Lyra
The rats scurried about noisily as I was pushed into the cell. It was like I was intruding on their home. Their sharp and loud squealing noises split the still air of the dungeon as if in protest to my arrival.
The cell was dark. It took me sitting down on the rough stone floor beside the rusty iron bars of the gates to know I wasn't alone.
I turned into the cell, registering through the darkness not just one, not two, but a mass of bodies slumped against each other deep into the cell, hiding in the comfort of the darkness.
The damp and decaying stench coming from there told me some were dead, some were rotting, and some were almost eaten alive by the rats.
I probably would end up like them, dead, rotting away, or almost eaten alive by rats—rats, of all creatures.
Of course I wasn't scared of death. I have met Death personally, looked him in the eye while he ripped me from the world countless times. I have tasted nearly every flavor of death possible, even torture, so even if the soldiers torture me, it'll just be something I have experienced before. But if I died from being eaten alive by rats, that'll bring something new to the dreary list.
But then, I paused. My mind turning around the questions in my mind. My nose crunched tight against the pungent smell of the cell as I leaned onto the iron bars—a bit of rust coming off in my palms. When I die now… I will, I was sure. Zarek had brought me to the human world to kill me, and Draziel has no idea I was here. Even if he had, would he come rescue me? I don't think so. I meant nothing to this version of him.
I shifted my mind to the question again. When I die, will I be reborn like I had been doing for countless lifetimes—or will I be reincarnated like my last because of Draziel's oath to Zarek—or will I just cease to exist, since I am in the past, and another me exists here…
I started, turning fast to the darkness as something closed in around me. I heard the noisy, wheezy breath of something—a rat? No, I stared into the darkness—someone. I watched quietly, with my heart thrashing violently in my chest, as a small, dirty face gradually began to take form, the creature crawling further towards me on all fours.
A wave of calm soothed the tension in me—a girl. I felt my heart sink as I stared at her face. The rats had taken a bite of different areas of her face, leaving cakes of blood atop the dust, sweat, and dirt that covered her face like a mask.
"Are you the lady, Liora?" She asked. "You look just like her," she asked. Her voice was so quiet, it sounded lower than a whisper.
I figured that was the name the version of me from this timeline goes by. Liora. Throughout all my lifetimes, I had always seemed to be named with names similar to those in my previous lives—Lora, Lira, Lara…
I felt a pang of guilt seize my heart as I turned away from the girl. "I am not," I answered, whispering as if that would take away the guilt. Instead, it just gnawed harder at me. And I hated myself more and more.
I turned my eyes to the rough, muddy floors of the dungeon, pretending they interested me. I couldn't dare look at the patches of blood and half-eaten stretch of dirty skin that was the girl's face. It reminded me of so much, and it was a hint of what I would look like in the coming days.
"But you look just like her. If you aren't Lady Liora, then who are you?"
"A nobody," I answered crisply, still refusing to look at her.
She made a soft thud as she slumped on the stone wall, feeling dejected. "We are all waiting for Lady Liora to come and save us. She is the only one willing and powerful enough to save us. But we don't think she will again. Now that they know what she looks like, she is being hunted widely by the empire."
My lips loosened to speak, then I hesitated. I finally damned the consequences. "Who is she?" I asked.
"She is a rebel, but she also steals from the rich to help fight for the poor caught between the senseless wars between the empires. She is a good person." The girl sighed.
"Seems like she is," I sighed too. Thief. Rebel. That was new. I had been a thief once in my lifetime and a rebel in another one, but I had never been both at the same time. This version of me sounds quite like a handful. Now I was quite sure there was no escaping this.
But why in hell did remembering the memories from my previous lives have to start only when I met Draziel? I hit my own head on the wall too. My teeth clenched tight. I muttered under my breath, cursing and blaming myself again and again for all this.
If I had the memories of this lifetime, then I could be able to escape here by telling the soldiers where this version of me hid whatever she stole. But I don't—why was I just a bundle of bad luck? Nothing good ever happens to me. It was always bad things. The one good thing that ever happened to me—Draziel—was about to cease existing in the future, just because of me.
