Desolate Mage: A Legend Reborn! 24 Just Desserts 3

'Am I really...?'

Was she? Really...?

'In love with him...?' She huffed a short laugh self-mockingly, puffing out a gust of air as she lay against the cool stones. The dampness of the walls, caused by the lack of aeration or ventilation in the humid tunnels, seeped into her clothes.

'Looks like I'll be down with a cold and flu at this rate...' Her thoughts began to drift. She'd rather think about any nonsense than contemplate the vexing thoughts of the beautiful, pure, soulful eyes of the boy... The pure and angelic boy...

Droplets of tears once more welled up in her eyes. She shook her head, not willing to be sucked in to such thoughts. It was annoying. Too annoying. Too aggravating!

'Maybe I should go kill that little thieving cat... That bitch, that harlot, that tramp...!' She half-stood, then found her energy deflating once more.

It wouldn't bring Lars back to her.

Crying, she sniffled and sobbed every now and then, ignoring the footsteps that had already arrived; not even paying any attention to the invigilator who she had previously feared acutely. She didn't even bother looking up at him.

The large man stood before her, smirking, waiting silently. The only sounds that could be heard were the bulky man's heavy breathing, sounding disturbingly excited, and the subdued sobs from the dismal damsel in obvious distress.

Waiting a moment longer, the sadistic scarred-man spoke.

"Get up. Someone wants to see you."

'Some... One?' Her mind raced as her heart skipped a beat. 'Someone is requesting for me...? One who is able to send the ruler of the Arena on errands at his behest...?'

The cold and lethargy gradually left her body as blood began to flow faster through her body, bringing a flush of warmth. Was this her chance at survival...?

Only... At what cost...? What would they want her for...? What could she possibly offer, that Linges, Moira or Lars could not do better, faster or sharper...?

What would they want her for, if not *that*...? She blushed at the same time as feeling a chill of revulsion. Despite her outwardly lewd appearance and far from chaste behaviour, she... Was actually rather pure.

That was why his words had hurt so much, when he called her sullied, dirty and unattractive because of her soiled body...

Nevertheless, despite the flashes of painful thoughts, she maintained a poker face and stood up.

She would grasp this opportunity to live, even if she had to sacrifice her dignity.

Knowing better than to mince words and be struck, beaten or tortured by the freak before her, Seline stood up straight and nodded in acquiescence.

She casually wiped away the tears from her eyes, face and chin, then adjusted her hair and clothes. The red-headed stunner turned to the exit and prepared to follow him to see the eminent one who could lord over the lord of the Arena!

It was just that, the man was still standing there, leering at her depravedly.

Her heart sank. The bravado she had put on earlier and the act of calmness nearly shattered; she had to steel herself to keep her teeth from chattering in fear.

The degenerate bald man did appreciate the beauty and the passions of the flesh. Yet there was an ironclad rule - no trainee would ever be defiled by any man or woman's touch. As such, there should be no problem no matter how much any Tom, Dick or Sally lusted after them. They should be completely safeguarded by the threat of mandatory death for any perpetrators.

However, there was just one problem. It was the invigilator who was openly exhibiting lust for her. A very serious problem.

The necrophiliac only felt desire for dead bodies.

"Your skin is so... Soft. Supple." It was unknown when, but the man had moved behind her, standing close - too close. Even worse was that he was now tracing her hair, down to her neck and shoulders with the backs of his fingers, leaving the slightest marks of red where his fingernails passed.

Her whole body froze as she could hear, *feel* his surprisingly clean and fresh-smelling breath on her neck. Goosebumps crawled all over. She felt the shadow of death hanging over her as if the reaper's scythe in its hand were about to descend on her - and leave her a headless corpse to be devoured by the predator behind her.

She would have screamed - if she could.

Her chest was tight, locked down by trepidation at the man's chilling reputation for depraved acts against corpses.

She couldn't help but imagine her own corpse, lying dead beneath him, being defiled! No!

But her voice could not leave her throat. It was stuck there as the man continued his revolting act of trespass on her body.

"I'll be sure to make good... "Use" of you..." He hissed out into her ear, making her flinch in discomfort.

"Once he's done with you..."

His devilish hands slowly danced sideways along both her shoulders, carefully cupping her arms at either side. Pulling at and pinching the backs of her arms, checking the elasticity of her teenaged flesh. Across her shoulder blades. Down the small of her back. Cupping her rear, caressing one side leisurely. Then the other.

