Xellyndra: Retribution, A Daughter for a Daughter
Rageful thoughts course through Xellyndra’s mind, thoughts of simply dropping her struggling burden, letting it fall to the hard ground hundreds of feet below, watching the frail body shatter and licking the blood and gore off the rocks. She glances down at the prey she carries, Karra, daughter of Amena of Lesley. Her grip tightens on the chain wrapped around the brat’s waist as she recalls Amena’s act of betrayal. She flies on, wings pumping strongly through the cold air, knowing that Mother would not be pleased at such an easy death for the girl. Pain for pain, suffering for suffering. . .a daughter for a daughter, such were her Mother’s demands, and Xellyndra would abide her Mother’s wishes despite the burning hatred in her heart demanding immediate action. Coming in sight of the Blagdon Den, a sigh of relief escapes her lips, there she would be safe and could perform the task uninterrupted. No one not Blagdon knew the location of the Den, and since she had flown, no one would be able to track her there. Long ago she had left behind all pursuit, the speed of her flight outpacing those who would take back her prize.
Tilting her leathery wings forward, she dives down at breakneck speed, the child squealing in terror. At the last possible moment, she pulls up, swooping smoothly in through the Den entrance, the wind of her movement wailing in her ears, the cry of tortured souls, a joyous foreboding of games to come. A powerful downstroke of her wide wings sends her rocketing up toward the ceiling. Struggling against murderous urges once again, she drops the child before rising to a fatal height. Banking sharply around to the right, she allows herself the pleasure of watching the wretched thing fall heavily to the floor of the cave, inexorable gravity cracking tiny ribs. A dark smile crosses her thin lips as she drops lightly to the floor beside the brat, thickly muscled legs bending to absorb the shock of her descent. Her bat-like wings spread over both their bodies as she huddles over the runt. Her eyes slide half shut as she feeds off the pain running through the body below her with each breath, pitiful whimpers chiming melodiously in her sensitive ears. A long moment passes as she savors this small pleasure, knowing that it is only a prelude, the true games having not yet begun.
Taking the chain in her hand again, she rises fluidly and drags the child to a wall of the Den, letting the rough cave floor tear stinging scrapes in its back. Picking it up by the neck, she slams its back into the wall, careful to hold the head forward, not allowing it to be knocked unconscious. She breathes in the air so forcefully expelled from its lungs by the blow, relishing the waves of pain rolling off the small body, chuckling murderously. Her icy green eyes hold the brat’s terrified gaze as she holds it hard against the wall with one hand. The other pulls each arm up over its head, one at a time, fastening shackles around the small wrists. The runt remains frozen in shock as Xellyndra bends down to fasten a shackle around its right ankle, but as she moves to place one around the left ankle the foolish child attempts to resist, kicking out with her free leg and connecting a stinging blow to Xell’s chin. Her eyes flush crimson with anger as she springs upright, her fist slamming into the fool’s stomach, demonic muscles bunching visibly as her arm meets the slight resistance of soft flesh. She steps smoothly to the side, eyes dancing with dark laughter as her prey proceeds to violently regurgitate all the contents of its stomach, vomit and blood splattering to form a small pool at its feet. When it can find no more, and hangs limply gasping for breath, Xell bends down once again. This time she meets no resistance as she fastens the final shackle. Rising smoothly once again, she unwraps the chain from the brat’s waist and steps back to admire the picture. Her prey hangs limply from its wrists, shackles attached to chains fixed into the stone wall. The body is held in a perfect X. Xell drops into a comfortable crouch, carefully coiling the chain and setting it aside, fluttering her wings before settling them close to her back, waiting for the toy to fully regain consciousness.
Finally, the runt finds the strength to raise its head, glaring fearfully at Xell. It pulls futilely against its bonds, bringing a dry chuckle to Xell’s throat, and a wry shake of her head. Standing slowly, she reaches a hand beneath her vest, withdrawing a five-inch mythril throwing knife. Drawing her hand back with agonizing slowness, she has an eternity to relish the terrified widening of her prey’s eyes before her hand darts forward again, her wrist flicking in an expert motion, her aim practiced and true. The small blade slices through the air in a heartbeat, stabbing through the brat’s right palm, the tip sticking into the stone of the wall. Xell takes her time as she continues to make well-aimed throws, allowing the pain of each to be felt in fullness before adding another element. A beautiful set of sixteen matched throwing knives, simple in design, perfect in their balance, and she spares not a single one. The immobilized hand quickly loses its thumb to her second blade, followed by throws to the other palm and thumb, the inside of each elbow, the top of each arm and each leg just where they attach to the body, the center of each knee, and the top of each foot. She comes to her last two knives, gazing at them lovingly, she settles one in each hand. Taking careful aim, she snaps both hands forward simultaneously, the knives glittering as they cut through the air, the low light of the Den dancing upon them, a graceful waltz of pain. The brat shrieks as both its ears are cleaved clean from its head.
