2. Javan

2

JAVAN

S itting in this damp dungeon, my wrists raw from the metal shackles, I wonder if letting these dark elves capture me was worth the trouble.

Their "torture" is laughable.

I lean back against the cold stone wall, feeling the sharp edges dig into my skin, and close my eyes. The chains rattle, the only sound breaking the monotony.

Being captured by the dark elves is a pity. As much as they try to abuse my body, nothing works. They're too foolish, too weak, to deal with the likes of demons. We harbor a power that they simply don't understand.

It doesn't matter if the dark elves have magic of their own. It doesn't match what I'm capable of.

Footsteps echo down the hallway, a group of them. The laughter is unmistakable.

Great, here comes the entertainment.

"Look at him. He's a fucking pathetic mess. See his hair? We should chop it off," one of them sneers, stepping into the dim torchlight. His face twists in a mockery of a smile.

"Maybe even take his scalp while we're at it," another chimes in, his voice dripping with malice. He whistles sharply. "Hey! Open your fucking eyes!"

With a sigh, I open my eyes, meeting his gaze with a blank stare. "Got tired of playing with your dolls?" I retort, my voice calm and mocking. The chains rattle as I shift slightly, the cold metal biting into my skin. Their laughter falters, just for a moment.

Another dark elf, taller, with a scar running down his cheek, joins in. "Funny, for a demon, you're not much of a fighter. Or maybe you've just given up?"

"Or maybe I'm just enjoying the show," I reply, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

They laugh, a chorus of cruelty. The one with the scar steps closer, producing a dagger. "Let's see if we can make you scream this time."

He pierces my side, drawing blood. The pain is a dull throb, barely noticeable. I've felt worse from a paper cut. He looks disappointed when I don't react. Still, he reaches out with a small vial and collects my blood. For their pointless little rituals, I suppose.

"Nothing? Really?" He twists the blade, raising a brow.

"Is that all you've got?" I yawn, stretching as much as the chains allow. "I've had insect bites that were more annoying."

A third dark elf, shorter and stockier, mutters a spell, and the chains around my wrists tighten, biting into my flesh. "Let's see how you like this."

I don't flinch. Instead, I lean forward, meeting his gaze with a dark smile. "You think this is going to break me? I've been chained by gods. Your magic is like a child's lullaby."

He scowls, frustration evident in his eyes. "You're not invincible, demon," he growls, voice trembling slightly.

"Keep telling yourself that," I reply, voice dripping with mockery. "Maybe one day it'll be true."

The first one, still holding the dagger, narrows his eyes. "Why don't we just kill him and be done with it?"

The one with the scar shakes his head, pocketing the vial full of my blood. "No, we need him alive. Lord Valron wants his blood for the ritual."

"Ah, Valron," I say, smirking. "Still trying to play sorcerer, is he? Tell him he's wasting his time."

"You talk too much," he spits, slashing at my chest. Blood trickles down, but I keep my eyes locked on his, unfazed by the pain.

"And you bore me," I retort, my voice laced with contempt. "Maybe I should start charging for my performances. At least then I'd get something out of this tedious charade."

They don't like me saying this. The stocky one hits me across the face, the impact making my head snap to the side, a sharp pain blooming where his fist connected. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, almost refreshing in this dreary place.

"You're going to regret this," he hisses, his voice dripping with malice.

I laugh, a deep, resonant sound that reverberates through the dungeon's stone walls. "No," I say, my voice steady and mocking. "I think you'll regret it first." My eyes lock onto his, promising a retribution he can't even begin to fathom.

They exchange uneasy glances. They can sense it, the power simmering just beneath my skin. But they don't know. They can't comprehend.

I scoff internally. These flimsy chains? They couldn't hold a child, let alone me .

The metal grates against my wrists, but it's nothing more than an inconvenience.

Suddenly, the small group watches in terror as one of their own yells out in agony.

One of the dark elves drops to the ground, his body contorting in a grotesque dance of terror. His screams pierce the dungeon, a symphony of fear that sends shivers down my spine—not of horror, but of pleasure. My eyes glow, the power within me surging as I feed his mind his worst nightmares.

His comrades back away, their faces twisted in horror and disbelief. They exchange frantic looks, unsure whether to help or flee. The chains rattle against my wrists as I shift slightly, barely able to contain my amusement. The dark elves were fools to think they could control me. Each scream, each gasp of terror, is a testament to their failure.

"You thought you could break me," I murmur, my voice dripping with contempt. "But it is you who will be broken."

"What's happening to him?" one of the soldiers shouts, his voice cracking.

The stocky one steps forward, eyes wide with panic as he points at me with a shaky finger. "You did this! What are you?"

"I'm a demon, you fool," I say, my voice dripping with irritation. Although I take a dark elf form, my true nature is foreign to this world.

They rush me, weapons drawn, trying to hurt what they can't even begin to understand. Blades slash at my flesh, but I just laugh. Their attacks are like taura bites—annoying but ultimately harmless.

"Stop laughing!" the one with the scar yells, his voice desperate.

"Why? This is the most fun I've had in centuries," I reply, my laughter echoing off the stone walls. As they pierce my skin, drawing blood that oozes down my chest, I laugh and laugh until the dark elves fall to their knees in tears.

The fools. They will never understand.