Chapter 6 – Part 2

The pain was deep, everywhere, all-encompassing. There was no retreat, no salvation, no shelter, nothing but pain. Not even the Flame touched the pain. She had been tortured by Droaam’s best, but that had been pain of the body. Not the soul. Not the mind.

He was in her. He was taking her vows from her. Her vows of chastity.

Vows that she had been planning on breaking with Delegado anyway. Was this why the Flame would not help her?

“Stop,” she rasped. She wanted to scream it. She could not. She wanted to fight him. She could not raise her arms. His pet had seen to that.

She’d squeezed her eyes shut, at least not having to look at him, to see his bleeding face, his dazed and crazed look.

His stink filled her senses. His body on top of her, crushing her, taking everything from her. Invading her. Killing her in all ways.

Tears ran freely, mixing with his sweat. He was faster now, getting ready to climax. Revulsion fileld her more, self-hatred, a desire to die, to die forever and be away from this.

Rape. A word that she had feared, but seemed applicable to others only.

Rape. She had been threatened with it once by a pair of drunks when she was very young. She had turned herself into a visage of an old crone with sores. They’d run off.

I am being raped.

If she could kill herself, she would. If she could do anything, she would. But there was only helplessness.

Only pain.

Thudding feet, air, the pressure was gone. He was off of her! A thunking sound, striking flesh. Someone else wa screaming, not just her. Someone else was in pain, not just her.

She was free. But she could not move. He was not on her, in her, anymore, but the shame and stink seared her soul to an empty insignificant powerless dot in a never-ending darkness.

She opened her eyes to help make sense of the noise.

The warforged was pummeling the half-daelkyr, his hands a blur. Thomas was jerking back and around, feebly attempting to stop the assault.

“You filthy scum!” Iron Orphan was yelling. “You filthy, disgusting scum!” She heard real rage in his voice. The warforged hadn’t even displayed such emotion when he was furious with her back in the Demon city.

“Stop!” the half-daelkyr finally gagged out between broken teeth. He sheathed himself in some crimson energy, making a shield that Orphan’s fists bounced off of. It seemed to be energy growing from the walls of the ship. “I didn’t mean to do it!”

“And Khyber never meant to be hot and dark!” snapped the warforged.

Thomas looked at her with one good eye. It leaked blood. The other was swollen shut, a gift from Iron Orphan. “I’m sorry,” he said to her.

She closed her eyes. Years of teaching wanted to force recited expressions of forgiveness and piety to her lips. But she could not. The Flame had turned from her, for only one moment of passion, one plan to seduce Delegado. There was no Flame for her here. There would be no Flame for Thomas either. Let them both die. Let her pain and shame go.

The warforged and the half-daelkyr were fighting, arguing. Something about a cold-empowered hobgoblin, and how the ship would be sunk if Thomas did not take his greataxe and get topside.

“Get out of here,” she heard the warforged snarl. She heard Thomas’ feet move.

Flame, if you are still there, have mercy and kill me! Ois had never projected such spite into a prayer, mental or spoken, but she meant it.

Strong hands picked her up as if she was a child, held her gently. Hands made of stone, wood, metal, something not flesh, but something with pity, empathy, and mercy.

“I will take you to your cabin and wash you,” Orphan said softly, carrying her. “I know that females have taboos on males touching them, but I am not really a male. I will be respectful. I promise.”

“Can’t hide the evidence from Delegado,” she whispered hoarsely. “He’ll know, he can track anything, notice the smallest clue.” She could barely get words out, but the monk heard her nonetheless.

“If Thomas does not stop the Cold Mage, we are all dead anyway,” Orphan told her. “And I have little to offer in the fight. You restored me, but my frame is very weak, very vulnerable. I can help you, though. I can at least make you comfortable.”

You can never give me back what I had, she thought, but did not say.