Wicked Fate

The heart of the Leviathan is depraved. Anything made in that part of the continent will slowly absorb its wickedness until it consumes their being. They won’t be able to tell wrong from right or love from duty. It has a way of breaking you until you are nothing but a puppet.

One that is held dangling from fate’s strings, forced to dance to their tune. I promised myself that I would never turn this way. I guess I was wrong. When centuries of evil decide to thrust themselves onto you, you don’t have much of a choice to disobey. There is no changing what destiny has in store for you.

The Program has always been a symbol of the insanity that lies within the vast depths of the Leviathan. Built upon the sea monster’s sole heart, the Program is more than what I call evil. There is no word for it. I’ve spent days locked up in darkness, recalling what the light really looked like. Whether the sun really released warmth or if flowers ever bloomed.

The plain architecture masks the soundless screams of pure agony under bright lights and paintings. A kaleidoscope meant to lure you into the ruin that threatens to consume you whole. Its only when the lights go out that you can see the horrors that lie behind its plain walls.

Sterile white walls surround me as I sprint to class. Paintings of women kneeling in front of a man are portrayed as a sign of obedience. As if that was who we were meant to become. Slaves. They prepare us to learn the art of obedience and submitting to the arrogant ass we are supposed to take as a master. As soon as we hit 16, we are sold on the black market. Or that’s what I’ve heard. It would make sense I guess if that were true. It would explain the many disappearances which happen every year.

The bell chimes in the background, elegant but deadly, like everything else in this building. I know I’m late. there is nothing I can do to change it now. The large black gates to the classroom loom in front of me as if it can sense my impending doom. I don’t dare breathe too suddenly as I knock on the door thrice.

I remember this time that I have to knock thrice. My back was ripped in shreds the last time I forgot.

The door swings open, the sound a sign that I’m not escaping punishment today. My eyes immediately fall over what seems to be a normal day of class - three rows of girls whose names I still don’t know, kneeling on cold marble floor. I suppose it could of been worse. I feel the sticky gaze of Ms. Verocila before I see her. A long tight black dress covers her sadistic taste and judging my her expression, I know that I’m not going to make it out of this room unharmed.

I’m prepared for the slap before it hits me. I don’t dare touch the fiery red imprint which blossoms against my pale cheek. Her smile is even worse than her slap. I can sense that she already has something in mind for me.

“Isabelle Vera, I’ve never thought that you would have the audacity to come late. Is this what your master would of expected from you?”

I can feel my nails digging into my palms as I think of an answer. The slight pain is… welcomed. It keeps the tears at bay. Something that I know that if I let them loose, I’ll only earn more of a punishment.

“N-No. Sorry, Ms. Verocila.”

Her lips etch into a wicked smile at my words before taking a step closer. I can almost smell her smoke-like scent when she says her next words.

“Disobedience will not be tolerated. Stand by the bucket and put your hands in for 10 minutes.”

I try to ignore her sadistic smile as I force my feet to shift towards the bucket. I can feel the curious gazes of my classmates as they battle the urge to look up and to look at the ground as they are told. No one looks up. The bucket punishment is unheard of - probably something new that they are trying. They do that often.

I peer in the bucket carefully. I can feel the blood drain out of my face as I observe the steam coming out of the boiling water that lies in the bucket. I fight the urge to take a step back, knowing that the consequences would be a lot worse. My palms are slick with sweat as I hover them over the bucket.

They are shaking.

The faint click of the timer warns me that this is going to hurt. I plunge my hands into the water before I could think logically.

It burns.

Its as if the water has turned into fire and is trying to fill every crevice of my skin with its flaming presence, turning my once pale skin into a pattern of red and purple. Blisters decorate my skin and I can’t control the agonizing scream that rips through my throat.

Seconds. Minutes. Hours. They all feel like eternity. I don’t have the strength to scream anymore and I cannot bear to register the pain. It’s too much. My arms lie in the bucket-limp in defeat. I barely hear the timer ring and it takes all of my strength to pull my hands out of the water. I hiss in torment as my purple skin comes in contact with the cool air - the contrast nearly causing a soundless scream to come out of me.

