Never Again

It had taken them quite some time to gather the survivors.

Only five had managed to survive the ambush, with the others fleeing into the forest.

Aziz and Marcus had made sure to knock a few of the convoy unconscious. Reinforcements from the Iron Hearts would come soon; Aziz and Marcus had to move quickly.

Marcus, panting heavily, ran through the forest with a dying Iron Heart slung over his shoulder.

Aziz moved above him, leaping from branch to branch with a body draped over each shoulder, his movements swift and precise.

Their prisoners had been bound tightly by the wrists and ankles with vines; should they wake, escape would be impossible.

The trek through the dense forest seemed endless, but finally, after what felt like hours, they broke through the treeline and headed toward the Gates of Hell.

The entrance loomed ahead, open and waiting. Aziz was the first to reach it, outpacing Marcus with ease.

He vanished into the darkness, dropping the two bodies inside before rushing back out.

"Give him to me," Aziz commanded as he reached Marcus, who was drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. 

Without a word, Marcus handed over the last hostage, too exhausted to protest.

Aziz hefted the body over his shoulder and disappeared into the cave once more, leaving Marcus to catch up at his own pace.

Once they were both inside the first level of the tunnel, Aziz moved to secure the gate.

Using thick vine ropes tied around the iron rings of the doors, he pulled them shut with a groaning rumble.

The tunnel shuddered as the doors closed, and soon they were enveloped in total darkness.

Aziz's sharp eyes caught the faint glow of the campfire in the distance, where Delilah waited.

Half an hour later, they finally laid the bodies near the fire, where Delilah was stirring a pot suspended over the flames.

She glanced over her shoulder, giving a small smile as Marcus collapsed in exhaustion beside her, while Aziz dropped the last body against the wall.

"It seems your plan worked," Delilah said, her voice calm but edged with relief. 

Half her face was still covered in mapa paste, the green salve masking the burn marks. Aziz had already told her the scars would be permanent, but the girl had taken it relatively well.

Occasionally, he sensed there was something she wanted to say, but she rarely spoke, especially when they were not alone.

"Roof helped," Aziz replied, settling down beside her. 

He took the wooden stick she had been stirring with and inhaled the aroma of the concoction. It was a mixture of night-gown herb, black-death poison, and dead berries found in the underground forest.

A new formula mentioned by Master Xiang, something that would aid in the next stage of his plan to spread the name of the Divine Snake Cult across the forest. And perhaps, it would catch the attention of the people he was searching for.

"It's almost time for his medicine. Marcus, take the next dose up to Roof," Aziz instructed. Marcus nodded, grabbing a sealed animal skin containing the pre-prepared medicine for Roof's condition.

"Mal, lead him," Aziz called. The snake, who had been resting, slithered down from Aziz's hair, disappearing into the darkness as Marcus followed the hissing serpent.

For a moment, Aziz and Delilah sat in silence as the froth in the pot began to bubble. Then, Delilah spoke, her voice soft, as though even the walls might be listening.

"The first test is to cull some of us in the forest. So many have already died, yet the Order hasn't said anything," she murmured.

It was true. No one knew the exact number, but that was the cruel game the Order played. The only option was to overkill, forcing the Order to end it at some point.

Another thought had crossed Aziz's mind: What if the Order didn't have a number? What if... it was a test to the last person standing? If that were the case, he'd have to—

"Aziz?"

Her soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. He looked at her, noticing how the flickering embers danced in her eyes. She had grown noticeably thinner.

He hadn't mentioned it, but he'd seen her skipping meals, avoiding the black-death meat.

"You always do that," she whispered, turning back to the flames.

"Do what?"

"Go somewhere else. In your mind. Away from the rest of us."

He stared into the fire, unsure of how to respond. True, he wasn't in the pit anymore, but had he ever really left? The pit wasn't just a place—it was a state of being. The four walls had simply gotten larger. He wasn't free. He had never truly escaped.

"There you go again," she giggled softly.

"Sorry," Aziz mumbled, trying to focus. Sorry. Strange, but he found that he was genuinely sorry.

"It's okay," Delilah said, her voice gentle. "You have a lot on your mind."

Silence stretched between them again, the only sound the soft bubbling of the concoction and the crackling of the fire. After a long moment, it was Aziz who finally broke the quiet.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked.

She shook her head. "The pain is dull now, the burns are—"

"Does it still hurt?" he repeated, not looking at her, his eyes still fixed on the fire.

She hesitated, glancing at him. A few flakes of dried mapa paste crumbled from her cheek, falling to the ground. Then she turned back to the flames. "Yes."

