eighty-five—Eighty-six—.’ Granderford’s finger twitched as the numbers increased so did his fear.
‘How long should I count for? Would I count forever? When should I stop?’ The questions bombarded his mind, wincing at his own mental assaults.
‘Backwards was better.’ He thought.
Reaching zero is the goal. Obtainable and in reach.
'One thousand. Nine hundred ninety-nine. Nine hundred ninety-eight.' Granderford trembled as he miscalculated, forcing himself to start again from one thousand.
The third time he restarted was the first time he managed to get to single-digit numbers. His body responded as his goal was near.
‘Five— Four—.’ Granderford’s voice trembled as he was so close. His hands shook with joy as the pain in his shoulder was numbed by the prolonged dislocation.
“Granderford.” A voice emerged. Omnipresent in the space. Granderford pulled against his chains as the rattling of the links created a booming noise. Ganderford coiled his body at the intense sound grating in his ears.
The illusionary happiness evaporated from his body as the pain of his untreated ribs and out-of-socket shoulder slammed back into him. He forgot what number he was on.
His eyes narrowed toward the darkness as the shapes that were kept at bay floated into his field of vision.
Breath ragged. Incessant grinding of bone caused Granderford to hiss.
A light chuckle was carried on the stilled air. Granderford zoned in on the source as he was beside himself in hope, fear, anger, and desperation.
“Who’s there?” Granderford said weakly, struggling to form words.
Elias stood silently letting the question fall with no answer. The light-hearted and snarky charm the Grand Duke maintained nights previous were nowhere to be found. No gentlemanly mannerisms or witty comebacks, just cold emerald irises staring at Granderford like a wolf hunting a deer with a lame leg.
“Follower of Zulla. Student of High Priest Cunningham and yet caught after an underground gambling raid. King Richard will be astonished when I report to him directly in our briefing of the case.” Elias' relaxed tone could not cover the sneer he openly wore.
“But why would someone like you be in a place like that?” He inquired with no intention of hearing an excuse. The clicking of Elias’ heels synced with the metronomic dripping of water from the ceiling.
Granderford’s stomach dropped. Who could possibly report to the King directly? Granderford’s body shivered in fear as the thought crossed his mind.
The people that had such a status to report directly to the King could be counted on one hand. Granderford’s brain clicked at Elias’ unrushed manner of speech.
Haughty and domineering in the same breathe.
“P—Please Grand Duke.” Granderford stuttered. The taste of iron formed on Granderford's tongue.
“Gambling has a—always been a sin of mine.” Granderford rambled. Elias was unconvinced as he watched the layman push himself forward to prostrate himself on the ground.
The sound of stretching flesh as Granderford pulled his shoulders in and out of the socket at will was sickening, but Elias watched on with no sympathy in his eyes.
“High P—Priest Cunningham has told me to repent numerous times.” Granderford bit back a wince trying not to show pain. Doing his best to lock eyes in the pitch of the night.
Fearing that if he didn’t go to such an extent his life would be snuffed out. “As a follower of Zulla, it was ignorant of me to indulge in such an evil intent pastime.” Granderford cried.
Elias scowled at how quickly Granderford tried to preserve himself by offering up the High Priest.
It was impossible for the High Priest not to know the dealings of his laymen. And yet Granderford was not excommunicated from the church?
‘Why?’ Elias narrowed his eyes toward the maimed man.
Through Granderford’s rambling it could be implied that although he did do wrong, he was but a small fish in the grand scheme of things. Any fisherman would prefer a bass compared to a guppy.
Elias chuckled at Granderford’s attempt to divert attention away from himself. Admitting his faults in an instant by offering his Master.
Granderford even in pain and delusions, knew how to spin his words to his advantage.
Granderford’s full compliance meant that under the laws of Vicon, torture would not be required during an ongoing investigation.
“So that was the case.” Elias feigned acceptance before revealing a vicious smile that Granderford could not see.
Grand Duke Devoncourt watched Granderford exhale in relief.
Unfortunately, for Granderford he was not in the capital’s prison. He was neatly tucked away under the Devoncourt manor.
Meaning, Granderford was under Elias’ full authority.
Before the layman could take another breath to relax himself a sound cracked the air.
Granderford howled as a burning wet sensation was left behind.
In Elias’ hand was a leather whip with a spiked point at the tip’s end, on the handle revealed a tree insignia of Devoncourt.
Pulling the whip once more, flinging the weight of the spiked tip toward Granderford.
Elias’ precision was horrifyingly accurate as he aimed for the initial spot.
Granderford howled again as a shock of newly found pain rushed up to his nervous system to his brain. Again and again. The crack of the whip, the sound was thunderous as it continued to hit the same place.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack. Granderford was terrified, unease settled within him as the only word that appeared in his mind was—Death.
