Hi loves :D So I put TONS of work into these next couple of chapters for you! Lots of stuff going on including suspenseful situations, changes of thought (and heart.) Plus and a bunch of brutal dismemberment ( I mean come on, you could ALWAYS use more of that). But all in all, things will begin to change.
Hope you like it.
The throne room is windowless with only light resonating dimly from malformed candles in the sides of the walls, it becomes brighter when the Three Dead Lords arise for the engravings in the stone. Genevieve's eyes are now able to see the smooth yet dusty stone trail in front of her. Outstretching a few meters and ends at a throne that a regal corpse sinks into comfortably.
The Lord of Bones has an aura much like the sorts surrounding his subjects. He cloths rusted armor rimmed with the protruding skeletons that once belonged to a great beast from times long past. A white, wiry beard is the only remainder of hair on his mummified body. His creased skin layered tight over his skeleton face in a look of hatred and a need to bring agony to all who roam his domain.
"My King, what would you have us do?" The three Dead Lords, kneel before their reunited king whom booms their final order,
"SUFFER." In an instant, the ghouls catch fire and they wail in their pain. Genevieve cries out at their deaths so sudden and vain, tears swelling above her trembling lower lashes. "Too long you have slumbered, too long you have forsaken your duty. I HAVE NO MORE USE FOR YOU!" The three once great soldiers disintegrate to smoldering green ash at a wave of an elderly clawed hand, they disappear from existence. Genevieve grieves for Phariseer and Judicater. They didn't care much for her, but they meant something. They cared for her when she couldn't take care for herself. She didn't know many people in life who would show her the same kindness.
"Oh?" The Dead King coos, having spotted the girl mourning softly in the shadows. "And who is she?"
"A soul I had found in the Judicater's tomb." Death asserts, agitated that his hard work for the King had set on fire. "I infer that you may have experience with strange dead such as her. If you are aware of what she is exactly."
"I may," The King answers almost gingerly, stroking his beard."She does not resemble a subject of my domain." He points his attention towards Genevieve. "But I shall humor you, only because she has captured my curiosity. Come forward, dear child." His bony fingers gesturing her forward. "Let me have a sense of you."
"Don't you dare come at me you monster!" She sobs underneath the shade of her hood, "Your guys show nothing but loyalty to you and just off them! You're insane!"
"The insane are always the ones who gain the most force, dear." The Soul Keeper grins with eyes still flaring. "You and your kingdom was once familiar with such ways of tyrannic power. Now, come here." He beckons once again with a touch of his sorcery, causing jade green smoke to emerge at the King's will. Emaciated hands come forth from the fog and clench whatever on her their ironically strong fingers can reach. Hands grab tight to her chain mail, hair, neck, backpack, extremities, and her chest. She shrieks as they tug her violently across the ground and up the staircase to their master. Her screaming cuts short to a whimper as the Lord of Bones catches her by the chin, pulling her up to stand at his level as he remained on his trusty throne. His free hand pushes back her hood and stares into her in astonishment. His neck leans in, their faces inches apart.
"You, my dear, are most peculiar." He says, feigning sweetness, "You resemble the living yet," His voice turns scornful as he spits at the Reaper, "She reeks of you, horseman." His free hand wanders underneath the chain mail and fabric. "Don't touch me." Genevieve grumbles. The deathly king ignores her order, his nails lightly claw and his prints scratch like sandpaper on her skin.
"Don't touch me!" She barks, pushing and scratching at his forearm, scarcely getting his hand off her torso.
He touches something that singes his fingertips underneath her jacket, his hand slightly jolts back and he finally recedes from the soiled cotton. Only to dip back into the top and pulling out the gem hidden underneath. "The Sun Amulet" His eyes widen at the smoke from his burning hand. He drops the crystal to prevent burning further, "After years of searching..."
"What is this?" Death intervenes, "She isn't something to be toyed with and you would be wise to know that neither am I!"
"They failed me," The Lord of Bones refers to his late Dead Lords as he watches Genevieve squirm in his grasp. Her nails digging and clawing at his hand, ripping the flaky, brittle skin that the King lost feeling in long ago. He turns to Death, "But you have earned my gratitude, I will send you to one in my kingdom who knows the way to the Well of Souls. As for this soul however, she will remain here, with me." Her hands fall to her sides. It's no use, she can't break free from the centuries of rigor mortise dealt on the ancient ruler's bones.
"She will do no such thing!" Death objects fiercely, "I have unfinished business with her."
