Scion of Chaos by Ophelia Bell

Author:Ophelia Bell [Bell, Ophelia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Animus Press

23

Nemea

I second-guess my words the second they’re out. What the hell do I have to return to, other than the human world in general? And this place already feels like home. I stare out the windows again, marveling at the stark beauty. But as beautiful as it is, it’s also very much a prison of monochrome color and static shapes.

“Can I see more of it before we go to the baths?”

“You wish to see the prison?” He frowns at me as if I’ve asked to have nails jabbed into my eyes.

“I have a connection to this place, don’t I? I want to learn more about it. About him. About all of you.”

Asterius hesitates for a moment before finally nodding. “Very well. But I must warn you, some of the sights here are not for the faint of heart. What you see beyond these windows is only the surface.”

Rather than lead me back through the library, he walks to the glass doors, stopping with his hand on the knob. Then he reaches for me. I secure the black bedsheet more tightly around my chest then take his hand.

“Hold onto me. It’s easy to get lost in this place, but I know shortcuts.”

He pushes the doors wide, but the view on the other side is nothing like the vista we’d been enjoying from the breakfast table. Beyond the opening is a dark, torchlit corridor; the kind of image I’d expect to see in a prison or a dungeon. The stench hits me first, followed by the sounds of agony and torment echoing off the walls.

“It’s all an illusion, isn’t it? Out there?”

Asterius shrugs. “Not exactly. There is little physical permanence to the architecture. What you see through the windows is one truth; the interior is another. You thought it beautiful, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” I think of Vesh’s strange beauty despite my impression that there is deep-seated darkness inside him. Then I remind myself that we are inside him; this is an even deeper layer to his darkness.

As we continue down the twisting corridors, the weight of the prisoners’ despair and hangs thick and acrid in the air. Asterius gives me a cautious glance when we reach the first door, and I nod. I’m ready to see it all.

The carved void glass door swings open and we enter a large, circular room with a group of prisoners chained in the center.

“The Furies,” he says, gesturing at a group of terrifying women with black wings and snakes for hair who pace around the chained subjects.

The prisoners cower as the Furies descend upon them, their maniacal laughter reverberating off the wet stone walls. Their whips and daggers spew forth a flurry of sparks with each crack and slice, flaying the skin off their victims while they’re still alive.

Asterius squeezes my hand and I hold on tighter, horror roiling in my gut alongside fascination. “What were their crimes?” I manage to ask.

“These are convicts who committed horrific acts against their loved ones. Parents, siblings, spouses, and lovers begged for vengeance against them, and the Furies answered.

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