She let out a dry, mocking laugh—one that sounded like a broken shard torn from an old, rotting disappointment.
"That was when I realized I was never a bride… I was nothing more than merchandise. My mother sold me, for a price she thought was good enough."
Kayden's eyes widened slightly. He could no longer tell where reality ended and where the scene woven by her voice began. The girl who shone like the sun in photographs, smiling in a white dress, bore no resemblance to the woman sitting before him now—the woman who touched corpses without flinching and handed out sedatives to criminals with an expression devoid of emotion.
Fiona continued, her smile fading.
"The man gently patted my head and said I would be happy… that he would be kind to me. I don't know how I fell asleep, but in that moment, I wished I had died."
Silence fell briefly. Then she exhaled slowly, as if pushing years of buried dust out of her chest.
"When I woke up, I found myself in a suffocating place… filled with men and women. Their laughter was loud, their screams pierced the ears. Every corner reeked of filth. My heart trembled as I searched for the man they said would be my husband… I found him laughing—laughing with the others, as if nothing had happened."
Her voice trembled, but she steadied herself and went on calmly.
"I never cried in front of them… I don't know why. Maybe because I knew very well that tears held no value there."
Then her tone shifted, growing harsher.
"And then I saw a little girl… barely a teenager. She looked like a withered flower. Her eyes were red from excessive crying, tears carving delicate grooves along her eyelids. Her body was covered in marks of raw, flayed skin—yet she did not lower her head. She stared at everyone, memorizing their faces one by one, as if engraving their names and features into her mind."
"One week only… but it was hell."
Fiona lowered her head slightly, her voice breaking as it crossed from the present into a past that had never healed.
"They beat me. Whipped me. Cut my long hair right before my eyes, as if tearing away the last thing that tied me to my humanity. I kept asking myself—what did I do? Who did I wrong?… But I found no answer except that my mother had collected the price of her betrayal."
She paused, as though tasting the bitterness of the word before speaking it.
"The man… the one who pretended to be my husband—he would visit me when I was at my worst. He looked at me the way a butcher looks at spoiled meat. He spoke of his 'marital rights,' then hesitated as he studied the bruises and swelling on my body… and promised he would return by the weekend."
Kayden shuddered in his place. The images were no longer vague illusions forming at the edge of his mind—the air itself had grown heavier, damp and foul, as though the room were filled with the breath of human fear. The floor beneath his feet seemed to radiate an unnatural cold, seeping from that memory.
Fiona went on, her eyes fixed on the distance.
"On the sixth day, they held a hunting party. But it was… a human hunt. They made us run through the forest like animals, stumbling through mud and branches, gasping under the rain—while they laughed and shot at us from afar."
"The little girl had broken her leg. I couldn't leave her behind… so I carried her on my back and ran with every last shred of strength I had. I don't know how we survived—but we did."
She fell silent for a moment, then added in a fractured voice, almost a moan:
"At the end of that day, I looked at my white dress… it was no longer a dress. It was a tattered piece of cloth, soaked in blood and mud—so much so that I no longer resembled the bride I had been just the day before."
She lowered her head further, a shadow of an old glimmer lingering in her eyes.
"But when I looked at the little girl, I saw something pure in her… something greater than all that filth. Her eyes were grayish blue, like a sky heavy with clouds, yet they shone with a kind of defiance. I thought she deserved to live more than I did. Many times, I wished my soul could be exchanged for hers."
Silence suddenly collapsed upon them—a long silence, thick like a solid wall. Fiona seemed to shrink into herself, her body folding inward, returning to that forest, to that blackened week.
As for Kayden… he remained unable to utter a single word. The scenes slowly withdrew from before his eyes, yet something of him remained trapped there, in those images smeared with blood and mud. As if his soul, too, had tasted her suffering—and would never be the same again.
Fiona spoke again, her eyes not on him, but on something impossibly distant, as if addressing a dark void beyond the walls.
"The little girl… she was sitting in the corner. When she saw him approach, she curled into herself, retreating with a cold fear. I saw terror creep into her eyes like black smoke. Then he started screaming at me… words that still haunt my sleep:
'You're nothing but a cursed body… I should have killed you from the start!'"
"Then he grabbed my hair. No—it wasn't grabbing… it was tearing. He dragged me to the ground and smashed my head against the wall. Once… twice… three times… I couldn't count anymore. Blood streamed down my face, and all I felt was helplessness. That's why I told you it hurt me to see you hit your head against the ground… because I know that feeling. But believe me—my greatest fear wasn't for myself. It was for her."
She looked up at him briefly. Her eyes were nearly empty, like dried-up wells, yet within them he read something that resembled a slow, lingering death.
"I placed her behind me—my body a fragile barrier between her and him. Every time he kicked me or threw me to the ground, I only needed to know one thing: that she was safe. And at some point… I felt something inside me break completely. As if someone had extinguished the last remaining light in my chest."
She fell silent, swallowing with difficulty, her voice dropping even lower…
"Then… the final day came. No one arrived. There were no beatings, no insults, no food. For a moment, I thought it was over—that I had finally been granted peace. But there is no peace in this world, Kayden. Peace is just a lie… a beautiful lie we chase, only to die while pursuing it."
