Bane: Netherside, #2

By Emery Cole

I still don't consider myself a monster but I'm imprisoned by a group that insists I am the worst of monsters. I'm tormented. I'm tortured. Harassed. Harangued.

 

And now I find myself dealing with the boy named after an angel. On. A. Regular. Basis. Oh, and lest I forget, I'm also dealing with a sadistic hunter who insists on leaving me bruised and battered.

 

I want to be back at Netherside more than anything in the world. That doesn't look likely. Not under these circumstances. I supposed I'll be lucky if I survive this ordeal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: EmCo
• Release date: Nov 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223428954

Book preview

1

"W hoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster." — Friedrich Nietzsche

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I was alone.

That was the first thing I knew for certain when I woke up. I couldn’t be sure how long I’d been unconscious, but I guessed that it had been quite a while. Long enough for my captors to secure me inside my new prison.

After all, that’s what this was. The last thing I remembered was being struck in the head with the hilt of a hunter’s dagger on the scorched front lawn of a deadly fortress. The terrible pounding inside my skull confirmed that it had happened. There was no doubt in my mind that if the hunters had decided not to kill me, then I was deemed their prisoner, just like Milou.

Lose a succubus, but gain a gorgon.

Those were the words of victory that were spoken over me before the final blow that knocked me out.

Now that I was awake, my instincts had kicked in. I tried my best to gain my bearings.

The most obvious aspect of my unfortunate situation was that I was blindfolded. A thick, scratchy ribbon of fabric had been tied around my eyes with what felt like several tight knots at the back of my head. I assumed that covering my eyes had been the first thing the hunters did. They were the deadliest thing about me. One glance from them and you would instantly be turned to stone.

The blindfold was large and skintight; as I tried to wriggle it off my head by nudging my face against my shoulder, it didn’t budge in the slightest.

That movement brought about a strange clinking sound: metal against stone. There were cold, iron manacles around my wrists, digging into the joints as they held my hands above my head. I didn’t bother trying to wrestle out of those restraints.

I was seated on a stone floor, gritty with earth and bits of gravel, and had slumped against a matching stone wall behind me. The coldness of it seeped through my clothing with ease.

There was a sharp, heavy ache in my side, coupled with a stiffness in the fabric of my shirt that suggested it was soaked in dried blood. I had been stabbed there, struck with a knife that had been thrown with violent precision. People like me—mythies, as I had learned to call us—healed faster than humans, but the knife had penetrated deeply.

With some mild shifting and painful grunting, I was able to figure out that the wound had shallowed slightly. I could breathe fine, so at least my left lung was no longer punctured. Still, I knew that if I aggravated the injury too much, it would start bleeding fresh again, so I fell still.

Other than the headache and the cut, I was pretty sure that my body was still in one piece. I could wiggle all my fingers and toes. Nothing ached as if broken. Although I couldn’t see to check for myself, I figured the rest of my injuries were minor scrapes and bruises that would finish healing in the next hour or so.

I exhaled in relief. The hunters could’ve done anything to me while I was unconscious. They could’ve broken every bone in my body. They could’ve wrenched my eyes from their sockets. They could’ve buried me alive and given me the worst possible death I could imagine: suffocation. Instead, they dragged me into a dark chamber and left me to rot for a while.

It wasn’t mercy, though. If they had chosen not to hurt me while I was comatose, it likely meant that they preferred to inflict their tortures when I was conscious and fully aware of the pain. It took me nineteen years to be confronted by a hunter, but I quickly learned that they were ruthless and cruel individuals. They were not to be trusted. Showing them an ounce of humanity earned you nothing in terms of leniency.

That was why I was here in the first place. I had been seconds away from killing a hunter and escaping, but I’d hesitated. That hesitation spelled my doom, and it was hesitation that he never would’ve granted me in turn.

Gabe.

Comically, we finally introduced ourselves during our scuffle. The golden-eyed beast that I’d been referring to vaguely as the hunter boy for weeks, who tried and failed to kill me in London on the night my life changed forever, had a name.

