The sound of cutlery scraping against fine porcelain plates echoed across the silent mansion.
Every shuffle of a plate resonated across the expansive wooden dining hall, a space that felt more like a gallery of stolen wealth than a home. The long table was draped in a pristine white cloth, so bright it seemed to glow under the light of the massive chandeliers.
Vases brimming with exotic, wilting flowers and sculptures made of cold, unblinking marble watched over the gluttony.
Moving like ghosts in the room were a dozen maids. Their uniforms were nothing short of scandalous, as they wore revealing bits of fabric designed to strip away their dignity, and leave nothing to the imagination.
Shame was a physical weight they carried, visible in the way they kept their gazes fixed firmly on the floor. In this land, freedom was a concept that was not granted so easily.
They had dulled their emotions until their faces were as blank as the statues on the walls. Bruises, blooming in shades of purple were spread across their arms and legs, hidden poorly by the lace of their attire.
With every plate shoved aside by their master, a new maid emerged from the kitchen like a cog in a machine, bearing a tray of five more meals to fuel a hunger that seemed bottomless.
The carpet beneath their bare, aching feet was perhaps the most pointed insult of all. It was a masterpiece of textile work, thick and soft, deadening the sound of their movements. Woven into the fabric was a sprawling, intricate mural of a man seated upon a jagged throne of gold.
In the weaving, dozens of faceless figures knelt at his feet, offering up their hearts and hands in eternal service.
Every time a maid stepped across the room, she was forced to walk over the image of her own subjugation, her toes treading upon the heads of the woven servants.
The room itself was a fortress of expensive oak. The pillars were carved with twisting vines and thorns, rising up to meet a ceiling where glass chandeliers hung like frozen explosions of light, illuminating every dark corner and every hidden bruise.
Beyond the tall glass windows, the world provided no comfort. A dense, suffocating forest pressed against the estate, its black branches clawing at the light.
Further still, the distant city lay in a state of decay. Half of its lights were extinguished, leaving it a graveyard of civilization that looked as if it had been frozen in time.
The mansion was one that was forged and groomed in abuse, death, and countless bodies of the dead. A three story building that rivalled even the size of the Kala Magic Academy, laid in the middle of the forest in the Velion Empire.
A loud burp vibrated against the sensitive glass of the chandeliers, sending a frantic clatter through the crystals.
It was a sound that defied the elegance of the hall,a coarse, heavy vibration that made it seem as if the house itself trembled in fear of the being it called master.
Bare feet sank into the deep, fuzzy pile of the carpet, moving with a slow, rhythmic pace toward the exit. The maids had already formed a gauntlet of servitude, their bodies bent into deep, agonizing bows that left their spines curved like bows.
As the master slipped past them, the true scale of her presence became clear, as she stood barely half the height of the women flanking her. To a stranger, she would have looked like nothing more than a lost child.
Long, silver hair dragged along the ground like a cape too large for her, its strands whispering across the stone with every step. It snagged on cracks and gathered dust in its wake, yet she made no effort to lift it, as if the weight had long since become something she simply carried.
She wore a single, oversized shirt white shirt, only wearing clothes to conform to at least one social standard.
As she drifted past the line of servants, her small hands reached out with a practiced, casual cruelty. Her fingers caressed the slender, smooth legs of the victimized maids. Her touch was light, almost affectionate, yet it carried the weight of an iron shackle.
Silence was often broken by sharp, involuntary yelps, as various maids flinched; Their knees buckling as traumatic memories surged to the surface at the master’s touch.
“Number 35.”
Her voice was high-pitched and airy, trembling with a thin veil of excitement she was clearly struggling to restrain. She sounded like a child caught in the middle of a game of pretend, mimicking a sophisticated lady but failing to hide the bubbling glee underneath.
“Yes, master.”
A nurse stepped out from the pristine row, her bow never wavering.
“Wait in my quarters.”
Her command alone was enough to send a shiver down everyone’s spine. A satisfied grin curled at the master’s lips as she turned and strode from the dining room, unhurried.
Though she enjoyed preying on the weak, it was the sound of their despair that she cherished most. The act itself was merely a tool, nothing more than a path to her satisfaction. The halls she traversed were no different from the dining room in design. Every corridor and crevice of the building was lined with expensive decor and carefully curated scenery.
