Chapter 78: Bring Him Down

Noah hung from the ceiling, arms stretched above his head, wrists locked in the same magic dampening iron cuffs that bit into his raw skin.

Sometimes, he felt like he was bleeding from his wrists, and other times, he felt like it was just sweat. He knew not which was real and which was an illusion. But would it still remain an illusion if he believed it was real?

What was illusion and what was reality? Were those years he spent in pain under the illusion of the spell real, or were the few seconds in which the spell worked real instead?

Did he suffer for three seconds? Or did he suffer for three years?

He didn’t care. All he cared about was that he suffered. That he was in pure agony.

His body swayed slightly with each shallow breath he took, the chains creaking in the silence.

The only thing keeping him conscious, or to be specific, the only thing keeping him alive, was the hatred that burned through his veins.

He was past the point of caring about time. Days, weeks, maybe even months, it didn’t matter anymore. There was only the cycle. Pain. Questions. Lies forced into his ears. Pain again.

Somewhere along the way, the world outside had faded. His awareness shrank down to one truth.

He was being asked questions, and he was giving answers.

He didn’t even know if they were the right answers anymore. Sometimes they were memories, and other times, they were fragments his mind stitched together just to end the interrogation.

But for some time now, Osiris hadn’t come by.

Noah’s head drooped forward, resting against his chest, but behind his closed eyes, he saw that face. Those cold, empty eyes pretending at humanity. The slight curve of the lips that wasn’t a smile, wasn’t a smirk, but a mockery of both.

The memory of Osiris’ voice crawled through his mind, and his hatred grew. It smoldered. It expanded. It filled every broken part of him with one thought.

’If I get out of here, you’ll regret every second you kept me alive.’

He fantasized about it. About wrapping his hands around Osiris’ throat, about casting Devour until nothing but bones remained. He imagined tearing away that calm expression and watching fear bloom in those dead eyes.

The sound of the lock turning jolted him from his thoughts.

The door creaked open.

Light spilled into the room, framing Osiris in the doorway. He stepped inside, the echo of his boots loud in the silence.

Noah lifted his head and snarled, a guttural sound that tore from somewhere deep in his chest. But he said nothing.

Osiris stopped just far enough away to keep beyond Noah’s reach, not that Noah had the strength to lunge even if he wanted to. The man regarded him for a long moment, the corners of his mouth twitching faintly.

“You know,” Osiris began, his voice conversational, as if they were sharing tea instead of a dungeon, “I’ll give you this. You’ve lasted far longer than I expected. Most break within the first few days. You… have a spine. Or maybe you’re just too stubborn to die.”

Noah’s eyes burned into him, unblinking.

“But,” Osiris continued, stepping closer, “this game has grown tedious. I’ve asked you the same questions in every way I know. I’ve burned you, drowned you in your own fear, stripped your mind bare… and still you cling to whatever lie you think protects you.”

Noah’s breathing grew heavier, his shoulders tensing in the chains.

“Fortunately for you,” Osiris said, as if delivering good news, “something has changed. We’ve found a lead on Juniper Rowe. Promising, though still unconfirmed. So, for now, I have no further need to waste my time with you.”

The words were ice on Noah’s skin, but he forced himself to remain still.

“That doesn’t mean you’re free.” Osiris added, his tone darkening. “Far from it. You’ll be… relocated. Locked away in the deepest, darkest part of this facility where the light doesn’t reach. A fitting place for your kind.”

Noah’s lips curled into something between a sneer and a smile. He didn’t trust himself to speak, didn’t trust that the words wouldn’t come out as pure venom.

Osiris turned toward the door. “Bring him down.”

Two armored officers stepped inside, their boots heavy on the stone floor. One reached up, unhooking the chains from the ceiling while leaving the magic restraining cuffs locked tight around Noah’s wrists.

For the first time in what felt like forever, his arms dropped. The relief was instant and overwhelming.

His shoulders screamed from the sudden change, but the ache was almost bliss compared to the constant strain he’d endured.

His knees buckled the moment his feet took his full weight, but the officers caught him before he hit the ground.

“Move,” one of them barked, yanking him forward.

They dragged him through the narrow corridors, past cells where unseen prisoners shifted in the shadows.

Noah kept his eyes fixed forward, counting each turn, each step, memorizing the path without even meaning to.

Down one flight of stairs. Then another. Then another.

The air grew colder and damper. The smell of mold and stagnant water thickened until it coated his tongue.

The dim torchlight that had followed them this far faded into nothing, replaced by a suffocating darkness.

Finally, they stopped before a heavy iron door. One guard produced a ring of keys, the other tightening their grip on Noah’s arm as the lock screeched open.

The door groaned on its hinges as they shoved it inward. The cell beyond was nothing more than a square of darkness, the floor slick with damp stone. The walls were close, oppressive, like the room itself was leaning in to listen.

Without ceremony, they shoved him inside.

The chains on his wrists clinked as he stumbled, catching himself against the wall. The door slammed shut behind him with a sound that echoed far longer than it should have.

Osiris’ voice came from the other side.

“Enjoy the darkness, peasant. It’s where you belong.”

The lock slid home with a heavy click, and his footsteps faded away, leaving Noah alone in the dark.

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