The Damned Demon

811  I Am Never Sane

The desert air grew heavy, thick with an unnatural stillness as the two figures stood face to face beneath the burning sky.

Asher's grip on her throat loosened, his fingers uncurling as he took a half-step back. His dark yellow eyes narrowed, bewilderment flickering through his previously cold gaze.

"What?" His voice was low, edged with disbelief, "Have you truly gone mad?"

Rebecca didn't flinch.

There was no hesitation in her eyes, no moment of doubt. The dark red pools blazed with unyielding resolve, like molten fire refusing to be extinguished.

And that, more than anything, confused him.

She was serious.

"Yes," she bit out, her voice cold and fierce, "I have gone mad." Her jaw tightened, her chin lifting defiantly. "But if this is what it takes for you to trust me, then so be it."

Asher's gaze darkened. "Why do you care so much about whether I trust you or not?" His voice was sharp, his patience thinning.

Rebecca exhaled sharply, frustration flickering across her face. She could see it now—he wouldn't back down without hearing some convincing reason. He needed something concrete, something logical.

"Fine! I can't believe I am saying this," Her voice snapped through the air, her body tensing as she spat out the words. "But I want to help you in any way possible so that we can reclaim and rebuild our kingdom."

Asher narrowed his eyes, his expression unreadable.

Rebecca pressed on, her fists clenching at her sides. "Do you think I want my son—who was once a glorious prince—to live the rest of his life without a kingdom?"

That made him pause.

His fingers twitched slightly at his sides as he regarded her with an intense, scrutinizing stare.

It was a plausible reason.

But plausible didn't mean trustworthy.

"Alright," he said slowly. "Let's say that's true. That doesn't mean I'm going to let you tag along with me."

His voice dipped lower, turning sharp. "Unless…"

Rebecca's brow furrowed, a sliver of uncertainty flashing through her expression before he finished,

"You are really willing to endure the Gaze of Agony like you said you wanted to."

A chill crawled down her spine.

She had seen it before. She had heard the screams of those he had used it on.

Even if he didn't try to kill her with it, she knew the risks. She could break. She could lose herself.

Asher watched her in silence before speaking again, his voice even, emotionless, "Don't forget—even if I hold back, you could still end up with a broken mind. You may never be sane again."

A long, fragile pause settled between them.

Rebecca's fingers twitched.

Her lips parted for a moment, a brief hesitation flickering through her eyes.

The only other option to make him trust her was to willingly become his slave again. But she didn't want to seem that desperate yet...not when she made a big show of freeing herself from him. It would just seem too suspicious in a different way...as if she liked being his slave.

She can't make him form such preposterous assumptions!

And then—

She scoffed, the sound harsh, raw, before curving her lips into a crazed, fearless smile.

"You already know I was never sane to begin with."

Asher narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenching slightly.

Rebecca's breath hitched, but she didn't waver. Instead, she lifted her hand, her fingers wrapping around his wrist—the very hand that had moments ago been crushing her throat.

Her grip tightened.

Her nails pressed into his skin.

Her voice was a whisper, rough and unyielding, "So get it over with."

Asher's gaze bored into hers, searching, assessing. His expression was unreadable.

Then, slowly—he closed his eyes.

Rebecca's heart slammed against her ribs as she took a deep breath, gritted her teeth, bracing herself.

And then—

He opened his eyes.

The transformation was instant.

The flesh and skin around Asher's eyes burned away, devoured by dark green embers. Ash floated into the air, scattering into the wind like whispers of the damned.

Left behind were two hollow sockets, filled with an eerie, haunting glow—a green so dark it was almost black.

A deep, devilish power swirled behind those burning voids.

A cursed gaze. A torment beyond mortality.

Rebecca's entire body seized.

She couldn't breathe.

She couldn't move.

The moment she met his gaze—she felt herself being swallowed whole.

Dragged. Down. Into the abyss.

The desert around her melted away.

Reality fractured.

She was falling—no, being pulled—into a darkness deeper than the void of the universe.

The weight of a thousand nightmares crushed her mind, her bones.

This darkness dragged her into a past she had buried beneath layers of cold, ruthless defiance.

The darkness shifted.

And then—she was back there.

Rebecca was a child again. Eight years old.

A small, fragile thing standing in the heart of the Dreadthorne Castle, where only the chosen few were ever permitted to step foot.

The air was frigid, thick with the whispers of the dead—a place where light refused to exist.

Before her, a grand altar of ice and bone loomed, adorned with the relics of her ancestors.

Dark blue light shone coldly along the cavern walls, casting unholy shadows upon the rows of Thorne nobles standing in eerie silence.

At the center of them all stood her father—Lord Gaius Thorne, the one who took over the duty of continuing their bloodline's most feared rituals.

His piercing chilling eyes bore into her, devoid of warmth.

"Tonight," he spoke, his voice a commanding echo, "you will forsake the weakness you were born with."