Gabe, as in Gabriel.

When I was ten years old, I was placed with a foster family of devout Catholics. Although I’d never had much faith in anything, not even as a child, it had been one of the more tolerable homes I inhabited during my youth. Part of me enjoyed going to mass because it meant that all I had to do was sit and be silent in a grand church with enormous arched windows crafted from stained glass. It was peaceful.

Sometimes, I actually paid attention to the words the priest spoke to his congregation. That was how I knew about Gabriel, one of the seven archangels. He was the one who announced that the Virgin Mary would fall pregnant with baby Jesus, so he was considered decently important. He was a messenger of God, which meant that he was also the bearer of bad news. Because of that, many people feared him and even equated his presence with that of the devil himself.

From my point of view, he sounded like a blindly obedient bootlicker.

In that sense, it was a perfect namesake for my nemesis. The only reason Gabe wanted to kill me was that he’d been brainwashed into believing that I was evil and that my sole purpose in life was to sow chaos and horror. He didn’t bother asking me if that was true; he had his hands around my throat before I understood what was happening.

Sure, when he first attacked me in London, I’d quite literally just murdered someone, but that guy was a creep who preyed on young, innocent women, and he totally deserved it.

But, did hunters like Gabe care about the truth? Of course not. They just wanted power and prestige. The hunter occupied this world as strong, wealthy, influential men while the vulnerable women who were born as mythies against their will were forced to hide in the shadows.

I huffed with frustration, my skin flaming with anger at the thought of their ignorance. However, rage wouldn’t suit me in my current circumstances. It would only drain what little energy I had. Thus, in an effort to distract myself from thoughts of Gabe, I carried on with the assessment of my surroundings.

The loud exhale I emitted didn’t provide much of an echo, nor did the clanking chains. I cleared my throat to confirm that I was definitely in a small, confined space like the cell that we managed to rescue Milou the succubus from. For all I knew, they tossed me into the same one she recently vacated.

That meant the ceiling was just barely tall enough for someone of average height to stand in, and there was only enough room for me to stretch my long legs out in front of me without hitting the heavy iron door that was locked firmly in place.

Although, I hadn’t died from asphyxiation yet, which meant there had to be a source of somewhat fresh oxygen somewhere in the cell. Perhaps there was a vent in the wall or a drain on the floor. Overall, it smelled damp and stale. The scent of my own blood also permeated the space, creating an aroma of sickening desperation that twisted my stomach.

Just as I was about to weigh the pros and cons of calling out for someone, there was a loud thunk across the room that echoed deep within what I imagined was the doorway. A metallic rattling followed, harmonizing with the eerie groan of steel hinges.

Somebody was opening the door.

For a split second, I prayed that it was the other girls from Netherside coming back to rescue me. I dashed that hope away as soon as it surfaced, though. It was impossible. This fortress had already been broken into once. There was no way the hunters would let it happen again.

I wondered if it was Gabe. He was the only hunter I knew by name. Since I didn’t have the privilege of my own eyesight, he was the one I imagined appearing in the doorway when a shaft of fluorescent light shot through the gloom and shone red against my blindfold.

Oh, good. You’re awake.

The voice that snapped and crackled across the silence didn’t belong to Gabe. We’d exchanged just enough pleasantries in our previous altercations for me to know that his voice was not this gruff or malicious.

Despite that, I recognized the speaker. As he stepped toward me, the soles of heavy boots scuffing on the rough floor, he pulled the door shut behind him. We were plunged into darkness again, but I was able to piece together the figure who disturbed my loneliness based on my memories.

Without a doubt, it was the hunter who struck me with the dagger. The older hunter who saved Gabe’s life moments before I was planning to turn him to stone beneath me. The vicious hunter whom I could blame for the blood on my torn clothes and the throbbing of my head.

Who are you? I asked him.

My voice was hoarse and weak, my throat too dry to properly lubricate the words.

