TW!

He hadn't been there long but with every passing hour, the pain in his body increased as the old bruises reminded themselves whenever he moved.

How he wished he would have a semblance of control over his magic, so he could just get rid of the restraints. But even if he tried to focus on power that supposedly ran in his veins, he got distracted by everything. Starting from the echoes of dripping water in the far distance, the sound of dying flames on torches, scattering of tiny feet as rats gathered at the smell of death. And most of all, the overwhelming scent of drying blood and decay that was coming from the other side of the cell.

So, no matter how hard Mirk tried, he couldn't focus.

He was convinced he had been in there a day or even two after having woken up the second time in a fright when he heard a wailing prisoner being taken away.

None of them were ever returned, if only with a missing appendage. The most gruesome sight had been a middle aged nymph hybrid whose eyes had been gouged out.

Mirk was glad he hadn't had anything to eat or drink, as he would have definitely pissed himself at the way the nymph had thrown herself against the iron bars of his cell and wailed in distress once she realized that this was not the way out. The guards had then roughly grabbed her again to toss her deeper into the dungeons.

But the sight of her nearly translucent pale face and red, messy hair that got stuck on her sweat covered face, the empty, bleeding eye sockets that shouldn't have frightened Mirk as much as they did.

He opted to clamp his hands over his ears to try and drown out the smallest of noises.

Until a gentle current of fresh air tickled his senses. It was just a flash of light, for a moment, Mirk had thought he had imagined it. As he removed his hands from his ears, he heard it. The shuffle of feathers as a sleek, black bird came back to his cell.

It landed on the ground, hopped closer to the cell and squeezed through the bars. For a moment Mirk wondered it the bird was here to peck on Ruarc's corpse. The bird didn't even give it a second glance as it flapped its wings and flew closer to Mirk.

Only then did he realize that this was the bird who he had seen perching in Razaël's study.

"Oh, hi you." Mirk's posture relaxed, a spark of hope ignited in him. And then, the bird croaked, stared at him with one of those onyx eyes of his and shifted.

Mirk's jaw nearly hit the floor as the bird turned into a man, despite the humanoid features, there was a wildness in his black eyes as he stared down at Mirk. Even when the bird was crouching, shoulders hunched and arms attempting to hide his naked privates, there was something wild in his expression. He looked to be in his late thirties or early fourties, but being a shifter meant he could have been 28 or 128, age was a tricky thing for creatures of magic.

"Are you hurt?" His voice was raspy, as if he wasn't used to talking.

Mirk completely ignored the question, pain was irrelevant if it meant he would be free. "Help me get out and I'll get you whatever you want." He said, desperate after having seen the state of the nymph.

The bird nodded, as if that was an answer enough for him. "I need nothing, my Master provides me with everything I require."

"Fuck your master, Bird. I'll-" but his words were cut short as the sound of nearing footsteps echoed down the tunnels. He had learned to recognise the heavy steps and clinking of iron armor. Within a flash of darkness, the man had shifted into a bird again.

Mirk tried to crawl after him, he was his only way out. "Wait! Come back! Don-don't leave!" He whispered, his throat too dry to yell. But the bird was already gone, blended into the darkness that every nook and cranny held.

And to make matters worse, the guards stopped right in front of him. He tried to inch back, but the creaky door opened and he was pulled up by his arms. One of the guards scoffed at the sight of the dead wolf,

"I hate when the newbies think we are going to clean up after them." One of them mumbled, holding the door open as his comrades dragged Mirk out.

"Hey guys? What d- omph!" Mirk grunted as a fist connected with his cheek as soon as he opened his mouth.

"Silence, rat." The human man dragging him hissed, and Mirk had no problem obeying as he was sure he had blacked out for a second.

"You don't have to be so violent with them all the time," the same man who had grumbled about a dead body muttered.

"You show them an ounce of kindness and they'll stab you in the back, never trust those freaks."

Mirk had to agree with the bitter man, he would most definitely shove a blade right through the back of the man's skull if it meant his own survival. "I would never- fuck!" He wheezed again when the old man struck his already bruised ribs.

"Shut up."

Mirk didn't have the strength to answer, he was slightly disoriented as he was dragged up the stone stairs and into a rather spacious room. He was tossed into a chair, chains rattled as they were tightened around his hands, neck and feet.

The overwhelming smell of piss and blood was making him nauseous, he stared at the wall before him, tilting his head as the blurriness faded and a weird sort of rug was hanging on the opposite wall. It was made of slightly lumpy tots in beige, white and black colouring. It was an odd piece of decoration in a room that otherwise smelt of a butchers backyard.

