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Dream Devouring. Adeptal art practiced by some kinds of illuminated beasts, the art that lets the practitioner ‘call’ for one’s dream and summon it in a form of semisolid, semi gaseous, fragile substance. It didn’t hurt the dreamer if Adeptus performed it correctly, and to consume such a dream was like a journey inside of it, experiencing what did it carry, absorb the energy of light and free human imagination.
Of course, not every dream was sweet, and even the sweetest bliss can become a torture when overdosed.
Now, he once again was kneeling on the floor before the massacre he was forced to perform. He barely saw anything, and he would vomit, if he could. The bliss, the relief of burning pain in every point the invisible chains pierced through his skin and bones, was intoxicating. With another and another dream he called his head ached more, his fingers trembled, his throat squeezed, making him suffocate. Everything mixed; the sweet taste with the screams and begs for mercy; every memory from a dream went through his mind. The pictures of what he took from them crossed with the sight of the Cave Palace and the empty vessels of humans he just killed with his own claws and teeth.
The world around swirled before his eyes when she grabbed his chin and raised his face. He swallowed heavily, and his eyes shut open when the knots squeezed him harder, raising him to his feet. If he was a human, he’d suffocate.
But he was not one. He was Adeptus, and he was full of the dreams. No matter how much his lungs ached for a breath, he wouldn’t die that day.
“Why did you stop?” She asked, and examined his face. "There's one more left."
His Master, the one who once fooled him to become her slave, her hunting dog, a beast causing terror among humans, and a source of entertainment for the Archon herself.
Because what she loved the most about her “little bird” was how he never got used to hurting the innocent. How delighted she was before, seeing the tears uncontrollably mixing with the blood on his face and hands.
And later, when he learned to hide all the reflexes of gentleness just not to see her pleased, cruel smile. She never got bored with him. Numb facing the terror he caused himself, but unable to hide the ache of his soul, unable to lie once she asked him to speak; always resisting, even if for a single moment before his bound, tormented and hungry soul led him on his knees with his neck bowed. She never got bored with her precious tool.
“Speak,” she asked again, adding more demand to her voice.
“I… can’t”
Alatus’ wild senses betrayed him, and as if to confirm what he said, his throat left a single, quiet whine.
The Archon didn’t hide her surprise that turned into amusement. It had been a long time since she heard something other than growls worthy of a true beast.
"You try to be hesitant... To look hesitant, but you devoured them so beastly..."
Her breath felt sticking to his cheek. Her lips pressed the corner of his in an atrocious parody of a kiss. The tip of her reptile tongue grazed his skin, moving towards the point where it could slide into his mouth.
The enslaved beast shuddered in disgust so much his head would tilt, if not for the spell that kept him unable to move even an inch.
He was sure it was going to happen, all trembling so much sweat dripped down his temple, in a pointless effort to turn away, to wince in disgust. He didn't care if she would punish him. But she didn’t care even more.
Nothing, no kind of torture at that moment felt worse than the viscous touch of her lips right after he had to taint his own with the blood and dream of a human.
Fortunately, if one can speak of fortune in such a condition, she retracted. She circled her tongue and licked the blood left on her lips after the kiss. Her eyes widened with a cruel smile when she felt his anger and despair. She gestured, and the invisible chains fell along with the beast who landed on the floor like a limp doll, spasms taking control over him when her spell was reversed.
"How delectable was this feast of yours... Don't you agree?"
Alatus was silent. They both knew the relief he felt among the pain of guilt and compassion. The dreams tasted like dreams even in this hell, after all. She turned away from him, and sat on her throne.
“One more dream, my child”