I don’t dare look at Ms. Verocila as I take my place beside a girl who seems around the same age as me. As I kneel, I notice her curious gaze slowly drift to the purple lumps that now embellish my flesh. Blood starts to drip out of the wound.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

A puddle of red begins to form on the once white marble floor. I take it as a sign of how even the purest things get ruined. Silent tears pour down my face and join the puddle below. My knees ache, but I don’t dare shift. The pool of blood starts to taint the skin of my leg as it grows. Pale skin now turned red, I watch how evil corrupts every fiber of the thing it touches.

There is no such a thing as heaven. It’s just our way of dealing with the fact that there is a hell.

And it has come to us.

The bell chimes and I lift my knees off the ground gingerly and try to hide my limp as I pass Ms. Verocila. She ignores my presence as I scaper by her to the black gates. The lights are dimmer than before with a few of them flickering as I pass by. My feet hurry up the staircase with little regard for pain. Pain seems like nothing compared to the rumors I heard about him.

Azrael Isander. Shadow-wielder. He is known to be the first one to come to the Program. I would of felt pity for him if I didn’t hear about the rumors about what he had done. They say that the longer you stay on the heart of the Leviathan, the more like the monster you become.

Azrael is proof of that. He is said to have choked a girl a year younger than him for the mere act of talking to him. Not with his hands, but with something far more lethal.

Magic.

I’ve heard dozens of interpretations of the tendrils of shadows that wrapped around her neck before they painted her face in all sorts of colors with a palatte red, blue, and purple. The dull thud of the head hitting the ground is a sound that originated in my nightmares. The teachers are wary of him too. I’ve seen the special treatment he gets; how he gets to leave class an extra 10 minutes early simply because they are scared of his powers. They say that the teachers made him wear a silver bracelet to control his powers.

Whether it works or not, I’m not stupid enough to get in his way. I rush up to my room and nudge the door shut with my shoulder till I hear a soft click.

“Sarah, do you know where t-”

I stop. The bunk above me is empty. How could I forget? She was taken to the Seralis Forest because she decided to escape. The last I saw of her was the guards dragging her dead body, her beautiful face marred with a slah from the top right of her forhead to the bottom of her left ear. Tears escape me once more and I slid down the wall until my knees are tucked against my chest. I wrap my injured arms around my head and cry silent tears.

An hour passes.

There are no more tears left to cry. I stand up, leaning my back against the wall to steady myself ebfore walking to the bathroom. As I put my hands under the sink, I can’t help but watch the blood flow smoothly down the plain white drain, as if it was never there.

After I finish rinsing the wounds with water, I place a damp cloth on top of them and stare into space. I close my eyes in relief as I had survived another day.

But thats when I realized that the devils have the string tied to my fate now. They decide to mutiliate it.

The door slams open as he walks in. The boy whose violet eyes look as if the shadows permanently reside in him. His short black hair falls messily onto his pale forehead. But that isn’t the first thing that I notice. No. It’s the bracelet that shines faintly in the moonlight that seeps in carelessly through the bulletproof window. His eyes are hollow but steady.

As if he has become the very monster that the Program wants him to be.

I instinctively scramble to the corner of my bed, pulling my knees to my chest. The devils didn’t just mutilate the string, they snapped it completely. My eyes begin to water in fright as he prowls closer, looking every bit the predator that he is known to be.

He doesn’t seem to mind, or even care for that matter as he walks into my room and sits on the wooden rocking chair across from the bed.

“Dialine, please have mercy on the young women who worship you. I promise that I’ll -”

My prayer is cut off by a sound that is foreign to me. A laugh. His laugh.

Cold.

Cutting.

Hollow.

“The gods don’t care for no one. They aren’t going to help you no matter how much you beg them.” His voice is cool and collected as if he finds what I’m doing amusing. I can’t help but feel a little spark of anger that ignites at his words. I know that gods don’t exist, but he can’t blame me for trying. I don’t dare argue, as I watch the shadows playfully dance around his feet.

“W-Why are you here?” I manage to choke out the question that I’ve been wanting to ask him since he stepped through the door. I need him to get out. My blistered hands are covered under the damp cloth as an attempt to hide them. The last thing I need is for that monster to feel the slightest bit of boredom and decide that seperating my limbs was a fun way to invest in his time.