Rebecca's small hands clenched, her fingernails digging into her palms.

Weakness.

That was what emotions were to House Thorne.

They were useless. They clouded judgment. They made one vulnerable.

And yet, Rebecca had never been able to rid herself of them. Unlike Thorin, her perfect elder brother—who had embraced their family's teachings with ease, who never hesitated, who never faltered.

Unlike Esther, her elder sister—who, despite her care for Rebecca, had chosen duty over bonds, had steeled herself into the cold warrior their family expected.

But Rebecca had always felt too much.

And they would not allow it.

A woman stepped forward—a high-ranking matriarch, clad in dark blue robes, her face veiled beneath an eerie, ice-woven mask.

She carried a dark silver chalice in her hands, its liquid contents swirling with unnatural darkness.

The Severance Potion.

A forbidden brew made from the blood of those who had failed to forsake their emotions.

It was the first step before practicing the deadly, cold arts of House Thorne.

It was meant to be part of this cursed training. A training to kill the soul.

She had watched others drink it before her and undertake the training.

Watched as their eyes dimmed, their hearts turned to hollow voids.

They felt nothing.

Pain became irrelevant. Love, hatred, sadness—all gone.

And now—it was her turn.

"Drink," the matriarch commanded, her voice hollow.

The chalice was lowered to Rebecca's lips.

She could see her own reflection in the thick, swirling darkness.

Her own fear.

Her own refusal.

But she couldn't say no.

She was a Thorne.

She had no choice.

Her fingers curled around the chalice.

Her lips parted.

And then—

"Stop!"

A voice cut through the silence.

Esther.

Her sister had moved in front of her, her arms spread protectively, defying their father's decree.

Rebecca's eyes widened, her small heart hammering against her ribs.

"You cannot do this to her," Esther said, her voice aloof but desperate, "She is still a child."

Lord Gaius's expression did not change, "So were you, when you drank from the chalice."

Rebecca sucked in a sharp breath.

She hadn't known.

Esther had taken the ritual before her—and she had survived.

She looked at her sister's back, at the rigid posture, the controlled breathing.

And then—Esther turned her head, and for the first time, Rebecca saw it.

The lack of emotion in her sister's dark eyes.

The absence of the warmth she once had.

Esther had tried to protect her.

But Esther was already gone.

The realization crushed her.

And in that moment, something inside Rebecca broke.

She threw the chalice to the ground, shattering it.

Gasps filled the cavern.

Thorin's voice, eerily calm, echoed from the shadows, "She resists."

Lord Gaius let out a cold, disappointed sigh.

"Then she must learn."

-

Rebecca's world blurred as she was dragged forward, forced onto the altar.

Cold, uncaring hands bound her in chains of dark ice—the very same chains used to seal disobedient spirits.

She thrashed, kicked, screamed—

But the ice crawled up her limbs, encasing her inch by inch.

"Since you refuse to rid yourself of emotion," her father's voice rang out, "you will learn what it means to suffer for them."

She couldn't breathe.

The cold was unlike anything she had ever known.

It seeped into her bones, into her mind, whispering things that made her doubt herself. @@novelbin@@

"You are weak."

"You will be forgotten."

"You are unworthy of our bloodline."

Her lungs burned.

Her heart pounded violently.

For days, for weeks, for months, and for years, she kept trying to scream, but her voice was gone.

Not Esther. Not Thorin. No one from her family. Not anyone.

And just as Rebecca felt her consciousness slipping, just as her soul nearly shattered into nothing—

Asher ripped his gaze away.

The vision collapsed.

Rebecca stumbled forward, gasping, her entire body trembling, covered in a dark green molten layer that had threatened to envelop her entire body. Fortunately, Asher stopped just in time before she could turn into a statue of ash, letting the layer slowly crumble away.

Yet Rebecca barely registered it as her mind was still reeling from pain and shock.

She was not in that place.

She was not that child anymore.

But for a moment—she had been.

Her fingers twitched, curling into shaking fists.

Her nails dug into her skin, drawing blood, just to remind herself—

That she was still here.

That she had never become like them.

She wasn't supposed to feel this.

She wasn't supposed to—

A breath escaped her lips.

She was crying.

She hadn't cried since she those days.

But now—

Tears streamed down her face.

She clenched her fists and gritted her teeth before forcing herself to look at Asher.

He had seen everything. There was nothing left to hide.

Asher stared at her, his own breath uneven.

He had seen it all.

And for the first time, he understood.

He finally understood why she was the way she was. Not just because of what she did to survive.

But because of what she had lost. And what she was terrified to lose again.

Rebecca slowly lifted her gaze, chilling the tears as they dropped down her face.

And then—she smirked.

A slow, tired, bitter smirk.

"Now you know," she whispered, her voice hoarse, "why I am never sane."

But Asher didn't smirk back.

His gaze remained heavy.

Because he knew that the smirk on her face wasn't one of pride she usually expressed but a silent admission that pain had been her only constant companion.

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