9. Narina

9

NARINA

T he mirror reflects a stranger. Flawless skin, sharper eyes, a subtle glow emanating from within. I trace the contours of my face, marveling at the absence of scars and blemishes. Is this really me?

Three days. Only three days since I bound myself to Dazirus. The memory of our contract sealing sends a shiver down my spine. His touch, his kiss, the searing pain as demonic power flooded my veins. Now that power hums beneath my skin, foreign yet intoxicating.

I close my eyes, focusing on the new sensations. The crackle of flames in the hearth downstairs, the whisper of wind through trees outside. Scents I never noticed before - leather, ink, the faint musk of Dazirus lingering in the air.

My fingers clench the edge of the vanity. This power, this heightened awareness - it's exhilarating. Terrifying. What am I becoming?

I've signed my soul to a demon. The thought echoes in my mind, a constant reminder of the bargain I've struck. Regret and curiosity war within me, alongside a strange thrill at the power now coursing through my veins.

My fingers trace the smooth skin of my arms, marveling at the strength I feel beneath. What am I supposed to do now? The question haunts me, unanswered.

Dazirus vanished after our contract was sealed, leaving me in the care of his servants. No explanations, no guidance. Just silence. Frustration gnaws at my insides. I need to find my sister. I need revenge for Mariel. There's no time for this idle waiting.

Determination floods through me. I stride to the door, yanking it open. The hallway stretches before me, opulent and unfamiliar. I hesitate for a moment, then square my shoulders. I won't be kept in the dark any longer.

The mansion is vast, cold, and unfamiliar. Servants bow as I pass, but none offer any useful information about Dazirus’s whereabouts. Frustration simmers beneath my skin, growing with each empty hallway I turn down. They all look the same—dark stone walls, ornate tapestries, and flickering sconces casting eerie shadows.

“Where is he?” I mutter under my breath, my temper flaring. I’ve been wandering for what feels like hours, and still no sign of Dazirus. The servants scurry away like frightened mice, avoiding my gaze. Useless.

As I round a corner, I freeze. A group of demons, their skin a deep crimson, are dragging several chained, gagged, and naked dark elves across the stone floor. The sight sends a shockwave through me. The dark elves’ faces are contorted in pain and fear, their bodies marred with bruises and welts.

My breath hitches. One of the dark elves—his eyes meet mine, and a jolt of recognition hits me. It’s him. The same one I saw abusing a human woman back in Protheka. The memory flashes before my eyes—the woman’s cries, the dark elf’s cruel laughter. Rage boils within me, a primal force that demands action.

Before I can think, my body moves. I grab a nearby whip, the leather curling in my hand like a living thing. The demons pause, their eyes widening in surprise as I step forward. The dark elf’s gaze flickers with fear, and it fuels my anger.

“You,” I growl, my voice echoing through the cavernous hall. The whip snaps out, the sound of it cracking against the dark elf’s back reverberating through the air. The demon guards step back, their expressions a mix of shock and amusement.

The dark elf screams, his body convulsing from the pain. But I don’t stop. I can’t. The whip lashes out again and again, each strike a release of the pent-up rage and frustration inside me. The elf's skin is soon striped and streaked with scarlet, but I don't relent.

Even when bits of their flesh peel away and spatter against the floor, I continue to vent my rage. The dark elf’s screams fill the hall, a symphony of retribution that drowns out everything else.

I grab a dark elf by his mane of hair and draw his head back. Then I wrap the whip around his neck. I drive my heel into his back as I pull back on the whip, strangling him. The elf thrashes, trying to claw at the leather around his throat, but I hold firm.

The demon guards watch, speechless. I can feel their eyes on me, the shock radiating off them in waves. But I don't care. This is my revenge, my justice.

The dark elf's struggles grow weaker, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Only when he goes limp do I release him, letting his body crumple to the floor. I turn to the next elf, the whip still coiled in my hand.

"Your turn," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. The elf's eyes widen in terror, but he can't move, can't escape. I bring the whip down, the crack echoing through the hall. He screams, his body convulsing with each strike.

I'm vaguely aware of the demon guards murmuring amongst themselves, their disbelief palpable. But I can't, I don't, and I won’t stop. This is for Mariel, for my sister, for every human these monsters have ever hurt.

I move to the next elf, and the next, the whip a blur in my hand. Their screams fill the air, a symphony of pain and retribution. I'm dimly aware of the blood splattering across my face, the sting of it in my eyes, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is making them pay.

"How does it feel now?" I hiss, my voice trembling with rage.

The power coursing through my veins makes my strikes more forceful, more satisfying. The whip cracks through the air, landing with a sickening thud on the dark elf's back. He grunts in pain, but I barely register it. All I can think about is the injustice I've suffered—the cruelty of dark elves, Mariel’s death, the endless torment of Protheka.

Satisfaction blooms inside me, heady and intoxicating. I don’t even notice the blood dripping from my hands, the whip’s handle digging into my skin. My hands are bleeding—the leather has cut deep, but the pain only fuels my frenzy. I continue to whip the dark elves, driven by the need for vengeance.

My hands tremble, but the whip remains steady, its cruel kiss unyielding. Each crack echoes through the chamber, a symphony of their pain and my rage. Mariel's face haunts me, her last breath playing on repeat in my mind. It wasn't these dark elves, but it might as well have been. They're all the same—cruel, heartless monsters.

"Please," one of them begs, his voice a ragged whisper. "We didn't... we didn't kill your friend."

A dark laugh escapes my lips.

"You think that matters?" I snarl. The whip sings again, drawing a fresh line of blood. "You're all guilty. Every last one of you."

The demon guards watch, their expressions a mix of shock and morbid fascination. They don't interfere. Maybe they understand, or maybe they're just entertained. I don't care. This is between me and the elves.

There's no going back from this. I know it. They know it. The room is thick with the stench of blood and fear. My heart pounds in my chest, a wild, primal beat. This is who I am now. This is what they've made me.

The whip falls again, and again, and again. Their screams fill the air, a chorus of agony that feeds the darkness inside me. I can feel it growing, consuming me. I won’t let this end. Not until they're all gone. Not until Mariel is avenged.

"Narina."

The voice cuts through the haze of rage, sharp and commanding. I turn, the whip still clutched in my hand. Dazirus stands in the doorway, his crimson eyes burning into mine.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his voice a low growl.

I meet his gaze, unflinching.

"What needs to be done."

Suddenly, a strong hand grabs my wrist, stopping the next strike mid-air. My breath catches in my throat as I look up, meeting Dazirus’s crimson gaze. His face is calm, but his eyes are intense as they flicker from the dark elves to my bloodied hands. His grip tightens slightly, but it’s not out of anger.

“Enough,” he says softly, his voice cutting through my haze of fury. My heart races, my chest heaving from exertion and emotion. What will Dazirus do now? Will he punish me?

I try to pull my wrist free, but his grip is like iron.

"Let go of me," I growl, my voice low and dangerous.

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Or what?” Dazrius asks, his eyes flicking to the whip and then back to me. “You'll whip me too?"

I glare at him, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

"I might," I snap, though I know it's an empty threat.

Dazirus chuckles, his grip loosening slightly.

My heart races, chest heaving from exertion and emotion as I stare into Dazirus's crimson eyes. What will he do to me now? Punish me for my outburst? Or... something else?

A shiver runs down my spine at the thought. Either way, I anticipate the answer.