My Kingdom Come book 1: The Saints We See

666 standard years after the signing of the Alliance

Isca dragged Mik down Jonat’s front steps and threw him into the back of Chentzo’s car. Mik tumbled across the floor his shoulder hitting the door on the opposite side before he could right himself and scramble into proper position. Chentzo was already settling himself on the back seat. “Take us to Vittesh’s.”

There was a slight pause then Isca said, “yes, sir.” The car door shut. Isca climbed into the front seat and the car took off. Chentzo stretched his arm out on the back of his seat and impatiently tapped his fingers on the leather. Mik let most of his mind shut down to rest; Jonat poking around in his head had emotionally exhausted him.

“You realize the only way I can sell a bonded Durweh is by the hour, right, slut?”

Mik quickly came back to full consciousness. They had been traveling for about twenty minutes. “Please, master. Surely there’s some of my sponsors who are still willing to buy me. I want to serve. I’ll gladly obey, even if I can’t link to them.”

Chentzo chuckled darkly. “Oh don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll be seeing plenty of your sponsors. I’ll have to give them something in return for mismanaging their investment so badly. That is, unless you’ve suddenly remembered something that will help both of us out if this mess you’ve created for me to clean up.”

Mik swallowed harshly. “No, master.”

Chentzo reached down, grabbed Mik’s chin and jerked his head up. “You are going to suffer for all the trouble you’ve caused me, slut. And I’m going to enjoy every bit of your pain.”

Mik kept his gaze on Chentzo’s right shoulder. “Yes, master.”

The car came to a stop. Chentzo roughly shoved Mik’s chin away from him. The door opened and Chentzo stepped out. “Come along, slut.”

Mik obediently followed Chentzo out of the car. He glanced at his surroundings from the corner of his eye. They were somewhere in the heart of the city. Bright lights and scantily clad slaves invited the crowds of passing sentients to come inside different establishments and partake of assorted pleasures.

Mik was reminded vividly of the day the Jurverian captain had turned him over to Chentzo; of standing in the market, toying with the idea of running. He had chosen to accept slavery rather than bring suffering on other sentients. He thought of Galor screaming in the hold of the ship for days. He swallowed. I didn’t run then, and I won’t run now.

Chentzo walked towards a door with a long line of well dressed sentients waiting outside. He bypassed the line. The two Ulkaar doormen gave him respectful nod. One of the doormen fell in step with Chentzo as he walked into the club. “Good evening sir, can I get you anything?” He had to shout over the loud music. It was mostly dark inside, there were flashing lights and painted slaves gyrating in cages and on stages around the room. Sentients crowded the dance floor. They parted for the doorman who walked a half-step ahead of Chentzo.

“Tell Vittesh to come to me and bring a few of his off duty security guards and force restraints. I’ll be in my private room.”

“Yes, sir.” The doorman parted from them after they had crossed the dance floor. Chentzo entered a dark hallway lined with doors. Each door had a glowing number on it. The hall stank of fear, pain and pleasure. There were cries of pain behind some of the doors as they passed.

Chentzo walked down to the end of the hall where another Ulkaar waited by an elevator. He had the elevator door open and waiting. “Good evening, sir. Can I send anything up for you?”

“Yes, send up a bottle of xarloff.”

“Of course, sir.”

Chentzo stepped into the elevator, Mik and Isca followed. Isca pressed a blank button, the elevator doors shut, and the elevator went up.

They rode in silence for a few minutes then Chentzo turned to Isca. “You realize that I have to suspect you, right Isca?”

“I swear to you sir, I have not stolen from you.” Mik could feel Isca’s fear bubbling to the surface.

“There’s a very simple way you can prove your loyalty to me.” The emotion that was emanating from Chentzo terrified Mik.

“Yes, sir?”

“When we get up to the penthouse, you’re going to bend this little slut over and take his virginity as violently as you can manage. Do you understand?”

Fear squeezed Mik’s chest. He tried to calm his breathing.

Isca swallowed. “Sir, I…I travel with your boys and-”

“When we get up to the penthouse, you are going to take this slut’s virginity as violently as you can, or I will have you killed. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

The fear inside Isca twisted into a rage that made Mik’s legs go weak. He crumpled to his knees. Tears started in his eyes. ’You’re on your way to hell.’ The memory echoed through his mind. Mik touched his forehead to the floor of the elevator. “Master, please.”

Chentzo laughed.

The elevator doors opened.

Isca bent down, grabbed Mik by the throat and dragged him into the penthouse. The elevator opened on a large open room. In the center two large, black leather couches, each in the shape of a half circle, faced each other with a low, oblong table between them.

Isca came up behind one of the couches and roughly threw Mik’s upper half over the back of it. Mik’s hands were jerked behind his back and Isca held them there with one hand. Two of Isca’s other hands jerked at Mik’s shorts. Mik heard the button pop off the front of his shorts, it bounced off the back of the couch, and spun wildly across the black marble floor. His shorts tore and Isca wrenched them off.

“Master, please!” Mik cried.

“I want to hear the slut screaming, Isca,” Chentzo commanded in an impatient voice.

