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memurfevur-archive · 6 months

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Hide and Seek Part 3: A Promise

Character(s): Athena Uyilst, The Hidelord (@mageofspacemultiverse), NPC

About: The Hidelord worms himself into Athena's mind, playing on her weaknesses and strengths while they skin a traitor alive.

CW: blood, light graphic depictions of torture, human zoo

Words: 3,736

Plot Page

Song and Dance (part 1)

The Bronze Girl (part 2)

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Hidelord sniffed the air, glancing to the left in the direction of a long tapering stack of smog climbing the night sky. I stood beside him in a half-cower, knowing what lies ahead and undecided whether or not I could brave it. The Zoo was not like any other place in Hidelord’s domain, and what he had planned beyond here I would not know would break or save me.

"When we're alone with the bastard, then we'll talk about accountability. We can spin our turning knife, see who it lands on. Now, hunch forward a bit, and move."

He led the way through the field of reedy grass that flicked at our forearms and jostled noisily across our legs. It took us less than ten minutes to walk the full length and for the wide metal shed to come into sight: the Zoo had everything, not just holding cells for all of Hidelord's prizes, but a surgeon's bay, a kitchen, some bathrooms, and even a trading post inside for the exchange of skins and the occasional auction.

A guard was poised outside one of the rear doors. He leaned in to whisper something in the Hidelord's ear, and after a moment the Hidelord whispered back. The code words were not audible to the ear in case a slave tried to remember one as a means to escape, but it didn’t stop me from angling my ears listening for a shred of hope. For a brief moment I questioned whether this was what I truly wanted-- an escape; with rainbow drinker senses as sharp as a knife, I could easily hear soft murmurs and whispers as loud as a crowd’s roar. And yet, I heard nothing, and reminded myself that I am too weak to leave on my own volition. With a quick key jingle, the door was unlocked and the Hidelord grabbed me with a convincing tug and pulled me inside.

I had learned to be a good actor, playing my part to give people what they want. Looking sad and pathetic was too easy, though really the depression was the true star. I followed Hidelord with my head down and ears closed, but I didn’t need to act. The dread I felt was real.

Leading the way into the makeshift warehouse, the formerly tranquil air was instantly aplomb with screams, pleads, moans, weeping, and the noise of metal being shaken and scratched. Stacked in aisles at least twenty feet high and a hundred feet long were industrial cages, partially covered with numbered tarps. Empty or broken boxes were stacked against the wall for future use. Plastic tubes for dispensing water fed from each cage up toward the ceiling where one great cooler sat, like rodent sipper bottles, collecting from pipes buried in the ground outside. Flayed skins of past pets hung on the wall, a fatal reminder that despair was all anyone here had in store.

The place smelled of bile and sweat and dirt, but most of all, misery.

We passed the barrage of noise and doomed souls to the rear end, making it to an entryway made of thin plastic curtains. "Wanna wait here?" Hidelord put forth with a rhetoric chime to his voice, then stalked through the entryway to speak with his other minions. There were the faint sounds of beeping machinery through the cooler entrance, but it was mostly drowned out by the wails of the creatures behind me.

I was sure to keep my head down, though this time more for my health than out of obedience. I couldn't quite remember the path there, everything had been a blur, and I had been outside of my body for most of the journey through the Zoo, past the twists and turns filled with hollowed faces caked in blood and dirt and worse. I tried to keep myself together, gritting my teeth just to have that pressure as an anchor. The vile scene was almost too familiar to me. Underground slaver rings were only the scratches of the surface compared to this, though.

I wondered briefly if I was meant to be here, if this was my punishment for last night’s foolery. Or had he grown bored of me after all and decided to lock me away in the Zoo? I'd die, I decided; I'd rather die than go through this again. Hidelord had plenty of knives on his person. I could easily take one when he isn’t prepared, and slit my own throat right in front of him....

I began to hum to myself softly to try to drown out the screaming and crying, a short lullaby my brother would sing to me as kids. The memory of my brother brought forth its own guilt and regrets, but it was better to feel those than face the smothering atmosphere around me.

It was, to the relief of the surrounding universe, that Hidelord’s abandonment wouldn't come just yet. He soon returned as the squeaks of rubber against metal began to fade from the other room. He did not speak, only urgently waved to join him within the suite.

