Chapter Text
You hurt everywhere. Your wrists hurt from the metal cuffs, which keep your arms firmly in place above your head. Your shoulders hurt from the strain your own body puts on them. Your torso hurts from the scratches and bruises, some which are starting to get infected. You legs are weak and numb, unable to hold you up, putting even more strain on your shoulders. Your back burns from the whiplashes. But the worst hurt is inside of you. Where he violated you.
Candy red blood flows down from between your legs, mingling with his indigo genetic material.
You hate him. But you know that you can't do anything, are at his mercy. And mercy, he has none. Even if your arms and legs were free, even if you were completely healthy, you'd still be no match for him. He towers over you, muscles twice as thick as yours, limbs longer, and he is a better fighter.
No, you don't stand a chance. But you will not submit to him.
The respite block you're kept in is cold, like its owner. Skulls of his victims used as decorations, used to boast his strength and the power he holds over you. Some skulls are decorated with candles, providing the only light in the room. But you don't need light. You're a troll, your night vision is even better than your day vision. Besides, the candles are not meant to lighten up this place, but for their wax to be used on you. You hate the wax. Mainly because the heat reminds you that you are still alive.
You can see him on the other side of the room, watching you, contemplating his next move, his next way to break you. But whatever he plans, it's not going to work. You have lived your whole life in pain, pain caused by the hemospectrum, and the trolls, who thought they were above you. He is one of them. He thinks he has the right to do to you whatever he wants to. You denied him his rights, so he took them by force.
He stalks towards you, and you almost expect him to lash out with the whip, the one he has been toying with while watching you, or at least for him to bite your throat. Yet instead of doing these things, he reaches out and grabs your legs. You know what's going to come next, you're merely curious why he hasn't bothered with the usual torture. Maybe he is growing as tired of it as you are. He puts your legs over his shoulders and enters you with one swift move.
It hurts. It always does. It feels like you are being torn apart from the inside. He's big, so much bigger than you. His rough thrusts open barely healed tears inside of you, and you grunt in pain. Blood is starting to flow steadily again.
He bites your neck and rakes his nails over your back. It hurts, but you will not give him the pleasure and cry. You lose your sense of time and wait for it to end. His movements get rougher and you feel that he is close. The worst humiliation has yet to come, but it won't take much longer. He growls and bites your nipples, then moves back to you throat and latches onto it. He thrusts into you once, twice, and then he is filling you with his genetic material. Marks you as his possession. You hate it, but you can do nothing about it.
All you can do is stay strong, and not give him the pleasure of breaking down.
When all is done, you allow yourself to catch your breath. You are about to defy him once more and, fruitlessly, try to talk some sense into him, when you hear a gasp. But it was neither you nor the Grand Highblood, and you feel him pulling out, going after the intruder. You try to compose yourself and try to see what is happening. But everything is a blur, and the Grand Highblood is blocking your view of the struggling person beneath him.
A terrified shriek follows the tearing of the intruders clothes, and you can hear the Grand Highblood chuckle. Not in amusement, mind you. It's a horrible sound. Filled with lust, insanity, and satisfaction.
You can't tell who he caught yet, but you fear for the strangers life, or at least his physical wellbeing.
When the Grand Highblood moves to stand, you can see that he is grabbing a tiny troll, not even mature yet, by his horns. He is even smaller than you, but there is something eerily familiar about him. You can't figure out what it is, since He is still blocking most of your view, but you know that this tiny troll won't stand a chance against the Grand Highblood. You just hope that the young one will make it out alive.
Then He turns and shoves the little troll roughly in front of you. He holds him in place, so you can get a good look at his face. It looks just like you. Your bloodpusher starts beating so hard that you are convinced He hears it. He must be your bloodmatch, your descendant, follower, anything. He is definitely related to you in some way. The thought alone is enough to make you want to take the little troll in your arms and protect him from everything.
He is terrified, and struggling against the Grand Highblood's grip, but you know from experience that there is no way that he will break loose. You try to get His attention, but He's completely focused on his new plaything. You pray that the little one will be spared from what you have suffered through, but you know that, whatever gods exist, have long abandoned you.
You want to keep your descendant – you assume that he has to be your descendant, since he looks so much like you, and you are certain that his blood colour is the same as yours – safe from what the Grand Highblood will do. You hope that He will only make the little troll watch, but you know better by now. That monster has no mercy, slaughtering grubs, wigglers and trolls alike, not sparing the innocent or helpless ones.
Your blood boils when you see Him almost gently caressing the young trolls cheeks, and grinning at you. He knows what you are thinking, knows that this troll might prove to be your weakness. You have never met this one before, but he is more precious to you than anything else you've ever known.
You can tell that he is going to use your little one against you, and you can't do anything to prevent it. Until now you have been patient. You have been in pain, been humiliated, been abused in so many ways that you lost count, but you have dealt with it. You have been strong for the sake of your belief, but you are starting to lose your patience. You are starting to lose your calm and apathy. All because of one troll in the hands of your worst enemy.
The Grand Highblood is watching you, grinning at you, while keeping a firm hold of his captive's arm. The little one is frozen in place, mumbling something that you can't make out. His pupils dilated with fear, his tiny body, which seems even smaller compared to the huge Highblood next to him, is shaking, but he wears the same stubborn expression you do. Both of you are not going to give in.