The iron-barred door creaked open, and the guards thrust a new prisoner into the cell. Her naked body hit the stone floor with a sickening thud, chains rattling as they secured her limbs to iron rings embedded in the walls. Her skin was unusually pale, but had a very healthy glow to it. A blindfold of coarse cloth was pulled tight across her eyes, cutting into the flesh above her cheekbones. For a moment, silence hung in the dank air.
It started low, a rumbling in her chest that built into a manic, piercing sound that bounced off the mildewed stone walls. The guards stepped back, their faces contorting with disgust as they watched her writhe against her restraints. Kaelith's body twisted in impossible angles, her spine arching as though possessed by something inhuman.
"Look at her," whispered one guard, his voice barely audible over her cackling. "The Butcher of Alandor, reduced to this."
But reduction wasn't what the guards witnessed. Kaelith's lips pulled back to reveal teeth too sharp for any human mouth, gleaming like daggers in the weak torchlight that filtered through the small barred window. Thick and viscous drool collected at the corners of her mouth, spilling down her chin and onto her bare chest in glistening streams.
"Is she secure?" asked the captain, his knuckles white around his spear.
"Aye, sir. Chains blessed by the High Priestess herself."
Kaelith's head snapped toward the sound, despite her blindfolded state. "Blessed chains?" Her voice was honey poured over broken glass. "How thoughtful of you all to bring me such pretty gifts."
The captain nodded to his men. Two guards entered the cell, their boots scraping against the filthy floor. One held a long, thin blade that caught the light as he approached.
"Let's see if the rumors are true," he muttered, and plunged the blade into Kaelith's thigh.
Blood spurted from the wound, dark and thick, spattering against the floor. Kaelith didn't scream. She moaned, a sound of ecstasy rather than pain, her body shuddering as though in the throes of pleasure.
"Again," ordered the captain.
Another guard drove his spear into her abdomen, dicing some of her lengthy, pure white hair in the process, and twisting it before pulling it out. Kaelith's laughter grew louder, her body convulsing against the chains in some frenzy.
Before their eyes, the wounds began to close. Flesh knitted together, muscle fibers reconnecting, skin sealing as though the injuries had never existed. Within half a minute, Kaelith's body was unmarred, pristine as porcelain.
"Just as the reports said," the captain muttered, his face pale beneath his beard. "She can't be killed."
"Oh, I can be killed," Kaelith purred, her head lolling to one side. "But not by such tender caresses as these. You'll need to try much, much harder." Her tongue darted out, obscenely long, to catch a droplet of blood that had splashed near her mouth. "I've had lovers who cut deeper than you."
The captain stepped back, motioning for his men to follow. "Post two guards at all times. No one enters without my permission. And for the gods' sake, don't listen to a word she says."
As they backed away, Kaelith called after them, her voice echoing in the cramped cell. "Where are you going? The fun has only just begun! Come back and play with me. I promise I won't bite..."
The heavy door slammed shut, but her laughter followed them down the corridor, seeping into their minds like poison. One young guard clutched his amulet of protection, muttering prayers under his breath.
"This is insanity..." he murmured, voice quavering.
In the days that followed, the young guard, Naris, as the others called him, drew the short straw more often than not. Standing watch outside her cell became a gruesome ordeal. The torture sessions grew more frequent, more desperate, as if the captain believed he could break what couldn't be broken.
On the third day, they brought in hot irons. The sizzle of flesh filled the dungeon with a sickening sweet scent that clung to Naris's nostrils long after his shift ended. Kaelith's response wasn't screams but sighs. Deep, throaty utterances that mimicked carnal pleasure. Her body writhed against the restraints, not in agony but in ecstasy, her back arching to press her bare breasts forward as if offering them to her tormentors.
"More," she'd whisper, her crimson eyes now exposed, boring into whoever wielded the instruments of pain. "Harder."
By the fifth day, three guards had requested reassignment. One had vomited in the corner after Kaelith had described, in excruciating detail, what she'd do to his wife if she ever got free. The descriptions were so vivid, so depraved, that the man couldn't look at his spouse for days afterward.
Naris watched as the captain grew more haggard, more desperate. The prisoner's wounds continued to heal almost instantly, leaving her unmarked skin an obscene mockery of their efforts. Worse, her constant, sultry movements! The way she'd roll her hips when the lash fell, the manner in which she'd lick her lips when a blade pierced her flesh... It even began to affect some of the men. Naris had caught Doran, a veteran of fifteen years, palming himself through his breeches while on watch.
On the seventh day, Kaelith stopped speaking altogether. She didn't need words anymore. She'd catch a guard's eye and slide her tongue across her fangs, or flex her fingers in a gesture so lewd that even the most hardened men would look away, their faces burning with shame and unwanted desire.
"The priest arrives tomorrow," the captain announced on the evening of the ninth day, his voice hoarse from shouting orders that ultimately achieved nothing. "High Exorcist Thavius himself. We just need to last one more night."
Naris's stomach clenched at the news. One more night felt like an eternity.
When morning came, Thavius swept into the dungeon like a cold wind, his silver robes immaculate despite the filth around him. Ancient symbols decorated his vestments, pulsing with a pale blue light that made Naris's eyes water. Six assistants followed in his wake, each carrying elaborate silver vessels.
"Leave us," Thavius commanded, his voice resonating with authority that brooked no argument.
The cell door opened, and Kaelith's laughter died in her throat as the priest stepped inside. For the first time since her arrival, something like uncertainty flickered across her perfect features.
"Oh," she said, her voice smaller than Naris had ever heard it. "Hello."
Thavius said nothing as his acolytes arranged themselves in a perfect hexagon around Kaelith's chained form. They began to chant in a language that made Naris's ears ring and his teeth ache. The air in the dungeon grew thick, difficult to breathe, as if suddenly weighted with unseen pressure.
Kaelith's body began to twist and contort, not in her usual sensual manner, but in genuine distress. Her spine bent at impossible angles, joints popping audibly as they dislocated. Blood vessels burst beneath her skin, creating a web of crimson lines across her pale flesh. Her screams now held no hint of pleasure. They were now raw, primal sounds of agony that made the guards cover their ears.
Yet even as her body was torn apart from within, her eyes remained fixed on Thavius, and her lips curved into a smile.
"You're just another one of the many to send me off on my journey to another plane," she rasped, blood bubbling between her fangs. "Piece of shit."
The priest's expression remained impassive as he raised his hands. Light exploded from his palms, so bright that Naris was temporarily blinded. When his vision cleared, Kaelith's body was dissolving, breaking apart into motes of darkness that scattered like ash in a breeze.
Her laughter, however, lingered, echoing in the stone chamber long after her physical form had vanished. And thus, we're brought to the present moment in time.