Author's Note: The rating has not changed, but tread carefully. Still dark with whispers of suicide.

Chapter 2

The young, silver wildcat lay sprawled on his thin cot staring up at the ceiling. Only two candles on the crooked bed stand served as light, their light flickering and falling on the walls in vague shapes that haunted his dreams. Though the occupant remained quiet and undisturbed, he could not seem to find the rest he needed.

Beck stared emotionlessly into his scarred and calloused paws. Their black pads were scored with creases and blisters from long use of the whip, from torturing far too many victims. A grimace pulled back at his lips as he struggled to contain the emotions he so desperately wanted to hide.

I would rather die than kill another creature like that again.

The words had long sounded hallow to his years, a motto that had fallen out of use after he failed to live up to it time and time again. It was not without lack of soul searching. Meditation helped to ease the burden in his heart, but since the victim before this squirrel its effectiveness had started to diminish. Suicide had often crept its way into his mind, much like a monster crept out from under its bed to devour its innocent victims. But almost as soon as it entered his mind, he banished it in disgust as he thought, I don't deserve the paradise of eternal sleep. Soon the cycle would start anew, and he could not help but wonder if his death could at least spare at least one or two other souls from the same fate as countless others.

What is the point of torturing? He sneered, Nothing more than a thinly veiled excuse to savagely defile a beast, to appease the violent rage. More often than naught the beasts were innocent wanderers, who had unknowingly trespassed on Markot territory until they were ambushed by a waiting guard. Those unfortunate and gullible enough to wander into Markot's land were never seen again.

The guards usually seemed to catch them in the dead of night, when they slept under the blanket of stars without realizing the danger in the deceptively peaceful land. When they awoke they found themselves staring into a wall of arrowhead spears born by a squad of weasels and stoats.

The innocent ones never fought. He supposed that they all felt they would be released when the ruler and his sons learned they had nothing. The comforting thought left all of them the moment they passed through the double doors of the fortress wall. He had seen their faces crumple, even as the brave ones held their chins up in an obvious if not truthful show of bravery. At least half of his victims had attempted to persuade him into releasing, but always his words were the same, I can't let you go. My oath won't allow it.

Why not save a few lives, Beck? It might satisfy the Gods to see a few innocent souls escape this pit of hell. As of now, you strive to be a mere cog in this machine, deflecting responsibility. Hardly a cat of noble heritage, a small voice in the back of his head whispered to him. He swallowed but could not deny himself the truth. The thought of freeing someone had grown more appealing with each victim, but just when he'd rallied himself for the fight, the consequences would loom over him as a gigantic, shaggy beast. The luminous eyes of the creature would stare down at him with disdain and impudence, daring him to climb its sides and defeat it.

His eyes would go wide and his mouth agape when he stared at precisely what he faced. The sword would clatter to the ground when his claws went numb, and he obediently and humbly dropped to all fours and crawled his way backwards as though he were an insect that did not deserve his attention. No, I can't! He'll torture me in the same manner as I do them. The battle would rage on and on, again and again, but in the end he shrank back to lick his wounds and cower in the face of the colossus.

Am I simply going to live out each day like this? Always regretting the deaths of those poor innocents at my paws? There comes a point when it is no longer on his paws, but mine. Why can't I do this?

He will torture me, he will break me, and then he will kill me. A slow death, much like the ones I give captives.

It's nothing less than what you deserve.

Beck mulled this over in his head, twisting on his bed tried to find a comfortable position. The last thought shot through him like a bolt of lightning and his eyes snapped wide open.

His fear fumbled, trying to placate him into leaving the sword where it was on the ground, consequences be damned. Beck stiffened and narrowed his eyes at the colossal beast rising above him. His mouth firmed into a determined line and he clenched his paws until they trembled, and then he pull his shoulders back and walked over to pick up the sword yet again.

Do you really care about your father enough to defend his oath? He has made it his life's goal to torture you and everyone else around you. This circle of suffering needs to stop.