"What business? I implore that it is professional." The King scoffs, "Is it for the weapon she equips? You cannot have it for it already belongs to me." He speaks of the presumed ownership as if it is well known fact. The reaper withdraws his twin scythes, pointing his left at the ruler's rusting crown.
"That amulet has no owner and you know it, Bone King. Now stop wasting time and return them both to me." Pulling his twin scythes behind him, he bends his knees and bows his torso into a fighting stance, "Now."
The king's free skeletal hand pounds hard on his throne with enough force to tremor the entire room."YOU ARE IN NO POSITION TO COMMAND ME, KINSLAYER!" He recedes back into his chair, the green flames calm momentarily in his eyes. His grip remains constricted on his captor's jaw, feeling the bone about to snap in two. She whimpers from the tightening pain, the King chuckling soft at the velvety smooth weep in his ears. It calms him.
"This woman and the amulet were found in my domain. Therefore, as I am it's ruler, my law extends over them both." The King glances down at Death's amulet embedded into his pectoral, "There is great power bound in that amulet. As the one around her breakable little neck." He shakes her quickly and violently, her small shriek lulls him again. "But unlike her, your shame stays it's unlocking."
"I regret nothing!" Death snarls in defense.
"I can see beyond your flesh," Lifeless white eyes begin to smoke as he calls upon his power once again. "To where the true battle wages." Death roars in pain, holding his head tight, feeling as if his skull is about to explode into a pulpy red and pink mess to color the walls. He turns blank in his face and his motions. Falling to his knees and his chest falls over, hitting the ground mask first.
"Death!" Genevieve cries out, she attempts to shake herself from her captor who tugs her hard back onto his lap. "If you kill him, I swear to God I will-"
"You'll do what?" He growls, baring his dwindled teeth, pushing her reddening cheeks together. "He is fine, child. Do not fret." He releases her jaw, a long, reddish purple spot remains along her jawline. His hands grip the old chain mail and rips it through the middle as if it were no stronger than cotton. Broken steel rings explode from the tear and roll loudly across the stone. Some clinking against the Reaper's lifeless mask, it does nothing to wake him.
"He merely could not handle my power. But he will travel to his destination momentarily. But never mind that...Be still." Genevieve keeps her eyes shut, denying this foul creature a look in the eyes. "I told you not to touch me." She mumbles under her breath. The King is once again deaf to her warning and instead cups a bruised cheek. "You know you really are intriguing. " He purrs to her, "Your past and your conscience is black as darkness yet... Your soul and body. . . It overspills with purity."
"Death, wake up."
Decayed teeth shush his tearing damsel. "He cannot hear you, Dear."
"Death get up! Please!"
"It won't matter, your paths will never cross again." He grins, basking in her sudden flowing tears, dropping from the thought. "When he is transported, you will stay with me and if you behave, your new home will not be difficult." His right hand clench the back of her neck tightly. "I promise you." She whimpers, baring her teeth in the darkness behind her eyelids. She screams when crusty chapped lips dare to contact hers, a softened scream is heard and a piercing roar follows.
In the darkness of her sights, the pawn cried out. As she feels her breath pass, breath grow smoldering hot and a gleam of light bright enough to see behind her taut shut lids. Blue eyes open to the Lord of The Dead's pained face. The left side of his mouth and part of his his tongue and had been burned black. Pieces of dried flesh breaking off like thin bark and cinders glimmer as he thunders. The remaining teeth on that side are now black and melting from the sudden heat. He reopens his jade fuming eyes with a furious look at the woman on his lap.
"You... You useless whore!" A inhumanly strong backhand sends her flying off his lap. As she's midair, she catches Death lying lifelessly on the ground, her attempts had been useless.
"He's dead." She lands onto the ground chin first on the pavement and with back arched almost too far than it was designed to bend. Her throat quickly scraping against the abrasive stone as the rest of her body hit the ground on her stomach and she rolls several feet. Disoriented, her head rises stiffly to the angered powerful spirit, ready to kill her as if she were one of his late Dead Lords.
"I shall banish you to the ninth level of Hell for this-" His anger fades as an idea blossoms suddenly in his grievous mind. A mischievous and dreadful grin taking over the unburned part of his face.