Elias squeezed tight on the whip as he looked down on the layman. Walking to the nearby sconce, striking a single match against rough and dry stone.
Igniting a single glow before dropping it into a vat of oil, flames bloomed and lit the bloody scene Elias caused. Granderford avoided the bright light as the intensity caused him to flinch.
The layman’s heavy breathing ceased as his eyes locked with the Grand Duke’s eyes. Elias’s eyes glittered under flames but his expression held no intention of accepting Granderford’s repentance.
‘Why would I?’ Elias thought. He was no priest.
Elias sat down on a wooden chair that was bolstered against the wall. His leg swung over the other as he leaned his weight to the left side of the chair causing the wood to creak.
Granderford’s eyes widened at the shifting of wood and relished in the mundane sound he had long forgotten.
“There have been reports that every time you visit the gambling house, it coincides with the loss of a child that was under your care.” Elias clenched the whip at his side as he looked toward his crimson-stained glove.
“With the lack of allotment from the church, medicine is hard to come by,” Granderford mumbled.
“In grief, you turned to the tables.” Elias’s tone peaked in curiosity.
“Y—YES!” Granderford quickly agreed.
“With what money?” Elias’ question picked fault at his sob story, stunning Granderford into silence. “To my knowledge. Priests receive poultry sums of coin from the church for their travels. Laymen even less.” Elias rested his head on his hand, tapping his finger to his temple.
“Tell me, Laymen. How were you able to buy into a Fifteen thousand coin pot?” The heavy shadows obscured Granderford’s view but that didn’t stop his senses from being assailed by the Grand Duke’s scorching gaze.
Fear crept deep into Granderford's bones as the smell of impending death filled the space between the two men.
Granderford was at the edge of his rope. An edge that was continuously fraying under his weight.
A thunderous crack sounded off as Elias’ whip shot forth unrelenting. Scraping away Granderford’s flesh slowly and indefinitely.
Chunks find their way to the wall of slawed flesh. Granderford’s pathetic whimper did not stop the Grand Duke’s hand.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack. Granderford’s pain spewed into a low cry.
“Peculiar pattern you have.” Elias’ sinister chuckle quaked Granderford from his daze. “Every time you buy in, a child passes away from serious ailments.”
The layman scrambled back against the wall as gouts of blood pushed through his open wound. Leaving a crimson trail in its wake.
The tension was released leaving the skin of Granderford’s shoulders stretched abnormally long. The laymen retched only stomach fluid at the sight.
“P—please Grand Duke. P—please spare me.” Granderford cried but his pleas were met with silence.
Instead, Elias gently unfolded a piece of paper that was kept in his breast pocket. The rustling of paper caused the hair on the back of Granderford’s neck to stand on end.
“Melissa Fairer. Age ten. Found brutalized and multiple puncture wounds in her abdomen. Sexual assault, confirmed.” Elias informed. Granderford’s whimpering stopped immediately.
“Darcy Meagrove. Age seven. Found strangled. Sexual assault, confirmed.”
“Daniel Yorick. Age eight. Found smothered to death. Four fingers and three toes missing. Sexual assault, confirmed.”
“ Sally Miller. Age twelve. Found alive under the ownership of an illegal brothel.”
“Tony Callahan. Age five. Found with a sliced neck, blood drained. Sexual assault, confirmed.”
With each name, the Grand Duke listed off Granderford’s mind slipped further and further away.
Elias stood up tucking his whip on his belt as he stalked forward. The layman struggled to move as his back was buttressed against the wall.
A sharp blade was what Granderford saw before he felt warmth drip down his neck.
Elias leveled his gaze with his prisoner with a sadistic smile on his face as his eyes were filled with seething rage.
“A five-year-old?” The Grand Duke’s growl triggered Granderford to flinch.
The layman’s hands were deemed useless as more of his blood painted the front of his regalia.
A chill crawled from Granderford’s neck down his chest resting in the pit of his stomach. He shook under the Grand Duke’s gaze.
With a snap of the Grand Duke’s finger, an old and unperturbed man sauntered into the desolate space.
Granderford’s eyes widened at the sight of someone else.
The ruddy leather bag the old man caressed in his hands filled Granderford with inexplicable hope.
Granderford felt he had lived an entire life and wanted anything to put an end to it. For someone to rescue him from this chilling hellscape.
“Keep him alive and restrain his mouth.” Elias’ tone was emotionless as he stared down at the layman at his feet. “We don’t want him to bite his tongue out of desperation.” The old man complied with his orders as he moved forward.
“Death would be far too kind of a punishment.” Elias spat.
The sliver of hope Granderford possessed in his eyes was quickly extinguished at the detached orders. His mouth was quickly stuffed with a gag before the old man started to close his gash.
Granderford’s vision was hazed as the odd floating shapes greeted him once more. The Grand Duke’s back was straight with no intention of turning back as he made his way out of the dungeon.
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