I Am Become Scum 11 Caught? || Damon

"I will, Shire. But the boy is coming with me."

"Do you have the attention span of a lightning bolt? He's staying with me!"

Things are becoming a mess.

It's been nearly six hours after talking with Casper and adventuring through the Chute and Mines. The smell of corpse and grime stained our bodies beyond the limits even WE were capable of withstanding.

And if the looks on the guards and slaves were anything to go by, we probably smelt worse than a vat of s.h.i.t. It's a bit disgusting, but I was willing to pay the price if it meant I could train my body a bit.

When we decided to head home, we saw a few guards posted at the entrance. Upon seeing—or smelling—us, they made way for us to enter with surprisingly stoic, stern looks; opposite to the loathing, scathing looks we often received.

These guards wore what looked like slim, black armor with silver edging and high-quality looking swords hanging at their hip. Their stature screamed professionality, and if they were disturbed by our presence, it never showed. They appeared stone-like in presence—immovable and undaunting in posture, similar to how our father carried himself.

I had never seen guards like this before, so it made me question how much was there to 'The Pit' have I yet to see or understand.

After being allowed into our "home", what we saw once entering was our mother and father arguing about something; and if their words were any hint, it was probably about me. My father was always pretty disinterested in my other siblings; something that was clear to them and he never bothered to hide.

Mable and Karv never minded that. If there was something that DID bother them, it was similar to how mom felt about his interest in me.

"Do I need to carve the words into your skull?" said mother, tapping the temple of her head—dragging an elongated nail down her cheek. "-claw into your brain, and TEAR through the tissue to find what it is that's keeping you from understanding my words?!"

She raised a middle finger, cursing Damon with a fierce tone. "Read my lips, or I'll shove this finger up your a.s.s! You can't have-"

"Guards," said Damon with an eerily calm, low tone—hushing both her and all other noise in the room. "Restrain her."

I don't know what happened, but flashes of black a silver rushed into the room appearing behind mother. The blurring figures reformed into the image of the guards that were posted just outside the cell, now gripping her arms with one holding her in a headlock.

"…you b.a.s.t.a.r.ds…" she growled. A violet light shone from her eyes, as she clenched her fist. The air and s.p.a.ce around her hand seemed to ripple like a stone being thrown into a calm lake. A low hum began to vibrate through the room as an intense killing intent flooded my senses.

I admit that it shook me quite a bit. It was something I never felt or experienced before, and I felt as if I barely held consciousness. Turning to my siblings, I saw they had already blacked out from the pressure and lay face first on the ground.

"f.u.c.k OFF!"

In an instant—faster than I could blink—the guards holding her down almost seemed to teleport into the surrounding walls, creating a few depressions in the concrete, with spider-cracks stretching along the wall.

"…"

Father remained unperturbed as he held a blood-red orb with a familiar pentagram pattern.

"Torture."

With that word alone, the orb began to glow as black cloud-like shapes began to swirl on it's surface. In seconds, the hum and intent that shook the room once before was silenced, with only the sounds of mother's screams now taking place.

"Kuh- NyAaAaA!"

I could see the same pentagram with a circle of characters appear on her neck; similar to the stone slap that was on Casper's chest.

I had never seen it before, and it seemed ingrained into her flesh as it glowed a bright red hue. She screamed non-stop, scratching at her throat so deep, she may even break the skin and slit an artery.

Her flesh looked as if insects were crawling beneath her skin. New lacerations would appear on her body with blood dripping from the wounds. After every wound formed, it would recover just as quickly before a fresh cut would appear in another area.

This continued for a few minutes before Father said-

"Stop."

Only after those words did the symbol on her neck fade away. Mother dropped to the ground panting in pain as sweat and blood steamed off her body in clouds of white and red. Her muscles twitched constantly, and as she tried to approach me, it would spasm and force her to collapse to the ground.

"Le-leave…my baby-"

*COUGH*

Blood spilled from her mouth as she tried to force herself forward, intent on taking me into her arms.

"Haaaah…Haaah…" she huffed, struggling for air as she resisted the pain that coursed through her body. "…Leave. Him. AlOnE!"