Beyond was much of the same, though some fabric curtains were fastened to the ceiling, and the room only held one or two cages, currently empty. All was covered in caked blood, none having bothered to clean the proof of their gruesome activity. Violet, blue, and brown alike were splattered across the room, as well as two of the otherwise shining metal tables that lay dormant before them. The room was cooler here, and the sound of the beeping grew closer.

Hidelord slunk past one of the curtains, gesturing to one table that was, in stark contrast, very much occupied. The traitorous warlord from before, Jembra, was a mass of tubes and cables hooked up to odd, archaic contraptions. A jar of leeches was set on the ground next to him, bright gold and swollen in their putrid swill. An accordion-like object sank up and down to the rhythm of his breathing, and bags of olive-hue blood surrounded his tired, unconscious face.

"The blood'll poison him before too long." Hidelord remarked, snorting. "He's no drinker, so if you want to bask in this for a second, don't fuck around. Let me know when we should get started, and how we'll decide this."

I looked at him, eyes wide. What more could this man go through? What were… we...going to put him through? I glanced back at the barely-conscious corpse on the table. Try as I might, I could not hold much sympathy for him. He knew the rules of the land better than I, and he had been willing to throw away what kept him safe for greed and power. He had been willing to betray what kept me safe. I can’t afford this man any sympathy, so my response was short and dry, “Anytime.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” my master grinned wickedly, reaching under the table and grabbing a small satchel, then sticking it under the lord’s nose.

It took a few moments to kick in, but the corpse lurched forward slightly with a sharp inhale, eyes pulsing from the aftermath of shock.

“Wakey wakey…” Hidelord’s smile faded into a mask of concentration, as he went to the far side of the room and took hold of one knife and a worn whetstone. A long, tapering sound of metal meeting plastic began to repeat through the small bay, and Jembra’s head swung back and forth weakly between the two of us, the reality quickly sinking in. With every haunting shing, his pupils looked smaller and smaller, and his breathing hitched and hiccuped with dread.

I could smell it, his fear, a sweet acidic taste on my tongue and fragrance to my nose. It made my fangs ache and the shudder that ran through my body could clue anyone in that the promise of what was to come seemed... enjoyable. Exciting. Much to my shame and guilt, I felt excited.

No… no it must be because I’m hungry, my blood thirst waking the undead monster within me. But even with this reasoning, I knew I wasn’t strong enough to help myself.

I approached Jembra, wanting him to see me, wanting more of that fear scent. Did he recognize me? Did he recognize me as the reaper who brought him to his knees? If there was recognition, it seemed Jembra’s mind was too far gone to rationalize or vocalize it. He didn’t scream or writhe about, but the puffs of his breath came out desperate, as though his lungs had holes he was desperate to fill.

It did not take long for the knife to be sharpened, and for Hidelord’s heavy boots to lumbar back. He held the blade between his thumb and two fingers. “I don’t think we need to decide. I can see the urge practically erupting from your skin. Shall the knife turn once more, Athena?” It felt like an oddly intimate moment.

Jembra’s legs started to shake pathetically against the gurney, tearing a bit at the medieval stitching that kept his dissected carcass together. He must’ve been on painkillers to even stay conscious with the damage…not that it would matter soon.

Despite the shame and guilt that I could feel building up, it was much easier to fall into these temptations. There was a part of me that missed being the hunter instead of the prey, a part of me that yearned for the days of blood lust and money. I could go back, step into the past, relive the days when I felt most powerful....

Jembra's struggle really sold it. As he moved and tore at his stitching, I could smell the blood welling in his wounds. Hidelord's offer danced in my mind; what would Jembra look like without his skin? With the smell of blood covering his whole body? I shuddered at the thought, and the words of an old story about a fur trader came to my head; one who had been so greedy that he had killed all the animals, and had begun to feel sorrow only then for the victims as he found himself alone. I hummed a bit giddily as words broke past a ghosting smile, "So long it has felt since I have brushed with the soft fur of a pelt."

My mind somehow made up, I looked to the Hidelord then, "If you could guide me…"

The hunter hummed, leaving the knife on the table by the troll's foot, then coming to the side of the table to press the recoiling cadaver's arm tight to the steel, gesturing over with his eyebrows. "I'd normally soak the skin in some salt water to help loosen it from the muscle, but...you get the point. Bastard's weak but he's still gonna shake so I'll hold him for you."

Jembra's moans, barely audible, became weak pleads that warbled through the streaks of tears that bubbled along his eyelids and nose.

