MALACHAI
I never thought I'd reach a point where I'd be disgusted with my own existence.
But here I am.
Lucius has made sure of that.
Every mission, every order he gave me, stripped away another piece of my soul. He didn't just want me to kill—he wanted me to destroy, to erase lives like they were nothing, to paint entire homes in red and never blink at the aftermath.
Innocent people. Families. Children.
I used to tell myself that I had no choice, that I was just following orders, that it was them or me. But that excuse doesn't work when you're staring into the wide, terrified eyes of a child, your blade hovering inches from their throat, and all they've done is exist in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I feel sick.
Every night, I hear their screams. Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces. And yet, I still do it. I still obey. Because Lucius made sure I had no other option.
But it wasn't just the missions. No, that wasn't enough for him.
He wanted to break me in every possible way.
That's why he called me into his office again.
I stepped inside, and the stench of cruelty wrapped around me like a suffocating fog. Ezra was there…fragile, bruised, barely holding himself together. And Lucius? He sat like a king on his throne, the devil in his smile, waiting for me to take my place as his loyal, obedient failure of a soldier.
I stood stiffly, my hands curling into trembling fists, the skin of my palms burning as my nails dug deep. My body screamed at me to move, to do something—anything—but I was trapped in this sick, endless loop. A spectator to his suffering. Again.
Ezra didn't scream as much this time. Maybe he'd grown used to it. Maybe he had given up. The way his body shuddered, the way his head lolled slightly to the side, like he was somewhere else entirely—God, I wished I could've taken him out of here. Taken him anywhere but here.
But I didn't move. I didn't speak. I couldn't.
Lucius's gaze flicked toward me, sharp and knowing, daring me to break formation, to let my mask slip. I couldn't give him the satisfaction. So I stood there, rigid and useless, my silence as much a betrayal as any blade to Ezra's throat.
When it was over, Ezra didn't look at me. He barely even acknowledged my existence as he pulled his clothing back together with trembling hands, his movements slow, lifeless.
And I hated myself more than I ever had before.
I wanted to tell him I was sorry. That I hated this. That every second I spent breathing under Lucius's rule made me wish I wasn't breathing at all.
But I knew it wouldn't matter.
Ezra was done with me. I could see it in the way he carried himself, in the way he refused to meet my eyes. He had made his decision…to shut me out, to pretend like I wasn't there. Like I was just another monster in this hell we lived in.
And maybe I was.
When he left, I stayed behind, my feet glued to the floor, my hands clenched at my sides. Lucius studied me, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips as if he was waiting for me to snap, to finally break the way he wanted me to.
But I didn't.
I swallowed down every ounce of rage, every scream threatening to claw its way out of my throat. I turned and walked out of that office, my movements slow, deliberate, mechanical just another piece of Lucius's collection of ruined things.
Ezra might have decided to cut me off completely.
I need to do something.
I want to do something.
For Ezra.