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Before—Vale
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Vale inserted the scalpel in between the male’s collarbone. The corrupt soul screamed, pleading for mercy. Closing his eyes, Vale sniffed the air with a greedy suction, as if the sound itself smelled delicious.
Hot blood spilled out from the fresh wound, and Vale purposefully dragged the instrument down the male’s fleshy chest. When the metal connected with the soul’s navel, Vale lifted the scalpel and set it to the side, gazing at the red liquid as it spilled out. The soul continued to howl in agony and the sound pleased Vale.
Not quite finished yet, Vale dug his index finger inside the collarbone where the wound began. He then glided his digit through the incision until it reached the navel, all while watching the man buck and chew on his tongue.
Lifting his finger, Vale sucked off the excess blood. He inspected his nail and digit, confirming they were now clean, even though they would only become messy again.
A pair of forceps would need to be used next. He clamped them on one side of the incision and tugged gracefully. As the skin slowly peeled back, he licked his lips in anticipation, then repeated his movements on the other side.
Vale waved his fingers in the air as he gazed at what instrument would take priority. The large knife became his top choice. He picked it up from the tray, then shaking his head, he set the blade back down and reached for a long and thin metal baton. First, he wanted to play a little with the intestines.
Vale bared his teeth into a grin and jabbed the baton into the soul’s stomach, digging around the organ so the instrument wound through to the other side. Then he gave it a violent yank, and the man screamed in torment, the soul’s eyelids fluttering.
Now, it was time for the knife. Vale picked up the sharp instrument from the table, and admired the blade, captivated by how clean, strong, and beautiful it was before bringing it to his mouth. Slowly, he made contact at the hilt with his tongue and licked his way up the sharp side with firm pressure, until he reached the pointed tip. A metallic flavor burst onto his taste buds, and it may have been his own blood, but he still shut his eyes and felt the rush of ecstasy flow through him.
Now it’s time to really play.
The knife hovered in the air over the open stomach, when a female’s voice called from the doorway, “Master?”
Fury sewed its way through him, and he slammed the knife into the soul’s stomach, ignoring the man’s endless, agonizing moans.
“What?” he roared as he turned to Red.
“Your father wants to see you,” she crooned.
His anger snuffed as quickly as it had appeared and turned into boredom. “How come he is not here to fetch me himself, then? Why is it you are freely walking around instead of back in your cage?”
Red’s lips curved into a seductive smile. “He requested pleasure, and I gave it to him. He’s still recovering from it.” She sauntered closer to him, and he hastily brushed past her to find his father.
Vale headed down the long dark hallway, the click of heels echoing behind him. He stopped and calmly turned around. “Why are you following me?”
“Your father never said he was done with me. On the contrary, he demanded I return.” She grinned, twisting her finger around a red curl.
He frowned before turning to continue his pace. Red’s fucks were not good enough to let her roam around on her own, but it was his father’s decision.
Vale entered his father’s room—lit candles, casting their glow, filled the three brass chandeliers that hung from the vaulted ceiling. His father, still naked, sat up in bed with his hands laced behind his neck, his blond hair tugged in all directions. The silky black blankets rested in a clump on the floor.
Vale did not care about his father’s disheveled state—he only wanted to return to his plaything. “Yes, Father?”
His father did not move from his position as he tilted his head in Red’s direction. “The little slave mentioned you have been growing bored with your duties and are constantly trying to figure out new torturous activities.”
“Yes.” Vale’s appetite was always curious for more.
“I think you should go up there.” His father pointed to the obsidian ceiling and Vale peered up in confusion. “You can prey on humans instead of the corrupt souls here.”
“None of us are able to leave.” There had never been a way of escape for anyone.
His father flashed a secret smile. “That is not true. You can, and you may choose who to bring with you. I am unable to leave, but I can live vicariously through your actions. And I feel you are ready, my son.”
Son. He had never called him that. Vale felt nothing, only cocked his head.
“She will explain to you the plan.” His father barely glanced in Red’s direction.
Vale nodded. “Let me clean up my work first.”
“Very well.”
Vale strode from the room, already obsessing about what his father had said.
Red clicked her heels behind him as he walked back down the stone hall to his plaything. The soul still lay in his place. Vale snapped his fingers to light a small fire and began cleaning his work, but only after first pricking a few places on the soul with the blade.
Humming to himself as he worked, Vale watched Red lift the soul, then she returned him to the cage across the room. Vale picked at his nails with a smaller instrument and thought to himself how this was not as delightful as it could be. And that would change.
Surrounded by boredom, Vale wanted those new souls, needed those new souls, lusted to feed on them in miraculous ways.
Red stood before him as he turned to her and asked, “What is my father’s plan?”