Well, don’t you sound pathetic? He chuckled darkly. His voice moved closer and then lower, the rustling of fabric suggesting that he had crouched down close to me. I flinched back against the wall at the mental image. What’s your name, little monster?

Bite me.

More rough, sarcastic laughter.

"So impolite, he chastised me. That’s alright, love. I don’t need your name. It’s not important. My name, however, is Ace. I’ll be taking care of you during your stay."

I wrinkled my nose at his words. He dehumanized and mocked me with just a few short sentences. The hunter was worthy of a name, but I was not. Furthermore, his sardonic explanation, as if this were a luxurious hotel and he was my devoted hospitality agent, made me feel unbearably nauseous. Obviously, Ace had no intentions of genuinely taking care of me.

What do you want with me? I asked.

Why didn’t you kill me? had been the other question on the tip of my tongue, but I was worried that bringing up the possibility of my death would only serve as a violent reminder for the hunter.

Not that I was particularly enjoying being alive at the moment, but still.

Good question, Ace replied, a sneer in his tone. You’ve been unconscious for almost two days. In that time, we have buried the bodies of the seventy-three hunters that you and your little friends managed to kill. I’m sure that’s nothing compared to your personal body count, but it’s quite a loss in our books. You also managed to rescue one of your fellow monsters, though I suppose you’ve paid for that win with the loss of your freedom. Either way, congratulations, beast.

My head spun with the deluge of information. I was unconscious for two days. That explained the substantial healing progress of my stab wound.

Two days was a long time. I hoped that Astra and the others were safely back at Netherside by now, and I prayed that the headmistress wasn’t too furious when she found out what we had done.

All at once, it struck me that I wasn’t alone here. Milou was gone, but Aya, the siren, was still a prisoner. She had been taken by the hunters from the river right outside of the invisible grounds of Netherside weeks after Milou’s kidnapping. It was their losses that triggered us into action against the wishes of the elder mythies.

Aya was still here somewhere. She had to be. Transporting a siren inland was no easy task. Their long, scaled tails couldn’t transform into legs. There had to be a natural body of water nearby in order for them to survive.

Did she know that we tried to save her? She obviously wouldn’t be held in a cell like mine, but surely she noticed that something had happened the night we did our best to stage a jailbreak. Was Ace taking care of her, too? If so, did she know I was here?

Was it possible that there were others, too?

Instead of asking any of those questions, I went back to the original inquiry I tried to stop myself from posing in the first place.

You could’ve easily killed me at any point in the past two days, I said, angling my head in the general direction of where I was pretty sure he stood. Why didn’t you?

Ace snorted as if I’d cracked a joke.

We stopped killing beasts a while ago, he answered vaguely. Now we only do it when there’s no other option.

My stomach dropped. It sounded like the hunters were no longer hunting to kill but to kidnap. If that was the case, Gabe clearly didn’t get the memo. He was definitely trying to kill me in London.

Or maybe he wasn’t.

Maybe he had only been choking me enough to make me pass out, after which he planned to bring my body back to this very fortress? If that had happened, I never would’ve met Astra or known that a place like Netherside existed, meaning that I would’ve had a lot less to live for.

But, now? I wasn’t going down without a fight, and it was all Gabe’s fault. His failure to kill me when he had the chance gave me the opportunity to become so much stronger and more purposeful than I ever thought possible.

Did Ace know that his colleague was such a fool?

So, if you’re not going to kill me, what do you plan to do with me? Keep me as a pet? I questioned, fighting past the burning dryness in my throat to get the words out.

Ace chuckled again. My skin crawled. I hate the humorless sound of his wicked amusement. It made me feel like helpless prey even though I was the true predator in the room.

You’ll find out soon enough, he said, his voice looming so close that I could feel his hot, tobacco-scented breath against my face. The thing is, I wasn’t quite ready for you to be awake yet, so I came down here to rectify that.

Before I could make sense of that odd statement, I felt a large hand tighten around my throat. Instantly, I coiled my body tight in an attempt to kick him away