A Queen Named Victory

Chapter Thirty-Three

(Trigger Warning: This chapter has elements of extreme violence, foul language, gore, and sexual harassment/abuse. Discretion is advised)

"What are you doing on my land?!" A young boy's voice startled me as I held the snow owl's limp body in my hand.

"Do you what I am?" I turned slowly, lowering my hood to show him my illusion.

"I know of ya' damned icy weirdos."

"Frost fairy," I corrected as I took the scythe from him. He dropped his tough act when I snapped it in half easily. "Do you want to learn something cool, kid?" He lunged to attack with puppy-like growls. He stopped with furrowed brows.

"We're going to take everything from you. In the name of the great King Ivar: the heartless."

I lifted my hands to the sky and announced, "Tolkniat is his!" I dodged the boy's spit wad, muttering, "You think you're a tough guy?"

I swished my hands in exaggerated circles. Blue lights swirled, mimicking the frost fairy magic (without its freezing effect). We watched it comb through the Spelt field. "Stop it!" the boy's muffled cries echoed as the shimmering light left a trail of wilting grass in its place.

"You're a monster."

"This is what we do," I said coldly.

"My comrades and I are going to ruin Tolkniat. Run along, kid. Go tell your Ma, Pa, and everyone you know." I released the teary-eyed child. He sobbed like Ulf had when he lost us in the forest.

It was a means to an end. But the regret hit twice as hard.

Echoes of the once-thriving kingdom looked like a graveyard. Tolkniat lost itself long before the arrival of the frost fey. Suffering fields, excluding the Rye, decorated the flatlands. Scattered villages, both human and Dimikyr alike, homed the living dead. Deinoth's people were walking skeletons, waiting for their last breath to end their suffering. No wonder they let Ivar's troops in without a fight.

"You there! Human girl!" A human woman beckoned with outreaching hands. She pulled me into a columned entrance. "You look healthy enough. We could use all the hands we can get. I'll give you a hefty serving of wheat, aye," she rambled with a tight grip on my arms. "Elvia had to go and die on us! Can you believe that? We have important guests, and the crazy girl goes and offs herself before her grand debut. Shameful!" She ushered me deeper into the stone halls. The smell of sea salt and heavy smoking herbs made me nauseous.

"I'll get that for ya," the woman unknotted my braids, letting my curls run free. She looked me up and down, then nodded. She mumbled something about feeling pretty when they run their hands through your long hair. We hurried through a large bathing pool. Forty or so naked women, and a handful of men, lounged in the steamy waters. Couples engaged in group intimacy. They grunted and growled like beasts while some partners waited, bored by the experience. Cold shudders rose the hair on my arms.

"What is it that you want me to do again?"

I faltered when she pushed me next to another human woman a few years older than me with two baskets of soap bars and dried berries. She dropped one into my hands before entering the room.

"Be quick, ladies. They need to have the time of their night!" the woman piped from behind us.

Her arms pressed against my back until I took my last step into the room, then locked the heavy padlock. Wafts of sweat and burning herbs scented the steamy clouds, exposing two men. The first, an old fat Dimikyr, lounged on the bench. His linen cover hardly covered his wrinkled hairy sack. A frost fairy rested in the steamy pool with a gauntlet of wine in his hand.

"Hello? Fat one? Bring me the soap," he called to me.

"What?"

"Your people own the most stupid slaves," he remarked to his company.

The old Dimikyr waved him off, "It's better when they have a bit a' fight in them." He laid his head on the woman's lap as she fed him dried raspberries. The frost fairy huffed with his hand pointed at the water, repeating slowly this time, "Put the soap in the water. This stupid whore does not listen." My hands clenched against the basket. The old fat man eyed the woman hungrily.

"Give me the damn soap!" The fairy splashed me with the bathwater.

He wanted the soap, so I gave it to him. I launched the slippery bars at his face. Three landed on his cheek, and the rest hit his forehead. He growled at the laughing Dimikyr, who groped the woman. She used my distraction to push his hand away.

"I am no man's whore, esp—"

"I'll kill this bitch," the fairy snarled. He rose from the water with a full-blown erection. Disgusting. He grew angrier at my reaction, which made the Dimikyr laugh harder. "You better let me have her before you do that," he chuckled, wiping tears from the corner of his eye.

"Enough," I shouted. "Can't you see your ugly face disgusts her?" His offended anger replaced his jesting mood.

"Come here!"

The fairy grabbed me by my hair, pulling me back. I used his force against him by headbutting him, then elbowing him in his unprotected ribcage. I turned around with the basket, hitting him in the head. Again, and again. I did not stop until I saw the flushed pattern imprinted on his face.

I followed with forceful punches. My magic seeped from my fingers, taking on characteristics of my beastly form. Sharpened nails penetrated his sparkling skin and, finally, drew white blood.

Deeper.

I ripped into muscle.

Deeper.

I growled with satisfaction when I snapped tendons and cracked bones. The Dimikyr tossed me to the other end of the room, beside the screaming woman.

"Shut up," he rasped, slapping her.

He used the front of his palm on the first hit, then backhanded her on the second. The pig tried using his weight against me but failed. I lifted him into the air with my legs, tossing him into the warm waters.

"Your existence is an abomination," I said before unhooking my dagger from my boot. My blade pierced his shoulders, spreading muddy blood into the clear waters. More. His pained raspy screams matched the woman's cries. They violently trembled at the sight of his slashed body. The Montverian letters for EVIL seeped blood from his chest onto his belly. It was not enough.

He needed a proper punishment.

I dragged him out of the water onto the stone floor. How many of his victims did I pass by on the way here? How many of them? "You sick fuck," I said between slamming his head against the stone. Once. Twice. Three times. His face swelled into a puss-filled bubble and his blackened eyes pressed shut.

Not enough pain.

"You will face retribution," I vowed.

My nails slid through his eyelids in one slick cut, then I scooped out his eyeballs. He wreathed and screamed while I held his eyes in my palms until I popped them like grapes. Slimy juices trickled down my wrists to the ends of my elbow, dripping onto his body.

It was not enough.

How many people still suffer?

He did not deserve the mercy of my blade. No, that was too easy. He had to feel the discomfort he brought on others. I cracked my fingers until my nails turned into thick claws ripe for ripping through flesh and bone.

Pain.

He deserved pain.

"Suck on this," I spat as I shoved his mutilated penis down his throat, blocking what little room he had left to breathe. His thrashing stopped after moments of well-deserved torment.