The Trial She Faces

His lungs gasped relentlessly, struggling to endure the noxious air that permeated the dungeon. The torment echoed in a ceaseless rhythm.

Regardless of the inquisitor's relentless lashings, he held his head bent, refusing to give in.

The Delta's smoldering gaze bore down on him with scorn, rendering words meaningless.

Panting heavily, Higgins managed to muster the strength to speak. "Is that the best you can do, inquisitor? Put your back into it."

His bold grin revealed his fortitude, as he dared to believe that the suffering inflicted upon him was mere child's play.

He refused to let the Delta feel any pity for him.

However, the Delta's unfazed expression, accompanied by a mild grin, suggested that such thoughts didn't even cross his mind.

"If you say so. Don't hold back, you weakling! Tear him apart until his skin is shredded and his spirit is melted," Ramsy declared.

Delta Ramsy refused to acknowledge the inquisitor's perception of him as a living being, if he even did so in the first place.

"Hmmph," the inquisitor grunted, belittling Ramsy's higher rank.

As a Beta, he had no say in opposing the Delta, as Ramsy's rank surpassed his own. Yet, the inquisitor seemed more inclined to whip Ramsy than the persistent nuisance at his side.

But in reality, the inquisitor was nothing more than a misguided Beta whose penchant for torture earned him a title and rank in the dungeon.

His duty was to kill, whether slowly or swiftly, and he reveled in the pain he inflicted.

Ramsy ordered him to do just that, and the inquisitor's libido soared at the thought.

Higgins showed no signs of backing down, and it exhilarated him.

With his magical prowess, as a sorcerer capable of facing death and tempting fate, he called upon the deity, daring it to take him if it could. It felt otherworldly.

***

Abraham Van Helsing, the Dutch vampire hunter, had once had an apprentice whom he admired and held in high regard, long before he even considered the holy order as a potential calling.

Helsing betrayed his apprentice and thought he had disposed of him.

However, the tales surrounding this event were shrouded in insufficient recounting and relied solely on rumors.

Higgins, renowned for his extraordinary ability to communicate with the dead, was known as the Necromancer Hunter. His expertise lay in influencing the living through the use of the deceased as conduits.

His discarded body had washed up on the shores of a massive island housing several packs of werewolves, one of which belonged to the Nefario legacy.

The Nefario pack, an empire of sorts, had gained enough reverence to become the namesake of a pack in its honor.

Located in the eastern Himalayas of Aracord, a distant continent dominated by werewolf packs known for their frequent interpack raids, the Nefario pack was where Higgins found himself.

The hunter was not dead, but his fate seemed even worse, as he was trapped on an island that once provided him love but had taken it away, along with any reason to stay.

Having lost his mate, his child, and all that he had built, his life as a prisoner of war was dedicated to seeking death.

"I've suffered enough. It's time to end it," Higgins thought to himself.

Blood flowed down his scalp, and his struggling breath reminded him of the singular reason he had allowed himself to be captured.

As a necromancer, his prophesied fate was grim: confined to an island that managed to provide someone to love him, took her and the only other light at the entrance of his tunnel and left him nothing.

Having been rid of any justification or reason to remain, no way to escape the taunting reality of memories made with his mate or the island itself, to end his life after years of mourning became the only way, his only salvation.

His being a human ensured that he saw enough scorn to assure that, but his words fed the flames to make them desire it more instead of seeing potential in his long lost abilities.