There were a couple of shelves to his right, and he thought it a weird place to hold one's compots for winter. Until he realised the floating objects in the jars were eyeballs.

Any ounce of blurriness disappeared, he tried to rise only for the chains to keep his body down tight. Someone was moving behind him, but he couldn't see who. The small hairs on the back of his neck arose, his heart threatening to jump out of his throat. 

"Can we talk it out? Over some whisky?" He asked, his tongue a bit soft so the words came out slightly slurred.

"Heard it all before, wanna tell me what you are?" There was a sound of a knife being sharpened that made a cold jolt run down his back.

He realised exactly what sort of place this was, no one was being interrogated or judged by the eyes and brains of law. They were being butchered and most likely sold to black market. Mirk was in deep shit, execution was one thing, butchery was something he wouldn't be able to handle. He needed his eyes, his fingers, in fact, he needed pretty much everything!

"Uh, I'll tell you if you let me go? We should discuss this whole setup anyway. Have you heard of germs?"

They were clearly poaching, looking for sharp fangs, scales, reptilian eyes or sparkly siren hair. Anything that would seem valuable.
The man behind Mirk snorted, "heard that, Terric? The little shit wants a discussion."

A sound of someone scraping a plate announced another presence in the room. The man on his lunch simply grunted and remained focused on that.

"Well of course, we're all from civilised society. Why not sit down and talk it out?" He gulped, his voice came out an octave or two higher. 

"We don't do discussions with animals," the man behind him said and continued sharpening his knife.

"But isn't that here, us talking, a discussion?" The moment he had uttered those words he knew he had basically stabbed himself in the foot, with a heavy, ginormous war axe. Covered in germs most likely. 

"You got me there, little rat. So, let's discuss then, shall we? Terric needs another moment to finish his lunch, but we can go ahead and start."

The sharpening of the knife had stopped, and only then did the mysterious man step in front of him.

The human male looked to be in his forties, bald with a jagged scar running down his temple to the corner of his mouth. He had rolled up his sleeves, the crimson triplets on his collar didn't go unnoticed. He placed both of his hands on the armrests Mirk's hands were tied to and leaned in.

"Wanna tell me what you are, rat?"

"To be honest not really, no."

"You know we could just get it out of the way without the usual begging and crying and screaming." He leaned back and crossed his arms as if scolding a small child.

Mirk was slightly freaked out, this man was crazier than Ruarc had been. And Ruarc had been crazy. 

"Uh, I think no one would really tell you that since, well, you sort of... butcher everyone." Mirk's gaze landed on a row of ears that hung above the odd rug. His insides churned at the sight. One would think he'd been taken into the cell's to be judged by a, well, judge. But no, he was brought to the man whose job is to butcher his kind. Just his luck.

The human man sighed and rolled his eyes, "begging and crying and screaming it is."

He then opted to grab one of the small knives, he twirled it between his fingers and placed the tip on Mirk's forearm.

He knew he couldn't get away, but the hybrid tried to yank his hand away as the sharp tip of the knife slowly sunk through his skin. He whined under his breath at the torturously slow way the man dragged the knife up his arm, cutting the shirt and the pale skin underneath.

Mirk watched, horrified as the blood trenched his clothes. It felt like an out of body experience, it wasn't his arm, couldn't have been. It sliced so easily.

The knife stopped, the butcher smiled and forced it deeper into his arm. Making Mirk cry out.

"Stop!"

"Starting with begging, are we?"

Suddenly the man had a second knife that he slammed into Mirk's other arm. The pain and surprise finally made Mirk's magic act up, and the ugly, bumpy rug in front of him blew up with a loud bang. Tiny objects scattered around like pebbles and the man who had been towering over him was now crouching on the ground, looking around for danger as his eyes landed on Mirk.

He then realized two things. The scraping of a plate had stopped, and the rug had been made up of claws and nails. Some of them had landed on Mirk's lap and he was sure he had vomited a little at the sight.

"It has taken me months to make, you fucking rat." The man before him hissed, standing up to his full height again.

"You sh-should really take u-up a new hobby. Heard gardening is good for-for your mental health." At this point Mirk did not have any control of his words, he just stuttered out whatever his brain could come up with.

"Terric? I think I'm getting a little angry."

Special thank you to my motivators: @Socksarenotrequired , @Confetti438, @devilsdaughter8rose