Another YouTube Fairytale: Nate's Life In The Prisons; Book 2

Chapter 8 - Temptation

Nate never became the Dagger that Dark expected of him. He'd tried tough love every once in a while, but it was clear that it only pushed him back further. He realized that he would have to be patient. He couldn't just force the darkness into his heart, he'd have to let it seep in; wait for that moment when he would crack. 

Several times, Dark had just thought of summoning him one day simply to kill him without too much fuss. He had done it to anyone else who still had the scent of the Digger's purity, and Nate was ripe with it. But it was more a sense of frustration. 

He had corrupted every heart in the dungeons, and any Digger was long dead, all except Nate. Wouldn't it be easier to kill him and be done with it? 

No, of course not. That would be too easy. Life would be meaningless without a goal, but besides that, he knew the potential for cruelty Nate's heart had the day he complained about Cristina's mother, he could smell the lurking darkness just under his skin, waiting to escape. And with Cristina's death, he expected it to burst free. He was surprised however, when it didn't. But what did happen was almost a better outcome. 

Rather than bursting out upon Cristina's death, the darkness inside him just grew deeper, more cruel. Dark had to wait now; that type of anguish and cruelty was too strong to just snuff out in one quick slash across the throat. 

But Nate, now 18, had become the least Dagger-like person in the clan. Finally getting fed up, Dark invited him on a "hunt." 

"A... what?" Nate raised an eyebrow. 

"It'll be fun. And you may learn a thing or two. We look for new prisoners, or old ones, and we choose ones to torture. Although, some of us, me included, prefer types of phycological torture. Voices in the dark, that sort of thing," Dark pulled on a jacket, the dungeons got fairly cold so deep down. "You'll have fun, I promise. In fact, one prisoner, the same age as you, I think, lost the person who speaks for him." 

"How did he die?" 

"He was caught too high up. Killed on sight." Nate backed away on that comment. "But on the bright side, now you have a prisoner to speak for." 

"Are you sure about this?" 

"Of course," he placed a hand on Nate's shoulder, "you're a Dagger after all." 

When stepping out into the dark corridors, the smell instantly overwhelmed Nate as the Daggers scattered about to track down their own prisoners, some with weapons already drawn. Dark nodded and guided Nate a little higher up, bringing him to one of the cells, where they stood outside the wooden door. Dark whispered to him, a few pointers. Then he asked what Nate had wanted to hear the least:

"Do you want to use my dagger, or do you have one of your own?" 

Nate paused, his breath cold and heavy in the damp dungeons. "I won't need any weapons," he said. "I'd rather speak." 

Dark's eyes narrowed, and he stepped back. "Of course. Words can do more damage than any blade," he gave him a pat on the back. "Go ahead." Dark slunk away into the shadows before Nate could ask anything else. 

He didn't bother knocking. As soon as he started to pick the lock as he was taught, chains started rattling as Nate heard someone scampering across the floor. Nate opened the door, and the light of the candle on the ground seemed blinding after wandering in the dark for so long. 

The cell was only a small, stone room, a pile of thatch in one corner, and the prisoner in the other. His foot was chained to the wall, curled up against the side. Nate did what he could to remember what he had been taught. He was a Dagger, and he would always be from now on. He had to at least try to be a Dagger. But he also took heart to what Dark said. "Words can do more damage than any blade." He would do that.