𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟐 | 𝑰𝒎𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒔.
𝐂𝐖: Violence, description of injuries/moderate gore, minor character death
𝐀/𝐍: this chapter is shorter but the introduction to phoenix drop is too special!! it needs to be its own chapter!
𝐖𝐂: 3,200 +
𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐑: as always, the lovely @arienic
𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒
“Oh,” Elena whispers, her footsteps quiet as she rushes to your side. “What happened, dear?”
You lift your head from the floor, the stone leaving behind a mark from where you’d buried your forehead. The older woman crouches over you, worry screwed into her features as she brushes a curled finger over your injured cheek. It’s so gentle, her touch, and for a moment you close your eyes, pretending it’s the loving touch of your mother and not the pitying concern of a stranger you’ve only met tonight. Your chin wobbles.
“He said…” You shudder, reeling in the clear vulnerable tremble in your voice. “The wedding is tomorrow night.”
You open your eyes to see a horrified expression on Elena’s face, her head and shoulders leaning back, the information having involuntarily made her flinch. “Oh…”
“He said he’ll kill everyone back home if I don't comply.”
She swallows thickly, tensing her jaw as if trying to make herself seem more certain, though her widened eyes are anything but reassuring. A brisk glance at the door, then she’s quick to pull you to your feet, dusting off your dress and firmly holding your shoulders straight.
“You need to leave tonight.”
“What?” you blink, mouth agape. “But surely they’ll expect that. They’ll—they'll kill me if they catch me.”
Elena shakes her head, mouth twisting. “Oh, passerotta, it will be a much slower death if you stay.”
Your throat feels dry. But you know.
She’s right.
“Then… what do I do?”
She looks down, clearly scrambling for a new plan as she pulls her bottom lip anxiously between her teeth, wrinkles in her forehead creasing further. For a moment, you think maybe she sees her niece—Amalia—in you, from the way her bony fingers dig into your shoulders like they can change the current circumstances, as if she’s trying to wield the power to change time. A moment passes, then she finally lets you go, resolve on her face.
Walking past you to the bedside table, she opens its drawer (which is empty, you realize, staring in confusion). She lifts the bottom panel to reveal a hidden compartment, retrieving a bottle with red liquid inside and a simple but long dagger. She pulls both out with care, turning to you and gesturing for you to take the pair of items.
You grit your teeth as she holds her hands out insistently, the tremble in her fingers begging you to take the dagger and vial as if they are your lifeline. And they are, so you do. The familiar weapon feels heavier in your hands, and you stare at the mysterious red liquid as Elena folds your fingers over it protectively.
“It’s a healing potion.”
She knows magicks?
“Child, I beg you: run. Use this dagger on whoever asks for it—fight to kill, if you must. But you cannot stay here.” Her nails dig into the backs of your hands as she guides you to conceal her offerings in the hidden pocket of your dress.
“I won’t be able to go home. He’ll find me. Kill my family.”
Elena doesn’t say anything to that, avoiding your gaze as she glances out the window. It’s been a few hours since Petruccio sent you to your bed chambers in a rage, and the moon is well in the sky now.
“You will turn left out of this room, go down the stairs and straight down the hall to the servants’ quarters," she tells you. "There’s a door that lets you into the courtyard, and you can sneak out through the gate. You’re right, you cannot return home, but you have a better chance starting anew in another village. And when you leave this place…” she sucks in a breath, face paling. “You do not stop running, no matter what. No matter what you hear, or what you think is behind you.”
Her ominous warning makes the hair on the back of your neck and arms prickle, your breath trapped in your throat. “...What? Guards?”
“No, dear. He keeps…” She pauses. “Those monstrous things in his dungeons. Demons. And he won’t be against sending them after you.”
Huh?
“Demons?”
You’ve heard stories from passing villagers before. Ones of shadow-like creatures that feed off of people who venture too far into the woods at night. Ones that leave lasting scars on the victims, nightmares plaguing their sleep.
Elena nods, eyes boring into yours. “From the Netherworld. They feed off your fear. Your energy. Your life. They can mimic human voices, using magicks to make themselves sound like people you know—people you love. If… when you make it out of these walls, it won’t be over. Don’t stop running.”
