Phantom of the damned. (First draft, unedited.)

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Wicked deeds, and seeds of misery.


* Warning, this chapter has elements of abuse, please read at your own discretion.*

The day before the scaver attack.

The slow drip of salt water, that found its way into the dim cell, through a crack in the foundation of the sea wall, that housed the prison section within the arena. Is the only sound to be heard, Lyla’s shallow breathing, withstanding.

But favion is unbothered by such things, his interest in his wife had faded faster than his hair line. And her pathetic state, was of no consequence to him.


He had come for another purpose.

“The girl. Will she be gifted as you were? Or am I wasting my time in fetching her.” He demands, tapping his foot impatiently, causing his oversized gut, to giggle in place, barely contained by his musty, undersized, navy blue suit.

Lyla stares blankly in her husband’s direction, unfocused eyes seeming to look through him.

Huddled in a dry corner, with hay and tattered blankets for her bed, she cocks her head to the side with a grin that whispered secrets of a broken, maddened spirit.

“The girl? the girl! My sweet child. The last blessing.” She coos, eyes foggy, and words slurred on dry lips.

“Yes, the blessing, our child... we’ve been through this! Answer me woman, for I know your kind can sense your children’s abilities.” He snaps, taking three short, chubby strides in her direction.

The smell of feces and body oder burn his nostrils as he nears his wife, but he continues none the less. Stopping at her feet, he drops into a crouch, knees cracking and popping under his weight, as he did.

He then reaches a hand forward, snatching Lyla’s chin in his grip, firmly. He yanks her face up, forcing her eyes to lock with his.

“Tell me, does she have the ability to manipulate water, as you did before so selfishly breaking your connection with Gia?” Small specks of spit fly from favion’s greasy maw, most being caught in his unkept beard, but a few manage to hit their target, speckling Lyla’s cheeks and mouth.

She doesn’t react, listless, no better than a doll.

Angrily, Favion releases his grip, tossing her small form to the floor.

No longer able to stomach her stench, and realizing that her mind was too far gone to answer him properly, he exits the cell.

Be it fate.

Or bad luck.

Lyla’s broken mind allows five words to fall from her chapped, bleeding lips. Words that shake Favion’s confidence in his, go-to, subordinate.

Drifting through the bars of her cell, she whispers in a shaky voice.

“Kane. Please help my child.” If she had tears left to cry, she would have then. But alas, a life time of tears had already been shed, by the battered woman.

In the absence of tears, she wailed silently, casting her emotion to the wind and waves, just outside the walls that bound her.

If only she had known that Favion was not yet out of ear shot.

A seed of doubt, and anger, sprouted within his chest.

“That bastard is going to double cross me.” He rages to himself.

He’d sent Kane because out of all his men, Kane is the only one who gives a damn about his family, his mother, to be exact.

Favion didn’t make it a habit to hire those with loyalty outside of his own.

He didn’t bring in men with such trivial ideals, as family, and morals.

But Kane was the exception to the rule, his immunity to magic, and his inhuman ability to track and kill, had marked him as Favion’s top recruit.

When the rumors of a gifted, human child, reached the arena. Favion knew he had to have the boy.

And so, he traveled to the settlement the boy was rumored to live, took him, and held his mother over his head as collateral.

As the arena master, and absolute law over the human territory, his actions were not questioned, or stopped.

Over the years since he’d acquired Kane, he had become quite confident in his hold over him.

But had he been too cocky?

It would seem so.

No matter, such things can be made right, easily.

Making his way to the arena stadium, Favion smiles to himself, pleased with his new plans.

To hell with his daughters virtue, as long as she was brought back breathing, he could care less at this point.

A small thrill of satisfaction ran down his back, knowing that Kane himself, would be physically incapable of taking the girl.

Another thought struck him then, one more dastardly than the last.

Wouldn’t it be poetic to have Kane be forced to watch?

A deep, gravely laugh, bubbled up in the arena masters chest, at the thought.

Perfectly, poetic.

Romantic even.

Bursting through the heavy wooden doors that seal the arena, Favion strides to the center, the echo of the doors slamming against rock, silence the scores of men and women, training, and talking amongst each other.

“Fall in, you bunch of filthy heathens, I have an announcement.” He shouts, coming to a stop in the center of the area, the packed dirt that made up the floor, stains his white leather shoes, red. But he could care little about that at the moment.

Scrambling to obey orders, human and wican alike, line up in front of their master.

As part of the treaty, the two races trade their own as slaves, usually during the culling. The only stipulation, was that they could not be used in war against one another, should the treaty fail.

And favion was proud to say that he had acquired quite the range of skills, from the wicans he’d collected so far.

One of his favorite, being the Scavers, and their deadly pets, stood front and center, loyally awaiting orders.

“As you all know, I’ve sent Kane to retrieve my daughter. The bounty for her return, was exclusively his. But, I’ve had a change of heart, and am willing to open the bounty to all of you. If you bring back Kane’s head as well, I might be put in mind to reward you.”

A chorus of excited chatter erupted as Favion’s voice fell silent.

And not to his surprise, the scaver’s pack up immediately, their siegons tailing them as they leave.

Having said what he needed to, Favion retires to his quarters. Sagging into his favorite, worn out arm chair.

Favion snaps his fingers, and a young maid steps from the corner, where she is permanently stationed, only to move when serving her master.

Dressed in nothing but beads, and intricate dye stained, patterns that stretch across her chest and hips. She silently pours a glass of moon shine into a crystal cup, and hands it to her master.

Snatching the cup from her, he quickly grasps her retreating wrist in his free hand.

And stares into the maids eyes.

No fear or disgust registered in her hollow gaze.

She stares at him the same way his wife does.





Knocking her hand away, he raises his own back, slapping her across the cheek.

Her head snaps to the side, but she makes no sound.

Her expression doesn’t change.

“Leave me, and send the next one in.” He commands, having no interest in playing with dolls.

However, the girl makes one mistake as she turns to leave.

She allows herself to smile, ever so slightly, relieved at being traded out, finally.

This sign of hope, of life, was not lost on the arena master.

And before she could take two steps toward her freedom.

He speaks.


Her shoulders stiffen, back ridged, as she begins to shake, her unique red hair, shivers with her viscous convulsions.

“Ah, there you are.” Favion purrs.

“Come to me.”

She fights the tears that burn her eyes, and prick her nose, cursing herself for showing any emotion.

She was so close.

Almost free from this monster.

But now, the devil himself, wraps his arms around her, drawing her into another night of hell.

“Cry for me.” He snarls.

The night air filled with the screams of another innocent spirit, shattered past recovery.

And the isle of the damned, gains a new lost soul.

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