The thought was all Beck needed to gain the confidence to scale the mountain. The strange and colossal creature disappeared in front of his eyes and he found himself back in his cold and windowless room. He continued to peer through lidded eyes, studying the dull gray stone above him. His thoughts had returned back to the squirrel. She had been so fearful after the guards had shackled her to the wall that he thought she might faint, but something had kept her alive.

There was something in her thin young body that had kept her alive through all the pain. When he first met eyes with her, he knew she would attempt to stand by the characters of the old tales, to stare back at death unflinchingly like they had. Even when her knees trembled and her wounds profusely bled she maintained an indomitable spirit, and it was sometime near the end when he felt a shift between them

During many torture sessions when the victim was teetering off the precipice of their life, their vision would suddenly clear and they would whisper of the Immortals beyond the gate. They are calling me. Do you hear them? Maybe it's not as bad as they say. Some of them would then smile peacefully before their eyes closed, never to be opened again. Beck had never found another sight more disturbing.

As much as he tried to keep his expression a blank face, his body often betrayed him. His eyes widened in fear and he stepped back from the corpse, fully expecting the body to disappear in front of his eyes, and then feel the cold, unflinching fingers of Death wrap around his heart in compensation for the suffering of the poor soul.

The squirrel had been different. She had never gone through any of the usual stages and, yet, he had felt something there at the end. It was her. Like the warm glow of the sun on his skin, her presence had suffused the room with a similar warmth. He'd had to fight with all of his being to keep his façade with the whip rising and falling. She had still howled from the pain and her eyes rolled in her sockets, but there seemed to be a hollow quality to her voice.

The whip in his paw had fallen hesitantly when a sharp cold seeped into his body. His eyes roved the room until he thought he caught a glimpse of the squirrel standing next to him with a pitying gaze. She was gone in the next instant, so quickly he was certain it was merely fanciful hallucination, but then a comforting warmth soothed his despairing soul.

He still felt the lingering remnants of that which had caused his body to shudder at the strange feeling. A pulse pounded not unpleasantly in his mind and he sent the feeling back to wherever it came from.

It was with much force of will that he raised the whip to strike her again. Clarity returned when the tears washed out of his eyes and he choked on his next breath. She would not be alive for much longer. Just as the whip dug three stripes across her stomach, he felt a sympathetic ache in his own

Even now, as he wavered on the verge of sleep, Beck shook his head. Should I consider this a sign of the Immortal's desires? It was a feeling especially foreign to him. It was a hard lesson learned that came with a powerful sting of loneliness to reach the realization that he was alone in this world. Even now he scoffed at the idea and could not keep the chuckle from escaping.

Beck continued to smile even as his eyelids drooped. Just as he had struck the squirrel to death, he had embraced the agony that had lanced through him. Have I always been such a glutton for punishment? Real pain. He had forgotten what it felt like, yet the memory of his first act of impudence remained as sharp and clear as if it had happened yesterday. The same whip he had used on the squirrel and his other victims had turned against him that one moment when his father controlled it. Bloody claw marks appeared all over his body, even as he writhed in agony on the floor, screaming so forcefully his voice had gone hoarse by the end of his punishment. I will do anything! Please, make it stop! Don't kill me please! He would never forget the cold smirk of satisfaction on the old cat's face as he begged subservience at his footpaws.

Beck shook his head in self-disgust. I was so weak. I would have swum in a river full of pike if it meant not getting tortured, but experience has taught me otherwise.

He sighed in frustration, but the cunning smile soon returned to his face and he whispered, "I must come up with a plan. The next victim could come tomorrow. I need to be ready!"

The young cat sat up quickly a determined expression back on. Disregarding his sleep for the moment, Beck grabbed his boots from the side of his bed, slipped them on, and was soon walking the stone halls.

He was going to the torture chamber.

The walk felt dreadfully much to his quiet loathing. He did not delay on entering when he finally reached the door and, after lighting a candle, he shut the door. He shuddered as he looked around the room, utterly repulsed to find it missing a stain of blood on the floor that hid the sinister intent of the room. Steeling himself once more, he walked over to the stone grating inlaid in the floor on the far side and felt a smile curl his whiskers.