Page 136 of Veinblood
“Sacha?” Ellie’s voice is gentle. “We don’t have to go in there.”
“Wedon’t.Ido.”
I push open the door, and the smell hits me immediately. Old blood, fear, sweat, the metallic tang of suffering that’s soaked into stone over years of use. Urine and vomit. The acrid smell of burned flesh that never fully fades. My jaw clenches, and behind me Ellie takes in a sharp breath as the smell reaches her.
“The smell.” She can’t mask the horror in her voice.
“Why don’t you go back and wait outside. You don’t need to be a part of this.”
“No.”
I step inside, and follow the hallway until it ends at stairs leading down into the dark. Each step takes us further from the world above, and deeper into a place where screaming is just another sound that echoes off the walls. A place where human dignity goes to die. Where they stripped away everything that made me Shadowvein, that made me a man, and left only a shell of meat and pain.
At the bottom is a reinforced door that I remember all too well. It’s held in place by iron hinges that are black with age and rust. The wood is covered in dark stains that no amount of scrubbing will wash away. Blood from countless bodies, ground into the wood like a permanent testament to suffering. I restmy hand against it, and send shadows through the gaps to scout what lies beyond.
The torture chamber fills my vision, exactly as I remember. The same hooks in the ceiling where they chained my wrists. The same channels cut into the floor to drain away whatever spilled during each session. The same brazier in the corner with glowing coals, ready for work. The same table with its leather restraints.
For a moment the room tilts, and I’m hanging from those hooks again, watching as this bastard arranges his instruments with the care of an artist preparing to paint a masterpiece.
“Count them, Sacha.” Sereven’s voice echoes in my mind.
I blink hard, forcing myself back to the present. I’m not chained now. I’m not helpless. The shadows respond to my will, flowing around me like loyal servants eager for violence.
I push the door open, and behind me, Ellie’s breathing changes, becoming sharper and more controlled. She’s seeing the hooks, the channels, the instruments, and her imagination is building images of what might have happened to me in this room to match the broken body she rescued at Glassfall Gap.
I should say something, ease her concerns, but my attention is focused on the man inside the room. He’s arranging instruments with the same meticulous attention I remember. Thin-bladed knives for cuts that maximize pain while minimizing blood loss. Thicker ones for brutal work where precision matters less. Pliers and hooks and devices whose purpose I learned through screaming. When he turns,recognition is immediate in his pale eyes, followed immediately by satisfaction.
“You came back.” His voice carries the same oily pleasure it held when he counted my screams. “I wondered if you would.”
“Did you?” I step into the chamber. “Most of your friends ran when the city fell. Why didn’t you?”
He straightens, and turns to face me. “Run from what? This is my home, my life’s work is here.” His voice is arrogant, confident in his own superiority. “And you’re still the same broken thing I had hanging from these chains.”
I'm back in those chains before I can stop myself, helpless, while he explained the science of suffering. How pain could be measured, controlled, and refined into an art form. How the human body could be kept conscious through levels of agony that should have driven me mad.
I force the memories away, and refocus on him. “Broken?”
“Oh yes.” His smile widens, and his face twists into the same expression he wore when the hot iron touched my skin. “I can see it in your eyes. That same fear. The same weakness lurking underneath the power. Do you think wearing a crown changes what you are? That hiding behind the magic we cut you off from makes you strong?”
The temperature in the chamber drops, and behind me, Ellie shifts her weight. Out of the corner of my eye, silver light flickers and flashes.
“I know what you are,” he continues, taking a step closer with the absolute confidence of a man who has brokencountless others before me. “Imadeyou what you are. Piece by piece. Scream by scream. I carved away everything noble and left only the broken core.”
“You made me stronger.”
“I made youbreak.” Shadows curl up around my feet, but he ignores them. “And broken things stay broken, no matter how you dress them up. Deep down, you’ll always be that whimpering thing hanging from my chains.”
“I never broke.”
“No?” His laugh rings out. “Then why are you here? Why do you need to prove it to me?” He tilts his head, studying me. “You don’t need to answer, I can tell you why. It’s because you know I’m right. You know what you really are underneath all the pretense.”
He circles me slowly, the way Sereven circled my hanging body as he examined the damage this man inflicted on me. I turn with him, keeping him in view, while shadows lift from my skin, twisting and writhing.
“You look good. Miraculously so. But that’s just the surface isn’t it? Tell me, do you wake up screaming at night? Do you still feel the phantom pain where your fingernails used to be?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Of course you do. That’s what real artistry leaves behind. It’s not just about scars and bloodshed, it’s the permanent marks that go deeper, that hide where no one else can see them.”
The shadows around me turn predatory, spreading across the walls. Ellie takes a step forward, and I throw out one arm, waving her back.
“There it is,” he whispers. “There’s the real you. The broken thing pretending to be whole. The victim pretending to be powerful.”