He tilts his head at me as if he is staring into my soul. He might as well. It’s not like I could hide anything from him. His next words stop me cold.

“I’m your new roommate. Your old one was unfortunately killed and so I have to replace her.”

His voice is devoid of emotion and that only infuriates me. Replace her? How could someone like him replace her beautiful spirit. Fear didn’t matter anymore. I grab the thing closest to me - a pencil - and fling it at him with all my hatred, aiming for his eye. His eyes flash before he catches the pencil with an ease which makes me want to attack him, before twirling it in his fingers as his mouth etched itself into a predatory smile.

I realize my mistake as soon as the pencil flew out of my hand.

“I-I’m so sorry. I accidentely threw it. I swear on the g-, no not the gods, but I swear that I wasn’t aiming for you. I-”

He stands up and I can almsot feel the temperature drop 10 degrees. I shift more into the corner of my bed, holding up my hands as a peace gesture. He comes close enough so his knees are flush against my bed.

I’m frozen.

I don’t dare to say another word as he peers at me with those mysterious eyes of his. I wonder what he is thinking. Does he want to choke me to death like he did to that other girl? Does he want to stab the pencil right back at me?

He still wears that dangerous smile as he beckons me closer with a hand. Shaking, I approach him feebly, forcing myself to scoot across the bed. My hands are behind me as I come closer to him. He doesn’t say a word as he puts the pencil down on the table with such gentleness that only makes me want to move back.

I don’t trust his moves. The moment I come close, I know that he is going to unleash his wrath. I brace myself for the impact. I send a quiet prayer to the fates before moving the final inch before his smile widens slightly. I’m about to mutter another apology before he grabs my hands that were behind my back without a warning before examining them. As he takes in the marks and blisters, his smile fades into something else.

Murderous.

I’m suddenly afraid that he might follow in with his threat, despite his hands being gentle on my skin. His gaze is unreadable as he turns my hands over, inspecting the damage. Or assessing how much it will take to snap it in half.

I hope it isn’t the latter.

I can already feel the tears forming in my eyes at the thought of losing my beloved hands and have to wipe my eyes on my shoulder. The sudden movement shakes him out of his intense gaze on my arm and then he looks at my expression - teary eyed and terrified.

“Why are you crying? I’ve hardly even done anything yet.”

The way he said “yet” sends a shiver down my smile and I struggle to find an answer that I hope won’t offend him.

“Y-You’re going to kill me.”

The room is dead silent for a moment before a small smile appears as his violet eyes bore into my blue ones.

“Why do you think so? Did you do something for me to kill you?”

The thought of him killing me makes me whimper and he laughs out loud at the sound. The expression in his eyes softens before he shakes his head in amusement. His violet eyes seem to be alive for the first time he stepped in the room. That’s a good sign, I think. I try to match his smile with my own as I try to dicreetly pull my hands back, but his own hands tighten around mine as if he can sense what I’m planning. He probably can.

“You’re going to get an infection if you don’t let me treat this the right way. So, don’t try to fight me and close your eyes.”

I stare at him blankly as if I couldn’t beleive that what he was saying was real. He wants to heal me? But didn’t want to kill me? I’ve never met a more confusing person. But what catches me the most off guard is when he tells me to close my eyes. That is never a good sign. He is going to snap my arms, I can almost sense it.

I have no choice but to send a silent plea to the fates before turning my back to the wall.

“This is going to hurt. Just count to 20.” He drawls lazily.

My eyes widen at the word hurt. What does he mean its going to hurt? I knew that motherfucker was going to rip off my arms. I’m in the middle of turning back around to give him a piece of my mind before his long pale fingers cover my eyes and gently nudges my face away.

“Trust me, you don’t want to see this.”

I turn around to face the wall and squeeze my eyes shut. He doesn’t seem that bad, right? Like why would he wish for another student like him to get harmed. Flashbacks of the girl he murdered come to mind and I immediately shut that thought out. Waiting for the pain to start is probably the hardest part.

I don’t realize I’m shaking out of pure anticipation.

Brutal vines made of shadow wrap around my arms to the point that I’m sure that they cut off my circulation. I open my mouth to scream, but instead find that his other hand is tightly covering my mouth.

“I know it hurts, but just bear it for a few more seconds.”