Her words weigh heavier than the expensive pearls around your neck, but there’s no time to let the horror sink in as she turns you around, gently pushing you to the door. “Now go. There were no guards in the hall when I came to see you. This is your only chance.”
You pause as your fingertips meet the cool metal of the door knob, turning to look one last time at the woman. “Elena… won’t he suspect you’ve helped me?”
She grimly smiles, the worn down look in her eyes accentuated by the candlelight. “Don’t you worry about me, dear. I’ve done my part.”
“But—”
“Go.”
…
The door creaks open, your fingers pressing against the wood as you peek out. The halls are eerily dark and quiet, not a single guard in sight, just as Elena said. You give her one last glance as you slip out of the bedchamber.
“Thank you.”
And then you close the door behind you, sealing the last interaction you will ever have with the woman who just saved you.
Go.
You’ve done this before: softening your footsteps, strategically widening your stride to move quickly without making a sound. This time, you don’t have to worry about twigs or leaves crunching under your feet, only plush carpet and polished floors. Though, the heels were a huge disadvantage on their own. There’s no time to search for a pair of workboots in a place like this, regardless, so they’ll have to do. The staircase is just in sight, anyways. Only a few strides away.
Left foot.
Right foot.
“Hey!”
A rough hand clasps your arm, and a gasp rips from your throat as you whip your head to look up at the guard that’s caught you. His eyes are shrouded by his helmet, mouth straightened into a stern line.
“You aren’t supposed to be out here,” he reprimands, fingers bruising against your skin as he tugs you towards him.
“Please, let me go.” The plea tumbles out of your mouth in a panicked, hushed tone as your free hand slowly inches toward your pocket. “What do you gain from keeping me here? Please, I beg you—”
Don’t make me fight out of this one.
“If I let you go, I risk my job and possibly my life,” he snips. “I’m taking you to Lord Petruccio right now.”
Oh God, no. No.
“No, stop! Please—”
Your hand wraps around the cool handle. Panic surges in your chest as you thrash against his grip, tears pricking your eyes when your shoulder groans in protest. The guard pulls you towards him again, dragging you to where you can only assume Lord Petruccio’s bedchamber is.
“Stop resisting!”
“No!”
Your arm drives up in a final motion, stilling the two of you in the center of the hall. Warm droplets splatter on your face—causing you to flinch back—followed by an unnerving gurgling noise while the grip on your arm loosens. You look up at the guard, his eyes blown wide as your fist shakes around the dagger lodged directly into his throat. He makes one last choked noise, the life fading from his eyes before he goes slack and his body makes a sick, lifeless thud against the ground.
For a moment, all you can hear is the sound of your own erratic breaths, horror between every stuttered inhale as you stare down at the lifeless man at your feet. The blade slipped from your hands, still lodged in his throat, but all you can do is gag when you think about retrieving it.
“What’s the commotion over—what the fuck…?”
There, at the top of the stairwell you were meant to escape through, another guard stares down at you, taking in the sight of his comrade bleeding the last of his warm blood onto the carpet and stone.
“You bitch! You killed him!” He turns his head, before raising his voice to alert the whole castle.
“She’s trying to escape!”
You’ve already gotten this far. It can’t end here, can it?
When the guard turns back to you, you’re already sprinting back down the hall you'd come from, kicking off your heels to try and gain some speed. One last shout and he’s chasing you, the heavy footfalls of armored boots not far behind you and even more of them closing the distance from further behind.
You’ll have to find another way out. Though, based on the tall hill and moat that surrounds this castle—well, if your hope of getting out of here alive had been an ember before, it's finally sinking into ash, now.
Maybe dying will be better. Killing your friends and family will be too much energy and effort if you’re dead regardless. Your loved ones can continue on with their lives, and you can die knowing you at least had your pride and dignity intact.
Well, aside from the fact that you’re a murderer now.
The guard that had caught you in the act is gaining on you now, the dress you’re in weighing you down more than you’re used to. There’s not much time.