She had no true interest in fine arts, as all the assets she had acquired was done so through forceful means. Wealth was of little consequence, but to her, there was no fun in buying things.
Stopping before a heavy, iron-reinforced door, a sharp, sadistic smile curled across her face. With slow, deliberate movements, she threw open the entrance to her personal workshop.
Immediately, a blast of air surged out from the room, hitting her with the force of a winter gale. It was as if the house had swallowed the freezing midnight air of the forest and kept it captive within these four walls.
Unlike the warm oak and gold of the dining hall, the walls here were lined with rough, grey stone that seemed to drink the light. Only a few dim lanterns flickered in the corners, casting long, distorted shadows that danced across the floor.
In the center sat a luxurious leather couch, a piece of furniture that felt grotesquely out of place against the cold masonry. Facing it, like a twisted gallery, were four metallic panels. The vertical panels each held its own prisoner, chained and tied up to prevent any form of escape, but just loose enough for the master to witness their squirming bodies.
Iron cuffs bit into wrists rubbed raw, every strained movement answered by the rattle of metal against steel.
The heavy sound of four sets of lungs struggling for air filled the room, each breath ragged and shallow, singing a quiet chorus of desperation. The prisoners swallowed instinctively, their parched throats clicking in the dry, frozen air.
“So.”
The door behind her closed, as she trapped herself with her prisoners.
“Who wants to tell me what happened?”
Lined across the metallic panels were the faces of Sulva, Lucia, Rias, and Mavis,the same cultists who had infiltrated the Kala Magic Academy only days ago.
Mavis wore the heavy leathers fitting of a hunter. Though not currently equipped, she often carried a great bow with her at all times. Her brown sandals favored speed over protection, built for quick, decisive movement. Her dark brown hair was tied into short ponytails, and her eyes burned a deep crimson.
The rest of the cultists wore the same clothing that they had worn for their infiltration of the Academy.
Lucia and Mavis hadn’t truly lost to Hana and Oktavia, yet the same punishment awaited them as the men. Fairness was not a factor in her decision-making, as she simply enjoyed watching others suffer.
“MOTHER TELLA!” Rias lurched forward, tears already spilling from his eyes.
“I PROMISE I TRIED MY BEST! I PROMISE! PLEASE LET ME-”
An electrical current burst from the metallic platform, searing Rias’s skin black. A guttural scream slammed against the walls of the torture room, thick with desperation and despair.
“I’ll ask a more reasonable person.”
“Sulva, you’re up.”
A low groan slipped out as Sulva dragged his head up to face his master. His eyes fluttered, refusing to stay open, his voice nearly gone after so many screams.
“M-Mother…”
Dissatisfied with the sluggishness of his response, Quintella flicked a finger, and a second, more violent surge of electrical energy tore through the air. The current pierced past his skin with a sickening, high-pitched hum that vibrated the very marrow of his bones.
The air in the stone workshop instantly curdled with the sharp, metallic stench of ozone and the smell of burnt hair. Every nerve in his body was forced into a state of agonizing overdrive, his muscles locking so tight that the sound of his own tendons straining echoed against the grey stone walls.
His body slumped against the metallic panel, a thin trail of smoke rising from his skin into the freezing captive wind of the room. Yet before the void of death could claim them, their bodies knit themselves back together, flesh mending as quickly as it had been destroyed.
In the Velion Empire, freedom was a luxury that few could afford, and fewer still were granted.
“Lucia.”
Not wanting to share her colleagues’ fate, Lucia jerked her head up, forcing every ounce of emotion into her voice.
“Mother, please, listen to me! The boys were defeated. I had to bail them out.” Her voice cracked every other word.
Eyes squeezed shut, she braced herself, waiting for the inevitable torture to strike anyway.
“It’s a bit weird that you ran away even after you were defeated. Surely you could have still secured the book.”
To Lucia, her master had given her the opportunity of a lifetime to be set free before the rest of her teammates. There was no point in lying, nor attempting to give an answer that would satisfy her. The woman before her valued truth, and nothing but the truth.
