The child, ten at most, lay curled in the middle of her cell, sobbing until her breath hitched. Mucus stained the floral collar of a dress that had once been costly and elegant; the last, fragile proof that she had been cherished once. Everything else had frayed into ribbons, worn thin by time, offering no warmth against the cold or the dust that gnawed at the prison piece by piece.
She raised her head, eyes huge and glassy, too big for her round, tear-smeared face.
She was almost impossible to ignore, as if she were designed to invite mercy.
A normal person would have crossed the cell without thinking, letting pity erase every warning. Zee didn't. He took a single step toward the rusted bars, forced compassion grinding against an emotionless core. He knew better than to forget the cost of empathy in Hell.
"Please don't cry," he said softly.
She wiped her nose on her sleeve, smearing the fabric further. "Can I go now?" she asked, her voice small but cheerful to hear a yes. "I miss my mommy."
"That's not how it works, sweetheart." Zee tried to sound comforting but knew he'd failed. Comfort wasn't part of his design, and emotional calibration took time. Time he rarely had. It wasn't something solved with a snap; every soul required a different nudge.
She threw a tantrum, punching and kicking at empty air in the cutest way imaginable; all of it carefully calculated to draw Zee one step closer.
"Aren't you just the sweetest thing?" He said in a tone too soft to be human, too focused on the delivery as he rested his palms against the cell's cold bars. "Please… stop crying."
She sniffled, lifted the hem of her frock to dab at her eyes, and peeked up at him through damp lashes. "Can you do me a favor, then?" she asked, hiccupping between words.
Zee leaned in without thinking."Sure thing, sweetie," he said gently. "Anything in my power."
The girl stopped crying.
Slowly, she rose and stepped toward him—baby steps, unsteady, head bowed. One blood-smeared foot followed the other until only the bars remained between their worlds. Only then, in that suffocating closeness, did she lift her face.
Her neck tilted upward with a wet crackle, the sound of centuries breaking at once.
An electric jolt tore down Zee's spine. Her tears were gone. Her face was clean, as though she hadn't cried in ages. A stone-cold gaze met his, not pleading, not angry—assessing.
Confusion surged as he tried to pull away, but his emotions betrayed him, locking him in place. An invisible thread bound flesh to reality, anchoring him where instinct screamed to flee.
"I've got you," she said in a soft voice Zee could never imitate, her grin widening. "Right where I want you."
Her hand shot forward faster than lightning, fingers crushing into Zee's collar. Despite her small frame, her strength was monstrous. She hauled him in—too close, while her mouth split open.
Rows of jagged teeth erupted, lengthening and twisting, catching the dim light as they reshaped themselves. The stench of rotting eggs flooded Zee's senses, smothering his flight response before it could ignite.
Bones snapped as she forced her face wider. Blood sprayed across the cell walls, yet none of it touched him. A faint spell shimmered into existence, a translucent veil that let the false blood slide away like rain, stripping the illusion of the horror meant to drown him.
The transformation lasted only a second, but for Zee, it stretched into eternity.
One misstep—
And it was over.
He had been warned every day, and every day, he had mocked those warnings.
Guess this made him one of the stupid souls, clinging to a false haven instead of grasping the power that had been placed within reach.
The Blip's final sparks winked out, plunging the prison into forsaken darkness. Zee's last words, his screams for help, collapsed into nothing. No one could have witnessed his final moments, even if they had stood right beside him.
"What's wrong, sweetie?" the little girl crooned.
Her laughter skittered across the stone, circling endlessly within their shared dark. Only after permission did the sound slither into the corridors beyond, summoning other, deeper chuckles to join hers.
Zee's radio gave a feeble chirp before dissolving into static. Down here, sound itself seemed governed by someone who chose who could be heard and who was condemned to silence.
And for this moment, only the damned were allowed to howl.
"Zee… Zee, pick up, kiddo."
The voice thinned, stretched, and vanished as the radio corroded into dust in Zee's grasp.
The little girl stooped and lifted the half-eaten device. She clicked it on, permitting it to be heard. Power rippled through her fingers, cracking the enchanted metal casing with a sharp, wounded whine.
"Zee… Zeeee… oh zoo…" she hummed, savoring the sound, dragging the final syllable lower. "Delicious."
Her smile widened. "Now all gone… while my stomach still rumbles. I do need more appetizers," she murmured. "So when will you be down here… radio man?"
The radio burst into white flame without warning, scorching her hand.
And without hesitation, she severed her wrist in a single, fluid swing; Her grin only widened as the burning limb vaporized before it could strike the floor.
"HAAA!" she screamed, her soul igniting. "Damn you, Warden!" she cursed in an ancient tongue older than law.
"I hate to be kept waiting—" A voice crushed her agony beneath its fury.
Her rising anger shriveled in comparison, evaporating before she could seize it and turn it into power. Blood drained from her borrowed face, leaving it pallid—If such a thing were even possible.
"He can still be resurrected," Zack asked, his form settling back into place. "Even under such conditions?"
The girl's body moved before her mind caught up, straining toward the sound. She pulled herself back from the edge. The thought of escape and of Zack as their sole chance tightened her focus enough to hold. She couldn't abandon him, so instead she split herself, birthing a clone meant to answer the voice without hesitation.
"What's with that performance?" she snapped. "You're broken. Act like it."
Zack grew two extra arms, yanked his original pair free from his chest, and waved them at her accusitorily. "Hey, that was a classic! If you had taste, or even a passing familiarity with mortal cinema—ah!" He paused and scratched his head with one of the severed hands. "Guess you haven't," he realized. "Doesn't give you an excuse, though! You could tap into the knowledge stream and live through all those awesome movies…" He froze again. "…Nope, wait. That's a terrible idea too. Forget I said that."
Running out of defenses, Zack tried to list her mistakes instead. "And you were—" He stretched the word thin, stalling, searching, snapping, yet found nothing. "Ah, screw it. Let's go," he scowled.
The clone faltered, her legs betraying her as she lurched forward. Every step toward the voice made her cry harder, even as the reason for her obedience slipped beyond reach. "I'm almost there… I'm almost there," she murmured, fear threading every word.
She didn't remember missing a wrist.
Or had she ever had one at all?
She searched her memories and found nothing to confirm it. And yet, when she looked down, her hands were perfect.
Her confusion thickened, yet the single instruction she carried, stripped of any reason, kept pulling her forward, toward the voice that should never repeat itself.
A memory rose and fell, insistent and baffling at the same time, repeating one phrase: Whatever or Whomever the voice belongs to, it shouldn't repeat itself. If it did, everyone on this floor would end up worse than the half-eaten guard she'd left behind.
Guard? She paused, the question churning her gut.
She neither had the answer in her mind nor understood what that word meant, yet the blood on her frock spoke a different story.
Good nourishment—souls rich in sani—were scarce, so she considered offering what remained of Zee to the thing carrying them toward freedom.
That was, if she could recall what a "Zee" was, or why home had become something to flee.
"Thi—th—This… i-s home," she murmured, the words scraping their way out.
Speaking felt alien. Wrong. Yet the thought behind it was disturbingly familiar.
———<>||<>——— End of Chapter Forty. ———<>||<>———