Capítulo 87: Purified (1)
Another drop bounced in the air, falling, slow, too slow, and yet she watched it, eyes heavier than a mountain, pressing her to sleep, and the pain—she'd since grown numb to it. Demonic energy—she'd lost it. None had come to relieve the pain. None came as it battled against the divine energy.
When the demonic energy prevailed, a new droplet would touch her tongue, seemingly timed, and the world would darken to black. A warm hand tickled her chin, and light returned. Mya's face was close to hers, with her head tilted to the right and her lips pursed.
"This won't work. Not the way it is going, that is. If it keeps up…" Her eyes locked onto Ayla's. "Oh, so you're alive. I'm glad. I'm glad. If you were dead, it'd ruin my reputation, and that's just... well, bad."
She formed a demon crystal.
Is she healing me?
Ayla opened her mouth, eyeing and anticipating the crystal. Mya's hand fell out of sight. Why not feed her as she had? She followed, and she found out why Mya hadn't.
Her top lip flopped onto her chest; the rest of her mouth, tongue, chin, and lower lip weren't there. Mya's hand had never been there, holding her chin, but she felt it as if it were. Below, a torn, burned hole had replaced her flat stomach. No blood oozed out—not even dried blood. A fresh scent was in the room. It hid the smell of misery and horror.
Mya shoved the crystal into the hole, her hand stopping half inside. Ayla stared. She'd seen injuries—dealt them herself—lethal injuries. Decapitations: clean and ugly. Disintegration through flames, and she had sliced a woman into pieces, followed by a glimpse of the man who shared a bed with her. He stared, opening and closing his mouth.
Yet none of those experiences matched the horror that emanated from the hole in her stomach. Those were swift deaths. She intentionally aimed at their vital areas. Her injuries weren't at all swift; droplet after droplet fell and slid down her throat, burning new channels for more to follow with her broken and restored.
The crystal burned. She could feel it inside herself. Warm. Nice. It resembled the warmth of the sun's rays at dawn on a beach. It grew mildly hot. Hot. It burned, and she screamed, but nothing came out. She couldn't scream. She lacked a mouth, but it came back. Her mouth was back. The stomach hole was sealed. Her scream tore her vocal cords. Her vocal cords healed, only to tear again. A soft, warm hand silenced her scream, which bore a chilled grip unbefitting of its warmth.
"Stop," Mya said. "I'll let you scream all you want, but not when I'm here. Kay? It makes my ears fuzz, and I hate it, so control it next time."
Ayla nodded slightly.
She smiled. "Now, with that over with, where is Asteria?"
"I don't know."
"You 'don't know'? This makes things a bit difficult. You see, I was so ordered not to leave here without answers. We're the same. We both have no say in our lives. And 'I don't know' isn't enough. Please don't make this hard on me. Where is Asteria?"
"I don't know."
"Ah, you are trying to make this hard on us both." Her smile softened. "I didn't take you for someone who would change so soon. As requested, I'll happily let you share some alone time with your brethren. I'm sure he's happy, too. Next time, I hope I can share some of it. You shouldn't give it all to him."
She flicked her hand, and the Dragon Heart appeared and descended from the ceiling, stopping above Ayla.
A chain yanked Ayla's head back. A droplet coalesced and touched her tongue, claiming her consciousness after three droplets. Three droplets were more than the previous two, and her demonic energy fought harder than it had before.
****
The rocket circled far from Afeola, in orbit, and out of visual perception range. Medoa clung to the shadow of the rocket's outer shell, its warmth shielding her from the cold of space.
Medoa waited, watching the greens, blues, yellows, and pillowy clouds, which she wanted to touch—to play with—drift by but were never in reach. Cynthia's face would emerge before she could fall for the desire to descend. She concealed her worry and fear behind a severe expression, uttering, "Ensure she returns alive and well, or..." so she willingly set aside her small curiosities.
Fire burst from the frontal nozzles, slowing the rocket's orbit to a near standstill, and a pod shot from the rocket, accelerating toward Afeola below, locked in its destination.
Medoa coiled the shadows around herself and hurled herself toward the pod. The short distance seemed distant as cold encroached on the shadows, wrapping, peeling, and pulling, trying to seep in. But as the rocket breached Afeola's atmosphere, she dove into the warmth of the pod's shadow, death-gripping onto it.
****
Ayla's eyes were frozen and wide open. Dazed and absent, she barely paid attention to the world around her. The white room. Dragon Heart, still dripping into her slackened mouth. She allowed it. Resistance had worn away with time, as had her fear and disgust. Emotion. Emptiness flooded and tainted her, as divine energy had taken half her essence.
Half-dead, half-alive. Half-demon, half… Mya had tried compelling her to confess, but she had no answers.
"I… don't know," Ayla said. "I don't know."
She never listened. And if the Dragon Heart didn't work, she'd change it. Experimented. A chain that hung from the ceiling would be forced down her throat and latched to her essence. The Dragon Heart would be shoved into her newly formed stomach hole and melded with her essence, becoming one with her. Chains would be sown in and out of her flesh. The burning, crimson burning, dripping. Blood corrupted the floor, which then was purified and cleaned—a renewed white. Like her—half clean, half dirty.
"Cynthia—"
A slap across the face rocked her head.
"…don't—"
Before Ayla spoke another word, Mya slapped her other cheek. Her head rocked to one side again.
"I was so nice to you. I ensured you were fed so you wouldn't starve. I fed you to keep your brethren from killing you. I gave you a brother to care for and feel connected to. You're now half of him, so why don't you hand over your share? Allow yourself to rest peacefully with him."
She slapped her right cheek, and her vision spun, reversed, and reoriented. Another slap came, harder and imperceptible.
"… know."
Her vision flipped, then darkened to black.
REFLEXIONES DE LOS CREADORES 
Reacix
Reacix The chapter is shorter than most. About 200-300 words shorter than the average.
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