“They were knocked out in one minute! Mavis’ arrow disintegrated, and if I didn’t immediately cast another spell, that monster would have reached us in a matter of seconds!”
“Hmmmm.” Tella’s voice was filled with amusement. “One minute? Are you suuuure you’re not lying?”
“I swear mother! I swear on my life!”
“Even if it was the Sword Saint you were against, one minute to defeat all of you is quite the stretch.” Tella stated as she snapped her finger.
Like Rias and Sulva, Lucia shared the same torment of electrical punishment.
“Mavis, I’ll ask you.”
Lifting her head just enough to speak, Mavis’s voice remained steady, showing no hint of the pain surging through her body.
“Lucia was telling the truth, Mother.”
“But it wasn’t the Sword Saint we were against.”
“That’s right! It was a girl with blue hair!” Lucia blurted, cutting in.
Another jolt of electricity ripped through Lucia. Her body convulsed as Tella’s annoyance simmered in the room.
“Blue hair?”
Mavis nodded her head, “yes, Mother.”
Upon fully processing Mavis’ words, a smile spread across Tella’s face, slow and deliberate, stretching with an elasticity that rivalled the gluttonous expression that Rias carried. It was a grin that reached far too wide, peeling back her lips to reveal rows of animal-like fangs.
Chills went down the cultists’ spines, even to those who had been knocked unconscious, as the weight of Tella’s predatory grin widened into a crescent of pure, unadulterated horror.
“She died rather quickly this time around.”
Squealing and jumping in joy, Tella exclaimed before her servants.
“How exciting! How exciting!”
“Last time I had to wait two whole extra years, wait she’s back now? While she’s in school?”
“WAIT! I haven’t been paying much attention because I assumed she was going to take the same route as last time, but…”
“But with this, I’ll have to keep tabs on her. I mean, even I don’t know where this is headed at this point.”
The four prisoners watched on with their limited sight at her celebration.
“I love this so much, this has to be the earliest she recalled!”
“The last version of her was so boring, she was always just staring and being all stoic.”
“How was she this time?”
Before Mavis could respond, Tella cut in.
“No, I want to see her for myself! Don’t spoil anything for me.”
A thick string of drool slipped from the corner of her mouth. Her breaths came in frantic, shallow bursts, trembling under the weight of her own intoxicating delight.
“Ah, thank you Eighth for being so stubborn! You’re the best! The best!”
With two light claps from her hand palm, the chains binding the four cultists loosened.
The sudden release was unexpected, as all of them fell to the ground pathetically, their bodies flopping on the stone surface like beached fish.
“Last time someone gave me this much resistance I had to strip her of every single bit of hope that she had within her.”
“But man, even still, Eudoxia wasn’t nearly as interesting as our dear maiden in blue.”
Skipping with delight, Tella made her way toward the exit, eyes sparkling at the news. She glanced back at the cultists, still struggling on the floor.
“I think the last few loops I had her come to me, maybe this time I’ll spice things up!”
“Okay! You can do whatever you want, as long as you bring me the girl.”
“I want you to drag her away from the one she loves, even if it means ripping her limbs apart.”
“Ah, but don’t kill her!”
Tella bursted into shrieking laughter, her body bending forward as her arm cradled her stinging sides.
“Oh! One more thing! One truly last thing!”
“If she ends up fighting you all seriously and stoically and analytically again, there is one way to disrupt her focus.”
“Just tell her that Quintella sends her regards.”
Waving goodbye, she slipped under the wooden doorframe and vanished into the mansion.
Her ecstatic hops echoed through the hallways, as even the maids watched in fear at the sudden change in their master’s behavior.
Sadistic as she always was, this unbridled joy was something they had never seen, not even in their worst nightmares.
They could only assume their torments would worsen, as nothing good ever came from Quintella’s emotional tantrums. The mansion’s air vanished in a heartbeat, drawing fearful gasps from every servant.
The door to her room swung open, revealing the slender silhouette of the undressed maid she had called only minutes before, hiding behind the bed’s white veil.
Ready to indulge and devour her grand dessert for the night, Quintella slowly placed her hand on the veil.
Licking her lips, she murmured to herself,
“Just you wait, Celica. Your next revival is coming soon.”
“Whether you like it or not.”