He murmurs this as if I’m a kitten who is being coaxed to come closer. His voice is hypnotic and is so captivating that for one second, I forget about the pain. But that only lasts a second. It takes all of my will power to not unleash that heart-wrenching cry that longs to escape me. He drags a hand up and down my back in a soothing motion as an effort to ground me.

I wish I could say that it was working. It wasn’t. Agony bites into my skin like my arm is wrapped in a blanket of pine needles, all eager to draw blood. Numbers have failed me. I can’t bear to count as those dagger like tips pierce into the open wound and I can’t help myself but bite down on his hand.

He doesn’t even wince as my teeth sink down into his skin. He just continues counting normally as if nothing has happened.

It’s over.

My teeth release his flesh instantly and I look down at my arms. The once open wound is now sealed with a thin pale scar. I look up at him in confusion, just to find him staring at his palm. I squint at his hand to figure out what he is looking at until I see a cresent mark with little beads of blood hanging from it. His eyes turn back to mine, but instead of the anger that I expect, amusement lies there instead. Relief courses through me and I have to hold myself back from thanking the nonexistant gods for saving me from his wrath.

“I didn’t know you were so eager to attack me. Well, except for the time where you threw a pencil at me.” His voice is teasing, but I can’t help but notice that there is something darker that lies behind it. I don’t say a word as he shifts to get off the bed and begins to climb up the ladder.

Just then, the lights decide to go out.

I can see them. The darkness morphs itself into faceless monsters who look at me hungrily as I were something that they would enjoy consuming. I squeeze my eyes shut and pull the sheets over my head. They are still there. They linger behind my eyelids, tainting the only safe haven that I had. They infiltrate my imagination and reality. I can do nothing to ward them off as they prowl closer and closer till they surround me. My feet are pulled to my chest as I wrap my hands around my knees, a fetal position.

The bunk above me shifts. Once. Twice. Heavy steps near as the ladder begins to creak. I know who it is. He terrifies me as much as he facisnates me.

The monsters stare at the ladder.

Creak.

They are in sync with my heart as they jump in fright and scurry into the icy depths of the floor. He comes down, with his bracelet gleaming in the dim moonlight. I peek my head out from beneath the covers and just stare at him in question. Why did he come down?

He looks at me as if he can already read the question written in my eyes.

“You were shaking the bed,” he says flatly as his eyes looked around my bed in suspicion.

“There were…monsters.” I can feel my heart pounding as I share some of my trauma with him. I’m prepared for the light shine of amusement that was certain to come or the hearty laugh that I’m sure he’ll release.

But there is nothing. He looks at me with a seriousness that I’ve never seen before.

“Pretend you don’t fear them. Once you master that act, they won’t come for you again.”

His voice has changed. Gone is the dark amusement, which once coated every word he said. I blink in surprise at the earnesty in his voice. I nod slightly, processing his words. Would they really leave me alone if I did what he said? My thoughts are disrupted by his hand wrapping around my own and squeezing briefly before he begins to climb up the ladder.

I’m in shock. Did he just…?

But that quickly disappears when the sshadows start to form into figures that only existed in my nightmares. Before I can comprehend what I’m doing, I grab onto his ankle. His foot is halfway up the ladder and he pauses before looking down at me with an eyebrow raised.

I force myself to spit it out before its too late.

“Can you stay down here with me?” I can tell the question catches him off guard. The surprise is evident on his face, which only accelerates the butterflies that pang in my heart. He replies without any hesitation.

“Of course.” Before I know it, his feet are planted on the floor beside my bed. He sits on the floor so his back rests against my bunk. He stares at the wall as if he sees something I don’t. My back is planted firmly against my bed, and I stare up at the ceiling blankly. Sleep isn’t coming to me. I turn to my side, only to find that he has turned to face me. As soon as his eyes meet mine, they soften.

He raises a hand and I flinch before he merely tucks a strand of my dark hair behind my ear.

“Go to sleep, little rose. They won’t come for you tonight.” The nickname sends a pang through my heart. I don’t remember the last time I was given a nickname.

It makes me feel…worthy. His hand closes over mine, guiding me through the fields that were once full of monsters.

There are none.

His hand stays wrapped around mine.

And he never lets go.