"We'll start here." He dug the tip of his elbow against the wrist to keep it secured, then gestured to the secured area of skin just below said wrist. "I'd normally flip him onto his stomach and start from the back, but with his injuries that'd just kill him. Don't expect to be perfect on your first time skinning, it took me a few tries to get the right method." Ugh, dreadful to think about. Almost as dreadful as the excitement that was bouncing in his voice. It irritated me how much we mirrored each other. "You've peeled fruit with a paring knife, right? Same idea. Stick just the tip under, then angle upwards so you're only getting under his skin, then press on a slight angle. The knife isn't a tool, it's a friend; let it do the work."

I readied myself just as Hidelord instructed. My breath became shaky not from nervousness but from the sight of the knife entering Jembra's body and how smooth the movement was. I angled the knife once it was in, and began to peel down. "Is there a pattern you do this in?" I tossed him a glance and ignored Jembra's cries. "Patches? Strips? Is any of this salvageable to you? Or should I have fun with this blood orange?"

The biting remark caused a shift in Jembra's face; the smallest hint of prideful fury at the demeaning tease. Apparently the only thing stronger than fear to the Lords was their pride. But it wouldn't last, and the machines began to beep louder as a deep, dark goo ebbed along the edge of the knife. Groans rose in pitch and the man fought to free his arm with what little fight remained in his form.

"To flay and filet a troll is an art form. Part of the appeal is the different styles. This product is just for a trophy, not for a special sale, but do try to make it recognizable." He pointed along the lines of veins bulging with each dig and pull of the blade. "Try to keep the veins intact if you can, don't slice and dice them for the sake of our turf war. Pyritebloods have thin, mutant veins, but they're almost as much of a trademark as how much of swindlers they are. Never met one that wasn't itching to try and fuck you over for advancement, isn't that right Jembra?" Hidelord chuckled. "Keep doing what you're doing. Maybe cut that first side of the forearm off, and then we'll give him a break so the shock doesn't take him. He's gonna have to keep from croaking too quick for his fucking stupidity, hmm?"

Listening to Hidelord's advice I worked the seconds away. I was careful and attentive as I could be, admiring the way the blood pooled around the knife and the texture of peeled skin. A part of me hated it. It felt as if a lost memory was threatening to play in my mind, something I pushed so far back so long ago. I feared I would uncover it again if I continued. But I wanted to keep going out of spite of my master. And yet there’s a part of me that was hungry and eager to please. I’m a complete mess with torn wills.

I stopped peeling when this half of the forearm was exposed. I held the patch of skin in my hands, my eyes wide. I had once been renowned as the Huntress, playing with my prey before eating it, before shedding their heads from their bodies. These weren’t forbidden thoughts or memories, no more as they were reflections.

I held the patch up for the Hidelord to see, seeking his approval and showing off the catch. I both hated myself and yet was impressed at the same time. I wanted to scream and cry at the Hidelord, fearful of the memory that threatened to come. There was a reason why I’m not up close and personal with my kills, usually. This is up close. This is personal. This is...

I glared at him, burning hatred onto his face. Look what you made of me! This isn’t punishment, but entertainment, and I feel I have become a jester. Yet, this might as well become of me: the very same monster I revere. Despite it all I couldn’t help but wish this to end, and for him to hold me and praise me; did I put on a good show? The proof is in my hands.

Wading in the stench and promise of blood, the night swam into morning in the vigorous agony of the broken man and Hidelord's uncontainable satisfaction. It was early during the start of his chest being worked that the shock and pain finally took hold and Jembra lost consciousness. As long as he was dead, I could numb myself.

"Weak man," the Hidelord huffed, wiping his palms with a dirty cloth. "There was a lot more fun in store if he wasn't such a pansy-fuck. At best, it makes carving him easier, especially for hands and feet, and when we remove the eyes." His index finger went under my chin and pointed my gaze towards him. "Tell me, what do you feel, Athena? A rush? A pride? Honor?"

There was an uncomfortable silence between us as he waited for my answer. I glanced back and forth between the cadaver and Hidelord, studying my handiwork while battling with emotions I couldn’t fathom.

My lip curled slightly as I relented, “Satisfaction.” My voice had cracked, and I could not maintain it. My words grew breathless and soundless, almost like a sob. "Eagerness. Regret. But pride, yes, there's certainly pride." There was a growl rising in my throat, barely audible. He pressed me to him and we rested our foreheads against the other’s. "I hate the person I am when I’m with you.”