These corridors are winding. And though you’re sure the Lord of O’Khasis has a castle much larger and more grandeur than this, even this building is larger than any you’ve ever been in before. But soon enough, you run out of hallways to turn down, the stretch ahead of you ending in a large stained glass window with merely a table with an unlit candelabra on top of it. No doorways. No weapons.
This is it.
“You have nowhere to run!”
You’re going to die tonight. And if this is true—
It’ll be by your own hand.
You grab the candelabra, its gold finish glinting in the moonlight filtering through the windows as you turn to the guards in an act of faux defense. The group that had been alerted is here now, five guards staring at you in disbelief. You can’t fight them off. A scoff leaves one of their lips as they take a step closer. But they’re not close enough.
Winding your arm back, you turn. And with the strength you’ve gained from years of hunting, carrying baskets full of crops and dragging heavy equipment, the window shatters in front of you. You don’t see a treeline, or hear the thunk of the candelabra hitting the ground. But it doesn’t matter.
This is meant to be your fate, isn’t it?
“Stop!”
Wind whips in your face, infiltrating your lungs at a force that takes away your ability to breath. There’s a searing pain in your side, a hot sensation spreading across your stomach as you plunge to certain death.
You never got to say goodbye to your parents. Would they find out the gruesome way you went out? Can they handle it?
A shocking cold hits you, the sharp sting of—not the ground, but water enveloping you.
Oh.
You’re alive.
Now you recall it. The small lake that surrounds the castle. The large drop off the side. You'd managed to land in the safest spot, in water deep enough that you didn’t smack to the bottom.
As you kick your feet, you ignore the sharp pain in your abdomen. Damn this dress—the material weighs you down, attempting to drown you. Somehow, after a few long seconds, you reach the surface, and you gasp for air.
Get to shore. You just have to get to the shore.
Each paddle of your arms strains your muscles, your body threatening to give out on you with every weak flail. Soon, you reach a portion shallow enough for you to run, the mud and algae a comforting feeling against your fingers as you crawl onto the bank. You should feel relieved, but as you lay lifelessly on the ground, that pain in your side makes itself prominent again; a warm, intense, and radiant discomfort.
What is…? Oh.
A choked noise leaves your lips as you stare down at your stomach, a shard of stained glass piercing straight through the left side of your waist, blood staining the white fabric around it. Somehow, seeing the injury makes it hurt worse, your body shaking as you tenderly touch the affliction.
The potion.
You reach for the hidden pocket in your dress, the bottle miraculously still inside and intact. Without hesitation you uncork and chug down the healing concoction, tossing down the bottle as a comforting feeling settles in your stomach. It’s like a warm hearth is lit inside of you, radiating out to your pores. You need to get the glass out.
Don’t even think about it, just pull. Another cry leaves your lips as you grip the shard, ripping it from your abdomen in one swift motion. Your vision goes dark for a moment, face cold, before you can see the flicks of moonlight filtering through the trees ahead of you again. Reaching for what is definitely supposed to be a gaping wound, you blink when it’s a less severe gash against your side, blood trickling from the lesion instead of pouring out your insides.
For a moment, you sit there, focusing on each labored breath, the calm crickets in the forest and the faint breeze against your wet skin.
Until it goes quiet.
You swallow, a sudden feeling of dread creeping along your spine, raising the hair on your arms. Your heart speeds to an uncomfortable rate as you slowly look around, a sense of being watched overwhelming you. There’s not a single noise of another living being now, and even the air has stilled into something suffocating, stale. Then—
A loud, unearthly screech pierces the air, the groaning, almost pained noise sending a shock of terror through your bones.
“If… when you make it out of these walls, it won’t be over. Don’t stop running.”
Demons?
Oh God, they’re coming for you.
Frantically, you reach for the lacing of your dress, twisting your arm to no avail as the heavy material restricts your movements. You have to be quicker. The bloody shard of glass laying in the dirt finds its way in your hands, and though it slices your palm, you ignore the sting and use the sharp edge to slice along the fabric, ripping the rest of it off and breaking free from its confines. Your undergarments are all that remains, the thin, bloodied linen clinging to your skin, but light and unrestricting.