Then her heart beat furiously as the monster walked slowly, slowly, slowly to her front.

And just before she could gather the strength and courage to break through his intimidating aura that had kept her unable to move, he surprised her by turning around and walking off at a brisk pace.

"Well...?" His disturbingly high-pitched and lilting voice carried through the halls, gentle and refined, at odds with his brutish earlier actions. "You shouldn't, wouldn't want to keep our esteemed guest waiting now, would you...? Or..." He began to turn around, ever so slightly before he closed off his sentence, jarring her into action. "Or... Do you...?" A demonic smile began to part his lips, a visage of hellish images.

Shocked, she fell down as she tried to follow after, tumbling to the floor as her legs were still wobbly and refused to obey her commands.

Then the muddle-headed, panicky girl ran after her torturer. For if she did not follow, she would be fair game not just after her death, but before, while alive as well - a long, enduring torture of the mind and soul that not even the most wicked trainee would wish upon their enemies.

* * * * *

[In front of Vizier Murad's room]

"Go ahead. Knock, open the door, introduce yourself and enter."

The earlier domineering Sarin now seemed reticent, reluctant. Meek in fact. He showed great unwillingness to even step near the door.

Behaviour which struck, even more, fear and terror into Seline, making her hands and legs tremble involuntarily.

She gulped and tried to swallow but found that there was no saliva in her mouth to ease her chapped lips and sand-dry throat. It was still cool in the hours before dawn, but sweat poured down her brow, yet her mouth and throat were so dry she wondered how she would even speak.

Each step towards the door felt like it took an eternity. Her footsteps falling sounded deafening, like the booming strikes of a battering ram against mighty and high stone walls, one side unyielding in its advance, the other invincible in its defence.

*Boom!* *Boom!* *Boom!*

She wasn't sure anymore whether the booming sounds were her heart beating or the fall of her footsteps. She felt light-headed as she walked up to willingly deliver herself, a lamb into the proverbial lion's den.

Finally, she felt the weight of a world upon her shoulders as she lifted up her right hand to knock on the door. She drew her arm back, then struggling with the reluctance of one walking to her own noose, willed herself to knock the door.

'Oh no!' She swung too hard in her tense state, cringing as she made contact with the door - which swung wide open just as she was about to touch it, bringing her tumbling in from the momentum of her nervous swinging motion.

Shell-shocked at her incredibly, preposterously, outstandingly extreme faux-pas, she turned red, then white, then red again in embarrassment, her face burning.

She was so embarrassed in fact, that she forgot to stand up from where she lay crumpled on the ground!

Looking up in fear, she saw a lavishly decorated room, warmly lit and with a comfortable atmosphere. Within the large room was only one person, seated with his back turned to her. There were no signs of anyone else.

"Ahh! My dear girl. Please, please, make yourself comfortable. Oh, and ask Spot to come in as well."

The tall and stately looking man with large shoulders who she could only see from behind gave her a lifeline, saving her from life-ending shame by not even turning to look at her when the door opened by itself. He was even faced away! Yes!! Though she wondered who Spot was.

Relief washed over her like the cool of rain in summer, and she unglamorously scrambled to her feet, adjusting her nearly malfunctioning black-leather skirt and top from revealing too much.

'He... Seems like a gentleman.' She gulped, then shook her head furiously. 'No! Don't be lulled into a false sense of security! The gentle ones are always the most depraved, just like...' Her eyes darted over to the big, scar-faced man who, to her shock, was walking towards her.

"Come, come! Take a seat! Let's see what you can, ahem, do for me..." A dangerous smile adorned the incredibly handsome man's face, his eyes glinting as he spoke. Though he asked her to sit, he was blocking her advance, staring deep into her eyes and mesmerising her with his stately aura of a paramount royal.

Then, hand cupping her chin, he raised her face up to look at him; then raised his brows momentarily at the defiance hidden deep in her eyes.

"My my..." He smiled wider. "Feisty one, aren't you, my lovely...?" Without noticing it, he let slip just the littlest bit of his crushing aura, a whiff of his surging powers.

She panicked.

5 seconds passed, then 10 seconds as the handsome man stood in front of her, just scrutinising her face. But that was the last thing on her mind.

Because she couldn't breathe.

'Help... Me...'

Chapter end