His fingers coaxed between strands of my matted hair. "You're lucky to have the luxury to hate what you're doing,” he hummed, "in the Safari, everyone surrenders to me; it's best to surrender with the part of you that's truest. Uncaged, untamed...an exotic nemesis to all that would disrespect you, and disrespect me. “A knife is made to cut, Athena. You may want to keep it sheathed, use it to pin your letters to the wall, make it something it isn't, but it'll never be as good or as happy as when it's cuttin'. You're a knife-" He pointed down at his pants. "You're on my belt, heh. You're sharp, dangerous, beautiful. I'll keep you clean, polished - as a prized possession deserves." His lips brushed across my blood-stained knuckles, his other hand encircling the middle of my neck with two fingers. His breath was warm, rank with the smell of alcohol and spittle. "Now...I've paid you two more favors than I'd pay any other troll in this fucking madhouse of mine. Is that enough to trade for a prophecy, my little bird?"

He was making a promise to me. My chest and throat tightened as tears stung the back of my eyes. This. This was the best my life was going to get. Someone who would protect me, cherish me, want me. I meant something to him, even though I was just a slave-- no. If I had been just a slave, I would have been treated like everyone else. I wouldn’t have the privilege of his protection or praise, of his bed or his knife. He knew me. He knows what’s best for me, can see me for what I am, for what I can’t fight.

And in that moment, I found myself content for the first time in three sweeps. Why should I fight something that seemed too good? I could be here, by his side, on his lap or on the floor, and he would protect me. Clean. Polished. He wouldn't let anyone else have me. I wouldn't move from place to place, hand to hand, whip to whip. I’m his. I have a place. A purpose. His. This was the best I was going to get, and so I’ll have it as long as he'll have me.

Well, there was a problem with that, though. I hesitated. I’ve seen this coming for a long time now, and had always accepted that it would just be Fate. To move around and shift from hand to hand forever. But something was coming. While before I had refused to tell Hidelord this, now that I was convinced of how close Hidelord would hold his knife to his belt I reconsidered. "There will be a hound of metal," I said softly. "Fiercer than your knives. You will lose one of them." The Hidelord’s a smart and clever man, and though sometimes he struggled with figuring out my cryptic words –as per our song and dance-- he knew instantly that this was about me. "How long?" He queried, blinking slowly. "How near is this hound to its scent?"

I reached up and cupped his cheek, running the side of my thumb along his cheek bone and part of the scar that ran over his eye. "You're the most cunning trapper I've had the displeasure to meet," I brought my lips to his skin and traced his uneven stubble on his jaw, then did the same to his throat. I felt him stiffen and radiate with confusion, but soon his shoulders relaxed. I let my fangs graze lightly, then looked up at him. The hesitance was still there, but now I allowed my voice to be distant. Reserved. As always, I knew more than he did, and I knew Fate cannot be fought with. I accepted that a long time ago, after the death of my matesprit. So what am I to do now? And him? "You figure it out."

Predictably, flattering the great lord earned enough favor to distract. The smirk that sprouted was torn between grabbing me by one shoulder blade and pressing me deep into the space between his pectorals and letting me lead, just as he had a moment ago. In the end though, the moment was fleeting, and as we stood at the window, he put the cool metal of his rings against the trail that my teeth had left. “If I ever killed a troll for every time you talked smart to me, the mountain would be higher than the one we took to get here,” he jested dangerously, the words ringing in their usual dynamic.

I nodded, falling silent, but not for him. A small glimpse of time rolled behind my eyes, showing a glimmer of metal and splashes of blood. How topical; I knew the hound was coming, but I hadn’t thought it would be today. Which meant we didn’t have time to stand around. If I don’t distract him, he’ll be dead like the rest of them. What a cruel irony, when I had just chosen to believe in his promise.

"If you do not mind, Aktaio, I would like to confess."

With the use of his real name, the coy game stopped. A vein bulged in the side of his neck as he tried to figure out what that meant. Heat rushed to his face. His jaw set, a suspicion ghosting his expression, though I knew he didn’t want to believe it. “…What have you done? Talk. Now.”

#Hide and Seek #fevur writing #Athena Uyilst #The Foreseer #The Hidelord #Trapper and Trader

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