There’s no time to second guess; you stumble to your feet and take off into the woods ahead, feet bare, skin cold, wound gaping, and only the moonlight to guide you.
Another screech nearly makes you trip from the way your whole body flinches in response, but you keep going. Twigs and thorns under your feet barely phase you, your senses numbed as you shove through shrubbery and dodge tree trunks. You can hear it; the whisper of movement behind you, the subtle growls covered by the wind rushing by your ears.
A sudden voice cuts through the air, the tone a familiar cadence you know too well. “Wait!”
Mom?
Your steps falter, and you turn your head to the call. She can’t be here. But how—?
Then you see it. A shadow matching your speed, the faint glow of eyes beneath a ripped black hood. It towers at least two feet taller than you and moves so smoothly it’s like it isn’t even struggling to keep up—like it’s toying with you for sport.
The feeling of a cold hand swipes across your back, claws digging into your skin and knocking you forward on the ground. You wheeze as the air is pulled from your chest, side flaring with pain as you scramble back to your feet and continue forward despite the limp in your stride and strain in your lungs. Several voices begin wailing all around you—a taunting attempt to make you falter again—all from people you know.
“Don’t leave me!”
“Help!”
These things are dragging it out, torturing you. For fun, maybe? Do they understand what they’re doing? Or is it simply their nature, how they were designed?
“Don’t you love me?”
Another strong swipe pushes you over a log, your knees giving out and crashing into the dirt below before you slide down a steep slope. Your vision is spotting—you can barely see a few feet in front of you, but you continue on. And on. And on.
Why?
Why are you bothering with this game of cat and mouse? No, this isn’t just a predator chasing after prey, this is torment for the sport of it.
It’s like they’re not after your flesh and bones. They’re feeding off your fear.
It feels like hours pass, your strength waning with each step. One last claw to your shoulder is the last nail in the coffin, your cheek meeting the dirt as you twist onto your back. Each breath is laborious, limbs numb and head spinning from the copious blood loss. Even as the healing potion fights to keep you awake, you can barely see the moon above. It’s like a shadow is blocking your vision, the only hope to see any light is two stars glinting, a breeze falling onto your face.
Oh.
The demon tilts its head, a garbled laugh leaving the rotting mouth you can make out under the shadow of its hood. Its friends—if you can call them that—echo the same noise around you.
This is it. For the second time tonight, you’re prepared to die.
Yet, as it leans in, the unmistakable stench of death crowding your nose, it doesn’t bite into you as expected. The thing freezes, as if stopped by some other force, a low growl rumbling from its throat as it flinches back. You cough weakly, unable to muster the power to understand why.
A screech pierces your ears, and the demon above you leaps away, looking towards your side in a defensive manner. Is it… scared? With what little energy you have, you turn to see what had caused the noise, only to see a cloaked figure standing over one of the creatures, pulling an arrow from its body as it dissipates into nothingness, melting into the night as if it were never there to begin with.
The creatures howl furiously, charging before backing away from the man (a very tall one at that) like frightened animals. He reaches behind his green cloak, face still obscured from your sight, pulling another arrow from his quiver and striking another demon with ease. Your vision fades in and out as you watch him annihilate a few more, before the rest disperse back into the woods.
It’s quiet again, the only sound your whimpering wheezes as the man stands still, looking over at you as if deciding what to do with you. You can feel the fight in you finally giving out, your consciousness slipping as he starts walking towards you—
Then darkness.
Notes: Shadow Souls: Many people refer to these creatures as “demons”, when in fact, they have no relation to the demon race. Shadow Souls are decrepit Shadow Knights to the point of no return, and their main goal is to hunt down people and even Shadow Knights, sucking away their life force in hopes of becoming something resembling a human once again. They usually tend to go for humans, even though they’re more like a “snack”, because Shadow Knights are much stronger. Quite a few people all over Ru’aun have traumatizing encounters with these creatures, which has been attributed to the nuances about “demons” and their relation to the Nether.
©starhvney 2026. do not plagiarize, feed to any AI, or repost my works to any sites.
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