"Good," Aziz said, his voice heavy. "Don't ever forget it, Delilah. Let that moment burn into your mind."

He wasn't just talking about the physical pain. He knew it was the memories—the helplessness—that tortured her the most.

"Help me."

Aziz blinked, surprised. He turned to look at her, and his heart tightened at the sight of her tear-filled eyes. She gripped the fabric of her trousers tightly, her knuckles white. 

"You're strong, Aziz. Teach me. Teach me to be strong like you. What happened... I never want it to happen again. Never again."

Her voice broke as she choked out the last words, tears streaming down her cheeks. She covered her mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that escaped.

Aziz felt something stir inside him, something raw, but before he could respond, a rustling sound broke through the moment.

Their prisoners were beginning to stir.

Delilah quickly wiped her tears, composing herself as Aziz stood.

"Come," he said, walking toward the tied-up trio. "We'll talk about that later. First, let's make these ones ours."

Nodding Delilah began preparing the concoction.

The slave mind pills of Master Xiang. Another three would soon be part of the Divine Snake Cult.

Delilah worked quickly, her hands steady as she tipped the thick, bubbling concoction from the pot into an empty animal skin, careful not to spill any of the precious liquid.

The firelight cast shadows on her face, illuminating the green mapa paste still clinging to her burns.

Her expression was focused, unwavering—so different from the girl she had once been.

Aziz watched her from the corner of his eye, still crouched beside the unconscious hostages. The way she moved was precise, methodical.

There was no hesitation as she sealed the animal skin, securing it with a knot before setting it down on the ground.

Then, with practiced ease, she began rolling the mixture between her palms, forming rough, dark pills from the concoction, just as Master Xiang's teachings instructed.

The smell of the night-gown herb mixed with the sharp tang of black-death poison filled the air.

Aziz rose to his feet, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of his hand as Delilah finished making the pills.

She nodded her thanks for his assistance, handing the pills to him without a word, her fingers brushing his briefly as she passed the small, deadly spheres into his palm.

Quickly retracting them, her other healthy cheek blushing.

Aziz took the pills and crouched beside the first of their hostages, a young boy with dark hair matted with dirt and blood.

His face was slack, his breathing shallow. He would wake soon, but not in time to stop what was about to happen.

Prying open the boy's mouth, Aziz slipped one of the pills between his lips. He massaged the boy's throat, forcing him to swallow.

For a moment, the boy's body remained still, unmoving, but then—his eyes snapped open. Wide, too wide. His pupils dilated, and his body began to twitch, as if fighting something deep within.

Aziz stood, stepping back, watching carefully.

The boy's eyes bulged grotesquely in his skull, his veins pulsing, as if trying to break free of his skin. His jaw clenched, and his back arched in pain.

A low gurgle escaped from his throat as the pill did its work—rewriting him from the inside out, bending his mind to the will of the Divine Snake Cult.

From the writings of Master Xiang this pill induced the snake blood into the human, therefore making them susceptible to the orders of the Heir.

Just as Aziz could command Mal, he could now command humans.

Aziz didn't look away. The agony, the helplessness, as the mind surrendered to the inevitable. This was the way of the Bloodcoil Sect.

Power required control.

Control required obedience.

And obedience was forged through pain.

He glanced over his shoulder at Delilah, expecting to see some trace of discomfort, some flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

After all, she was still young. She had been soft once. Kind, even.

When his gaze met hers, he found no such thing. Delilah's face was unreadable, her expression completely calm, as if she had seen this a hundred times before.

The flickering light from the fire cast shadows across her face, making her appear almost ghostly. A reflection of himself somewhat.

Her eyes met his, their deadness lifting for a moment as they met.

Aziz turned back to the hostages, feeding the next boy a pill. The reaction was the same—violent, painful, inevitable.

Eyes bulging, veins straining against skin, body seizing in a silent scream. 

The process was swift, and within moments, the boy collapsed into unconsciousness, his mind broken and remade.

"You're not disturbed by this?" Aziz asked quietly, the flicker of the firelight dancing in his violet eyes.

"What happened to me—it won't happen again. Not to me. And not to anyone I care about," she said, her voice steady, without a trace of the uncertainty that had once filled it.

Aziz studied her for a moment longer, then nodded. He turned back to the last hostage, feeding the final pill into the boy's mouth.

The reaction came quickly—eyes bulging, body writhing, muscles straining against the ropes that bound him.

The agony painted across his face was unmistakable.

The Divine Snake Cult was growing.

And so was Delilah.