Chapter 50
***25years ago***
***LUCY'S POV***
Fear, darkness, and pain. Why was I still feeling all of these emotions? There could only be one horrific explanation for this: I was still alive. The realization hit me hard, filling me with a cold dread. The reason behind my survival could only mean something far worse awaited me. I tried opening my eyes, but a sharp, stinging pain in my left eye made me wince. Groaning, I brought my aching hand up to gently touch the area, feeling a sticky, dried patch of blood.
"Ah!" I cried out, recoiling from the sharp pain. They must have scratched me. I could feel the dried blood caked on the side of my face, pulling uncomfortably against my skin with every movement. My head throbbed with each heartbeat, making it difficult to focus.
Slowly, I pushed myself into a sitting position on the cold, hard ground. The surface felt like rough stone beneath my fingers, unyielding and icy, sending shivers through my already battered body. I blinked a few times, trying to adjust my vision, but it was useless. Darkness was all around me, an endless void that seemed to swallow everything. It was so complete that it felt as if I were buried alive.
I forced myself to stand, feeling an intense tingling in my legs, as if they had fallen asleep. My knees buckled beneath me, and I almost crashed back onto the ground, but I managed to steady myself. The numbness slowly started to fade, replaced by a dull ache. I stood there for a moment, swaying slightly, until the feeling fully returned to my legs.
I took a tentative step forward, arms outstretched, feeling my way blindly through the darkness. My fingertips grazed the rough stone walls, the texture rough and uneven beneath my touch. I kept moving, trailing my hand along the wall until it collided with something cold and unyielding-metal bars. I was trapped in some kind of prison cell, locked away like an animal. My heart sank as I realized the extent of my predicament.
Dropping to the ground, I curled up into a ball, hugging my knees to my chest as I started to cry softly. The tears came in slow, shuddering waves, more from frustration than fear. Why hadn't they just killed me back there? It would have been far better than this. I had heard the stories about what happened to those who were spared-tales whispered in hushed voices, rumors of unspeakable torment. They became slaves, tortured and abused until there was nothing left but a hollow shell. Some said the werewolves even ate their captives slowly, taking a hand, a leg, dragging out the suffering as long as possible.
I was in hell now. There was no one left to save me. All my friends were dead, their bodies left behind in the forest, food for the beasts.
"There's no point in crying," a gruff male voice rasped from the darkness. His voice sounded weak, brittle, as if he hadn't tasted water in days. It echoed slightly, indicating he was in another cell, perhaps just across from mine. "Save your tears for later. There are worse things to cry about ahead of you."
I sniffled, wiping away the tears with the back of my hand. "Who...who are you? And where are we?" I asked, my voice trembling. I squinted into the darkness, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but there was nothing. Just the thick, suffocating blackness that stretched on endlessly.
He let out a hacking cough before replying. "My name is O'zaak. I'm a scientist, or at least I was before all of this. I've been locked up here for-I don't know how long. I haven't seen daylight or any kind of light in what feels like years. We're in hell, kid," he muttered, breaking into another fit of coughing. He sounded like he was on the brink of death.
"What do you mean, 'hell'?" I asked impatiently, my voice rising in pitch as a wave of panic surged through me.
"Ever heard of the original, full-breed Lycan?" he asked. He paused, waiting for me to answer, but I was silent. The fear had stolen my voice. "Werewolves are nothing compared to that beast. A full-breed Lycan is a monster you do not want to encounter. They are the stuff of nightmares. There are only a few of them left, and they rarely show themselves. Right now, we're in the dungeons of one of them-a place where he keeps all his slaves."
I scoffed, trying to hide the fear in my voice. "Dungeons? Is this some kind of castle?"
"I don't know," O'zaak replied weakly. "But what I do know is that this Lycan is of royalty. He's a king, or something close to it. And he is going to kill us all, eventually. You're going to wish a werewolf had torn you apart instead," he said, his voice filled with pity.
I didn't need his pity. I crawled into a dark corner of the cell, pressing my back against the cold stone wall. Why did this have to happen to me? I had a normal life once, or as normal as it could be in this world. Everything changed ten years ago, exactly on my tenth birthday. That was the day when hell came crashing down on us all.
Scientists and doctors had tried to explain it away, saying it was a virus gone wild-a mutation that turned people into these creatures. But people like my parents, who were deeply religious, had their own theories. They believed it was a biblical plague, that the devil himself had sent his demons in the form of wolves to cleanse the Earth of humanity's sins. To me, it didn't matter what caused it. This was pure hell, plain and simple.
The first time I saw a werewolf was at my tenth birthday party. It had been a small celebration, just my parents and a few friends. We were laughing and enjoying the cake when it happened. A monstrous beast smashed through our back door, eyes glowing with a malevolent hunger. I remember the way it snarled, saliva dripping from its sharp fangs as it lunged. My parents tried to protect me, but it was no use. The creature sank its teeth into their flesh, tearing them apart like they were nothing more than rag dolls. I hid under the table, trembling, listening to the sounds of ripping flesh and their agonized screams. I became an orphan that night, on my own birthday-a typical, tragic backstory in a world that no longer had any happy endings.
The memory made my chest tighten. I hugged my knees tighter, trying to push the thoughts away. O'zaak's words replayed in my head: "You're going to wish a werewolf had torn you apart instead."
He was right. In this place, death might have been the kinder option
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