"No." He says disturbingly calmer. "You do not deserve a fate so honorable." Genevieve sees a green glow growing from behind her. Before she could turn to investigate, two guards that serve to protect the throne room's entrance scoop her roughly from the ground by her aggrieving arms. The King grins, receding back into his seat with knuckles supporting his jaw. He orders, "Introduce her to her fallen brethren residing in the courtyard." His sights lull to Genevieve whom has difficulty freeing herself from stone like grasps of the corpses. "I shall have you collected when I feel that you are broken enough." He waves his other hand, dismissing them. The two turn, dragging the girl between them along the floor. Her yells, pleading to awake the grim reaper helplessly out cold on the stone. The King smiles through his pain as he watches the three make their leave. Reaper remaining motionless as the screams enter the courtyard.
The guards do not have enough respect for her to drag her down the stairs on her scraped knees. They find throwing her over the balcony more fitting. The Chancellor politely steps west of the guard who then hold her over the Gothic, rusted railing. She screams with her legs kicking the air, causing challengers in the battle nearby to raise their heads to the strange noise.
"Is... Is that what I think it is?" The winning of the two competitors inquires, lowering his sword.
"It cannot be." A spectator disbelieves.
Draven pushes the through the now crowding undead mercs out of the way to get a better look. Fury infecting what is left of his being.
"I knew it. It's a damned human!" He growls.
The Chancellor smiles at the growing riot closing in, then at Genevieve, who stares down the two story drop, breathing hard from the fear of what pains will welcome when gravity pulls her to hell.
"Make merry, beauteous corpse." He nods the signal to the guards.
She is released, having been thrown to endure the distant fall. Her skull hits the ground hard enough to almost loose conciseness, her eyes go black, feeling a warmth drenching thick in the back of her hair. In the darkness, her ears prick at the sound of something similar to an angry mob. They grow closer the longer they endure.
"All of the Third Kingdom is deceased! Why is she not like us?!"
"We endured the King's suffering as did everyone else! What makes her any different!?"
"I know a solution, men..."
She snaps back into consciousness when she's pulled up by her sweater. Plated knuckles digging deep into the center of her chest as she's pinned to the wall. Her eyes flicker and resharpen. Fearful wide eyes reacquaint with the bladesman's clouded blue.
"...Why not give her the tortures ourselves?" He offers gravely, sporting a skully, mischievous grin as his free hand withdraws one of the many daggers on his belt.
"L-look guys, I don't want no trouble. Just-" Genevieve is hushed when the sharp point of the cutlass puncturing her left cheek.
"You wanted trouble as soon as you set foot onto this ship!" A ghost next to Draven calls out.
"How dare you come here unscathed while we are forced to experience pain and suffering for eternity!?" Another barks venomously from the back of the mob.
"How the fuck was I supposed to know I was supposed to be like you!?" Genevieve bites back at the crowd, "It's not like I chose to skip the tortures! Hell, It wasn't even my idea to wind up here when I passed!"
"Neither was it ours." Draven growls low at Genevieve's shuddering face. Her cheek stings from the blade, the warmth of her blood trails down her neck. "Yet, here we are."
"Break her Draven!" One of them urges. The rest of the soldiers partake, "Make her feel the pain only known to the Underworld!"
"Break all her extremities!"
"Slowly!"
"Cut out her entrails and feed them to the Leviathans!"
"And make her watch!"
"Remove her face and stitch back on upside down!"
"We shall get to that!" Draven interrupts. "But first..." He turns back to the woman on the wall, looking as if she's about to vomit. Disgusted by their creativity in murder and they were only throwing in ideas! "Lets make rid of her eyes, firstly." He moves the dagger from the slit on her cheek to above her sweating right eyebrow. "We want to surprise you to whats approaching first." At an excruciatingly slow pace, the dagger trails down.
"Please don't do this!" She panicking pleas, surprised her mouth can still make words through the soaring pain. She starts clawing out at the crowd only inches from her grasp. They take it upon themselves to hold her spasmodic arms and legs in place."S-stop! STOP!" The blade cuts her reddening eyebrow in half and enters the hollow of her crease.
"How does it feel?" Draven taunts as his armed hand lowers, "Does this pain you!? Do not worry, after we are finished with you, you will be rid of such inconveniences!" The blade enters the top of her eyelid."Just like we were."
She screeches even louder, jeers bubbling from the dead holding her palpitating limbs. The blade enters her pupil and Genevieve's right side goes bleak and she feels the stinging pop of the fragile, jellied organ. The ghouls laugh as clear liquid and blood run together and flow profusely from the split.
The bloodcurdling cry echoes, bouncing disturbingly off the throne room halls. The ruler sighs with utmost content on his post, lulling into a slumber. As if the torturous shrills for help are like easy listening playing softly in the distance.
"No," He mumbles, "Still not broken enough."