Mikhail clenched his eyes shut. Tears spilled out and dripped up into his hairline. He tried to brace himself as Isca jerked his legs apart. Gods help me! He begged. There was a brief, searing moment when he felt the agonizing pain of Isca’s body invading his own. He felt Isca’s brutal rage, Chentzo’s savage glee, but then Mikhail’s entire mind was taken over with revulsion and terror.

It was like drowning. He could think of only one thing: he had to get rid of this invasion on his body. He had to protect himself. Panic filled him.

Isca screamed. Mik could feel pain, terrible pain, and fear. He was stumbling forward, his fists connected with something warm and stone hard. A blow landed on his shoulder and he was thrown backwards, rolling across the floor till he hit something. The terrible pain he was feeling was not his own. He blinked. His vision cleared.

Mik had hit the back of the couch. Isca was howling on the floor a few feet away, one of his legs bent at an odd angle, something dark and viscous was slowly dripping out onto the floor and blue energy was sparking up and down his leg. Mik was filled with horror. He had defended himself without his master’s permission. If the courts found out, they could demand that Chentzo put him to death. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He scrambled over to Isca and put shaking hands on his leg.

“No!” Isca cried. “Please, no!” Isca’s fear sliced through Mik and instead of deterring him it mixed with Mik’s own fear. His desperation to somehow salvage the situation became overwhelming. Without conscious thought, Mik reached for Isca’s pain. He could feel the wrongness in Isca’s leg. He pushed his blood to right it. Isca let out a blood curdling scream, he tried to push Mik away. His leg moved under Mik’s hands into its’ proper shape. The electricity stopped sparking along his leg. Isca stopped screaming.

Mik could hear three or four different voices overlapping each other in a language he didn’t know, but he could somehow understand. Words he’d never heard before screaming out rage, whimpering out fear.

Isca’s fingers wrapped around Mik’s neck. Mik’s eyes flew open as Isca slammed him down on his back. Mik’s vision wavered for a moment, pain lancing through his head. Isca pulled back a fist, screaming curses at him. Mik could feel Isca’s fists pounding into him and his own six fists pounding into the slim body beneath him. He hated this pampered silver brat who was ruining his life, stealing everything he had worked so hard for. Pain exploded in his ribs. This stupid slave boy who wouldn’t keep to his damn place. His breath was driven out of his body.

Isca’s emotions were flowing through Mik. Isca’s thoughts were the overlapping voices filling his head with chaos.

Mik tried to pull his consciousness away and he could feel Isca’s leg coming apart again. Isca screamed, reaching for his leg. This was like when Galor had a piece of Mik’s blood that he carried in his pocket. My blood is inside Isca, it’s become part of him. Panic rose up inside Mik. He needed to get away from Isca’s hatred and anxiety, but he couldn’t take his leg apart again.

Mik stopped trying to pull his blood back and the pain in Isca’s leg stopped. Isca turned back to Mik, his face twisted with rage. He slammed a fist down into Mik’s face. Mik’s vision wavered and went black for a moment. He was standing in a dark space. Strands of shining sliver light stretched from his hands out into the darkness. Pain radiated down the silver strands into him.

“Cut the strands, love.” A quiet voice whispered.

A knife appeared in Mik’s hand. He slashed at the silver strands. They snapped. The silver stretching out into the darkness flew away from him and disappeared. Isca’s thoughts stopped flowing into Mik’s mind mid-sentence. Isca’s emotions slipped out of Mik’s body. Mik could feel them, but they were no longer inside him. Mik let out a breath of relief. His vision cleared and anxiety clawed back into him.

Isca was slamming him down over the back of the couch again. Isca’s fingers were wrapped around Mik’s throat, arms, and waist, digging into him hard enough to tear into his skin.

No! Mik thought frantically. No, please! He tried to scream his denial, but Isca’s fingers kept his throat squeezed shut. Tears spilled down Mik’s cheeks smearing across the couch as he struggled against Isca’s stone grip. Isca’s body tore into his again and Mik went ridged with agony. Terror filled him, blocking out all rational thought. He struggled but it made no difference. Surely Mik would die any moment, there was just too much pain.

But he didn’t die.

The pain continued on and on in an unending torrent of brutality.

A soft voice began singing. The song grew louder and louder till it vibrated through every fiber of Mik’s being. It was in a language that Mik didn’t know, but it gave his anguished mind something to latch onto. It was calming and comforting. He focused on the song and let the pain ravage his body. As his mind calmed he began to understand the words.

“Do not fear the pain, the pain will fade.

Allow the pain to flow through you, out of you.

When you can no longer stand, reach for me.

Lean on me, my love, and together we will stand.

“Do not fear the path, the pain will fade.

This is the path that will lead you, lead you home.

Come home to me my love, come home to me.

Lean on me beloved, together we will stand.

“Do not fear the future, it is good.

All joys will be ours to savor and cherish.

No divide will come between us again.

I’ll lean on you, my love. Together we will stand.”

When the song ended, it started over again.

Mik clung to the words like a drowning man. The melody seemed familiar, but Mik’s frantic mind didn’t even try to place it, he was barely hanging onto the calm the music lent him.