The violet light in her eyes returned once more as she opened her hand in his direction with pained difficulty. A hint of madness was present in her words and expression as she directed all her intent and focus with one goal: to hurt him.

I've seen that look plenty of times before.

"Seal."

As she closed her hand, father's words rung out—immediately dimming the light in her eyes. Whatever she intended to happen never took place as she spat more blood onto the ground.

"…you s.h.i.t. You don't even have the decency to fight me, huh?"

"…"

Her m.u.f.fled pants were like echoes in the now silent cell. Her once berserk expression now fell into melancholy as she looked to me with sad eyes.

"I don't know what he has planned, baby. But mark my words, mama will come for you."

I appreciate the thought, but I think I'll be fine, ma.

So just back down for now. You'll only get hurt more.

"…I never should have trusted you, nor your words." She said, turning her eyes back onto father's. I couldn't tell what he was thinking or feeling as he stared listlessly into my mom's.

"You can burn in h.e.l.l…Damon."

"…Sleep."

The light on her neck flickered briefly, and mother collapsed shortly after.

Father stared at her beaten appearance for a few more moments before turning around to me. He never looked at me once as he brushed pa.s.sed me, stepping around the collapsed bodies of my siblings. He paused at the entrance, before turning his head slightly in my direction.

"Come."

I spared my family a few parting looks as I turned to follow him. As I stare at this man's back and remember what he's just done, I can't help but feel a bit…

Annoyed.

[>>>] FAST FORWARD [>>>]

As I followed the man I call father, I couldn't help but recollect the scene from before.

…it was surreal.

I had never seen that side of mother. It was awe-inspiring and intimidating—every fiber of her being, in that moment, was dedicated to destroying father.

And those guards were powerful, yet to her they were nothing more than ragdolls.

So that was the power of a [Θ]; someone who can freely manipulate the laws according to their will. The way the s.p.a.ce would ripple around her hand aroused my intrigue, and has me excited for the future.

Would I be able to do that?

How exciting.

But despite her strength, it meant nothing before the orb father held.

That orb…

I was naïve, and thought we were special; none of us had those stone slabs embedded into our bodies, after all.
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But it seems it was the opposite. We most likely have marks of a higher quality inscribed into our flesh, like mother; we just are unable to see it because it isn't active.

I a.s.sume it's because mother is still considered an a.s.set in their eyes, and she'll need to use her ability if she were to be of any use. If it had a constant draining function, like the one Casper has, she'd be of no use.

That frustrates me even more—not so much that I'm being limited in freedom to such great lengths. I'm upset because I should've known that, yet I convinced myself of being something of an exception to the rule.

When did they marks us?

…actually, did they even mark us? I don't recall that ever happening.

"You do that a lot."

I turned to father, upon hearing him speak. He was clearly directing his words to me. Sure, there were guards and slaves around us as we walked to wherever he wanted to bring us, but clearly they didn't not want to be within talking radius of him.

A large girth of s.p.a.ce was created between us and the surrounding officers and laborers, so I'm positive he was talking to me.

But what does he mean?

"You think a lot," he answers, likely knowing my unasked question. "Too much for your age, if you ask me."

…

"You must have a high IQ. I'm impressed."

I was worried for a second. If he truly pressured me to answer him about 'how' I was so intelligent for my age, it would be very difficult to refuse if he used that orb to force me to.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"My living quarters…and we're here."

Before us was a large door that could easily allow a truck to pa.s.s through.

Did he really need such large doors for his 'room'?

He placed a hand on the doors, with a gray light beginning to emit around his skin like a translucent glove. Almost immediately, the sound of mechanisms churning, and gears turning, chattered audibly as the doors began to slide and separate open.

"Follow."

As curt as always, he leads me into what seemed to be a s.p.a.cious room, devoid of any furniture you'd expect to see. It seemed more like-

"An Arena?"

"Yes," he responds. "My private training area."

I could see some battle scars on the floor and walls, and huge fist-sized punctures in several areas. Several weapons and armors were scattered on the outskirts of the room, likely being the victims of this man's 'training'.

I was a bit nervous.

There should only be one reason why I was brought to this place, and I'm no fool. His intentions were clear as day.

"So," he began, finally turning to face me in full. "What are you hiding from me?"