She fell silent, then added in a tone that sounded like a final verdict,
"After a long silence… I was dragged away again. This time without screams, without laughter, without resistance. But I knew… I knew I was being led to complete what remained unfinished of the ritual."
She raised her eyes to him and found him frozen in place—his eyes red, staring into nothingness, as if refusing to believe what he was hearing.
…And in that moment, everything changed.
The hall unfolded before him. Its dark walls trembled with the echoes of monstrous chants. Smoke rose from the edges of the chamber, mingling with her muffled sobs, until it felt as though she no longer inhabited her own body. Pain severed her completely from the world, leaving behind nothing but a torn shadow.
Fiona's ability did not merely narrate—it dragged Kayden straight into the heart of the tragedy. The curtain lifted, revealing the entire scene: the audience seated above, cold faces, eyes watching pain as if it were a form of entertainment.
And then… he saw her.
In the front row of the stone amphitheater, amid heavy shadows and flickering lights, Kayden saw her.
It was Arbella.
Seated with effortless confidence, as though attending a fashion show or a dance gala—not a theater of blood. Her hair was carefully styled, her lips curved into a small smile… no, not a smile. It was a mark of satisfaction—pure indulgence.
She tilted her head slightly, exchanging quiet whispers with the person beside her, as if what was happening below was nothing more than a trivial whim. As if Fiona, lying on the ground, was nothing but human scrap—a worthless side scene.
Kayden was stunned. His body locked in place. He looked back at Fiona: a face smeared with blood and dirt, torn clothes, trembling hands, ragged breaths as if wrestling death itself.
He lifted his gaze to Arbella again… and found her laughing.
A short, sharp laugh that pierced his heart like a poisoned arrow.
Arbella was there, at the very core of hell… celebrating Fiona's suffering.
Kayden cursed silently—only then realizing that sound held no meaning in that place. Nothing remained but silence as an answer, and pain as the only language understood.
He looked back at Fiona, barely breathing yet still alive, clinging to a fragile thread of existence.
Then he turned to Arbella once more and saw her slowly raise a glass, as if blessing a sacred spectacle yet to be completed.
In that moment… Kayden felt something inside him die. He didn't know exactly what—his trust, his innocence, or that part of his heart that still believed Arbella was human.
But he knew he had lost something that would never return.
"Do you know what happened next?"
Fiona let out a faint laugh, laced with bitter delight, like someone tasting iron in their mouth.
"Someone stormed the place…"
The air around Kayden shifted. The memory was no longer words—it was a collapsing scene before his eyes. The hall's walls trembled as that man entered. Arbella and the others vanished like ghosts; no one dared confront him.
The man moved with an inhuman lightness. Killing in his hands was not an act—it was a ritual. Each strike was delivered with cold precision, like a note in a grotesque melody.
Pleas and screams tore through the space, only to echo back without mercy.
He kicked one man's neck with horrifying grace. Kayden heard the sharp crack of bones shattering, followed by the body hitting the ground—lifeless in an instant. The sound lodged itself in Kayden's own bones. He raised a hand to his cheek, as if terror had clung to him, and whispered inwardly,
"I hope I never see him in my life…"
Fiona spoke again, her voice lower.
"He came closer to me, and I thought my end had arrived… but he passed by as if I were nothing but air. He didn't spare me a single glance."
She paused, then continued,
"After that, another man entered through the side door, carrying a small girl in his arms. When I saw her, I understood that the massacre we survived was only one among countless others."
The child was Maria.
Her tiny hands trembled as she tried to undo my restraints with weak fingers, but she lacked the strength. She broke down crying, then turned to the man, pleading in a shaking voice,
"Please… free her."
He complied. The moment the restraints fell, a wide smile bloomed on Maria's face—a miracle amid hell. She thanked him in a broken voice,
"Thank you…"
Then she buried her head in his chest, clutching his arm with the desperation of a child afraid of losing safety once again.
Fiona kept watching, eyes still haunted by fear, while the other man continued slaughtering those who remained without a shred of concern—until he suddenly stopped, as if bored.
He approached her calmly, not like a rushed killer, but like someone completing a ceremony.
He drew a sword from nothingness. As light reflected off its blade, Kayden clearly saw the emblem engraved upon it… his family's crest.
The man raised the sword and placed it against Fiona's neck in a slow, gentle motion—deadly, like a cold breeze hiding a blade within.
"Look around you. She's the real victim here!"
The man spoke sharply as he removed his mask. As the fabric slid away, a face etched deep into Kayden's memory was revealed—a face he had never imagined seeing here.
It was Ayrton.
Kayden's heart shook. He turned to Fiona to see her reaction. Her eyes widened in fear-struck shock, then froze as she stared at Maria.
The little girl's eyes were a deep blue—just like Ayrton's—yet within them lay an unsettling depth, a pallor that made the color resemble the shadow of a dead sea.
Ayrton seemed tense for a moment, then quickly regained his composure. He removed his long coat and gently placed it over Fiona's shoulders—an unexpected gesture amid blood and ruin. He asked if she could walk, but before she could answer, he lifted her effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing.
Then the other killer appeared—and without a word, removed his mask as well.
Kayden froze.
It was Adam.
Adam spoke coldly, as if he hadn't just stepped out of a massacre.
"Don't forget my payment when we get back."