I hit my head harder on the stone walls, pain shooting through every inch of my skull. It shot through the rest of my body like cold, electrified tremors. But I didn't stop. It would be a relief if I died hitting my head on the walls. At least I won't be tortured, and I won't be eaten alive by the rats.
"Be brave, my lady. You'll survive it. We all have," the girl whispered.
There was a tone in her voice that had me whipping my face fast in her direction. Only to watch her scurry fast into the darkness in the cell.
That was when I was aware of the shadows that had fallen over me. I carried my gaze up instantly, falling on the soldiers—three soldiers, standing just before my cell, their faces locked in heated snarls as they glared down at me.
Behind those snarls and glares were grins that touched on something more sinister—I couldn't put a name to it. But it made my skin crawl, made the hair on my nape and arms stand erect, as if warning me of more danger.
The yellowish-red glow from the fire torch a couple of cells away fell on the soldiers, making their shadows appear larger and more sinister on the dreary, dirty stone floor.
The shadows might not show the looks on their faces, but they showed the strength in their broad shoulders—telling me one thing. Fighting was going to get me nothing but more trouble.
The metal bars of the cell clinked and rattled noisily as one of the soldiers unlocked the gate. The other two bounced in, each smelling as dreary as the cell. Each walked towards a side of me, flanking me.
I thought they were going to haul me up and take me to the torture chamber or something like that until they squatted beside me. I had just one look into their eyes, and I knew instinctively what the bastards were up to.
"Cooperate or we will kill you," the man on my right threatened, sensing the tension in me.
I couldn't win against them, but I'll be damned if I let them rape me. I gathered some of the dirt in the cell carefully into my hands. Then I spat into his face. I threw the dirt into both of their faces, jumping fast for the door. But the soldier at the door shot out his leg, kicking me in the stomach.
Air rushed out of my lungs as I staggered back, hitting the dirty floor with a loud thud that shook the cell.
"Quiet, whore," he yelled, throwing his gaze fast in the direction of the narrow passage between the cells, watching out for intrusion.
I bit my lips as I sat up gently, keeping back the wave of agony spreading through my back. I shuddered in pain from the spasm that rippled down my spine.
The other men were cursing miserably as they yanked off the robe from me. I yanked it back, wrapping it around me.
One of them grunted, still blinking to shake the dirt from his eyes. He swung his palm for my face.
By reflex, I shut my eyes, whipping my face to the side in expectation of the slap.
But it never came. I snapped my eyes open fast as groans and yells rang out around me. I looked up, throwing my head back to prop myself in a sitting position against the wall—Zarek, tall and proud against the darkness and dampness of the cell in all his magnificence as a demon prince—the bastard. He finally came.
I groaned softly from pain, my lips twisted with disgust as I watched him bring down the three men easily. He might have saved me now, but I wouldn't forget this, as I wouldn't forget all the things he'd done to me in the future.
I sat up further, fixing him with an intense stare. I saw no reason to hide my hate for him. I will make him pay for everything he's done to me and Draziel, even if it's the last thing I do in this lifetime.
He extended his hand to me. "I am sorry, Lyra. I didn't mean for this to happen. I just got carried away,"
But I wasn't listening. No amount of excuses will stop my hate for him. I took his hand grudgingly, and he dragged me up to my feet.
He tried to take my arm, but I moved away from his reach, almost tripping on the bodies of the soldiers on the floor. "Get off me, you devil," I snarled at him.
He swallowed, his jaw clenched painfully. "I am sorry, Lyra. I didn't mean for this to happen. Just give me your hand. That is the only way I can leave here with you."
"I am not giving you my hand, because you are not leaving here with me; you are leaving here with us," I snarled, nudging my chin into the darkness. If he'd come to save me, then he really meant to do so. And I wouldn't pass up the opportunity to make it miserable for him.