Giving the toy time to feel the fullness of its pain, Xell steps closer once again, gazing down at the floor beneath the spread-eagled brat. She admires the work of art at its feet, a gruesome collage of body parts, blood, and vomit. A thoughtful look comes over her face as she considers the next addition to her macabre masterpiece. Long moments pass while the runt’s whimpers sing in Xell’s ears, lending inspiration to her reverie. Her eyes light up and she raises her gaze to the sniveling thing before her. Her left hand darts out, holding its head hard against the wall as her right hand reaches into the brat’s mouth, taking a firm grip its slippery tongue. Crimson eyes dancing with mirth, she violently tears the tongue out of her prey’s mouth, laughing as its blood sprays across her face. She lets the hunk of meat drop to the floor, adding it to her picture. Caught up in her artistic reverie, hesitation is lost. Still holding the runt’s head immobile with one hand, she forces her fingers into one eye socket, then the other, carefully plucking out both its eyeballs and letting them fall to floor. Her prey’s screams of agony ringing in her ears, she takes a step back to survey her creation. A dissatisfied frown runs over her face as she looks upon her collage, licking the blood and gore daintily off her short fingers. Again, inspiration lights her eyes, accompanied by a childish giggle. Flicking her right wrist in a sharp motion, she lets an eight-inch mythril dagger fall from her sleeve to lie lightly in her small hand. Her left hand darts out, taking a firm grasp on the brat’s nose. The dagger slices upward, cleaving the nose right off her prey’s face, cutting through tough cartilage as though it were water. Bending down slowly, Xell carefully places the nose just off-center in the horrific collage below her. Absently, she licks the blood from the blade before slipping it back up her wide sleeve. Grabbing hold of a lock of hair on each side of the twirp’s head, she yanks her arms apart, tearing a handful of hair from each side of its scalp. Giggling again in response to its high-pitched screams, she scatters the hair randomly over her collage as a finishing touch.
Slowly, Xell’s attention drifts back to her prey. She stands in complete silence, barely breathing as the monstrosity’s head whips left to right, blind eyes searching for its tormentor, full-throated screams of pain and terror ripping from its tongueless mouth. On a whim, she slams her fist into that gaping mouth with all her demonic strength, tearing her knuckles on teeth which are then rocketed into the back of the brat’s throat. Its head pounds back into the wall with a sick thud, rendering it semi-conscious. Growling in irritation, Xell turns away, disappointed in herself for lessening her prey’s pain. She stalks off a few yards, sucking the blood from her torn knuckles. Spinning back to face the runt, her lips peel back in a feral snarl, long canines gleaming in the light. She settles her feet apart in a well-balanced stance, drawing on the pain of her victim, feeding from it, letting it fan her inner flame to a consuming inferno. Her consciousness reaches out, touching the ruined form before her, feeling its heat. She focuses her concentration on the warmth radiating off its skin, almost seeing the aura of heat flickering in the air around the body. Slowly, ever so slowly, she begins to feed that heat, nourishing it, caressing it, coaxing it to growth. Steam begins to rise off the skin of her prey. Soon, a sizzling sound can be heard as the skin heats further, beginning to cook. The brat twitches, this new pain forcing it back to consciousness, dragging it out of the blessedly painless darkness. Blisters form over the entire body as the runt comes fully awake, bursting and oozing. Xell’s expression seems almost relieved as the raucous screams of agony resume, echoing around the walls of the Den. Abruptly, she cuts off the flow of heat, stopping before the skin blackens and loses feeling. She lets her head fall back, her arms held wide as her own primal howls of pleasure rise to join the pained screams, the echoes intertwining and dancing with one another in a passionate embrace. The pain radiating off the monstrosity before her slams into her body in wave after blessed wave, feeding her demon essence, wracking her body with a pleasure so intense as to draw ragged screams from her own throat. She falls heavily to her knees, eyes staring wide at the ceiling high above, incoherent prayers of gratitude and praise screaming through her mind as she mumbles the name of the Beloved over and over. Tears stream from her crimson eyes as her words run together, becoming a frantic chant, a desperate litany torn from the very depths of her soul. The Pain of her Goddess lances through her body, threatening to tear her apart, rend her soul from its resting place. In desperation she jerks a long dagger from her boot, surging to her feet and staggering toward the screaming mess in front of her. Lunging forward to slice its throat open, she stumbles, missing her mark and slashing across the abdomen instead. Slimy entrails spill forth from the deep wound, falling to lay artistically draped from the body to the collage at its feet. Xell falls backward, the muscles in her back spasming in response to an even more intense rush of agony. She lies convulsing and howling on the floor as her prey bleeds rapidly to death. As it dies, so to does Xell’s pain, until she is left shuddering where she lies, muscles jumping and twitching uncontrollably. She curls in on herself, clutching the cold steel of the dagger, softly murmuring her thanks to the Dark One until her body stills. Rising and slipping the dagger back into her boot, she looks on the corpse with gleaming eyes. Childish laughter bubbles from her lips as she turns to her Mother, watching from across the cave, an innocent hope for her approval dancing in her eyes as they fade back to a shining green.
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