Nine | Fri-Heca |

WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS BLOOD AND OTHER GRAPHIC MATERIAL. IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO READ SAID CONTENT THEN YOU MAY SKIP THIS CHAPTER. I plan to make a recap of this chapter between this and Ten for anyone uncomfortable with the former as this chapter has import revelation within. You. Have. Been. Warned. -Emo Emu4239

TIME AND DATE UNKNOWN

[ Unknown POV]

It's always dark and cold within her mind, a dimensionless void spinning, spiraling with war, and her mom's death, and nearly all-consuming hatred for her bastard father. God, she can't stand him. But of course, lest I forget, her desperate wish for my lack of existence.

Every day I get, "Why can't you just shut up?" or "Just leave me alone for once," or some other dramatic bullshit. I genuinely wonder how she hasn't realized she has a massive stick up her ass yet.

"I don't see why you couldn't have just killed them," I whisper from the back of her mind.

"You've been quiet Insanire," she thinks back in a sweet tone that could only be followed by sarcasm, "And here I thought my prayer had been answered," her tone dropping.

I assume that comment would intimidate mortals, but they still persist in their ignorance. If she were smarter she would have figured out that I'm not just some voice in her head. Though I guess humanity is a simple species, ignorant, the only thing she's gotten right is the pointlessness of their pathetic wars.

Then you've got all the feelings, and diplomacy. They'll say some things while omitting others for the sake of feelings. I swear feeling get in the way of humanity's progress. It's exhausting to watch.

I've been waiting nearly eight years for her to catch on, take a hint. But she won't, probably due to the clouded state her feeble mortal mind is stuck in. It's surprisingly humorous that she hasn't once thought of me as being anything more than skeptical madness.

But because she goes on clueless my presence can exit her dismal mind to my realm of magma, brimstone, and fire. The place where tortured screams pierce the dense, suffocatingly hot air. Well suffocating to the damned.

I listened to the symphony of suffering around me as I made for one tortured soul in particular. One I'd intercepted on her departure to 'Fri-Sala', as the mortals call it, some eight years ago.

"Hello again Ontari," I said calmly with a wicked smile, "How are you liking your new," I paused, "accommodations."

I'd recently moved her to a new, more torturous location. She looked like she might die a second time, how beautiful. She looked at me, disdain burning in her hazel eyes, the dry heated wind, blew her dark unkempt hair about her scowling face.

"Oh, what I thought you humans liked watching their children grow," I laughed faintly.

I almost thought she hadn't the strength to speak, that she'd finally given up. But unfortunately, much to my dismay, she did.

"No mother wants to see their daughter get corrupt by a demon," She spat a mix of saliva and blood, the crimson mixture sizzling as it hit the molten ground. I breathed the smell with what some would call sadistic delight.

"A demon," I scoffed, "You know as well as I that I'm no demon," my voice pure venom as I leaned in till I was but inches from her face, grabbing her chin I said, "I'm the Devil."

A tendril of fear crept over her worn, bloody features which only served to widen my cruel smile. That's another weakness mortals possess, fear. Fear is controlling, it contorts one's view of the world, of a situation, coiling itself deep in one's bones, in one's heart and soul. Fear's grip stalls one's mind only to ravage it in frigid dread as if it were the cold grasp of death. The paralysis of pain, the irrationality that leads to loss, all consequences of fear. And less I forget what brings about the worst fears, love. The care for another that leads to a fear, an all-consuming terror of losing that which is held most dear.

The foolish girl named, Seda kom Fri thinks she is free of fear, after all, what has she to fear anyway. She's without love as anyone she ever cared for has perished. She isn't bothered by pain, courtesy of her wicked father, and her mind is so dismal that fear's icy grip goes unnoticed. No, she doesn't have anything to fear, except, of course, Death.

My attention was drawn back to the bloody, wounded mother as she futility thrashed against her restraints. My smile faded my eyes darkened as a scowl took its place. The manacles around her too-thin wrists began to glow amber as the iron heated at my will.

Her screams reverberated in the expanse, finding my ears in a glorious sonata. I relished in the sound, in her pain as the glowing iron started to melt the thin pale skin off her bones.

"Your daughter could withstand worse than this," I drawled as her cries continued, "Your husband made sure of that."

The foolish bitch moved again her anger outweighing her judgment as usual. A splitting scream broke from her throat as her limbs were pressed against the burning chains. I let the manacles cool and left her to her suffering.

As much as I hate to admit it, the woman is sort of strong. Most of the souls down here had their spirit turned to ash within hours, at most a month. But Ontari, she refuses to break, it's been damn near eight years, she's seen horrors unimaginable to most, and yet she still has the gall to defy me. Her daughter I can understand, she's so jaded I'm convinced emotions have almost abandoned her. This is why Ontari is my personal project of sorts, I've set out to break the unbreakable.

I will devastate any hope she has of her daughter making it out of the mortal's ensuing war with her soul intact. I will corrupt the Daughter of Fire, regardless of the time it takes, and when I do, her name shall be feared, and her soul will be tainted.