Lament of the Lost

[SLAVE'S WAIL]

[PROLOGUE]

 

Two sets of footsteps clattering against the cold, unforgiving stone floor ushered a gut-wrenching silence upon the corner of a rather sizable cellar crammed with tight cells. The never-ending wails of my fellow freaks had fallen silent. Even the faint drip of water from the storm drains running not so deep beneath our feet, a lullaby of sorts for my sleepless nights, seemed to shrink back as if to avoid drawing undue attention to itself.

He was coming.

The reason I shivered here, the man who had sent a weird-ass bug to tear me from my world - the Alchemist of Potions, as some respectfully called him; Dungreen, as I overheard his occasional guests spitting his name on a few occasions; master to us; my master; or as I prefer to think of him, a deranged asshole - was worming his way over here. His gait, with his toes dragging on the ground, was unmistakably etched in my memory.

The same could not be said of whoever was trailing behind him. It sure wasn't a new slave slapping their bare feet against the stone. No, those steps? Booted, light, deliberate, measured and precise, as if the owner were carefully treading on fragile ground.

A visitor, no doubt, meaning only one thing: more pain for one of us.

"Not me."

"Please, not me."

The whispered, desperate plea of the disfigured young man in the cell across the aisle was like a kick to my gut. 

'Shut up, shut up, shut up!' I chanted in my mind, piercing him with my gaze. A mistake, a big mistake. His twisted body inevitably drew my eyes. Patches of dark fur here and there, bull's hooves instead of hands clutching his knees to his chest, and from between his legs dangling a forearm-sized d...

'Shit! Shit, shit, shit!' 

Blood rushed to my cheeks, my heart racing. 

'Not now!' 

Alas, the desperate groan didn't make my heart beat any softer. Instead, no matter what I did, regardless of how hard I pressed my own knees to my chest or tried to find some comfort in the embrace of Sage, my fuzzy tail, it pounded louder and louder through my veins with every step the asshole, our master and whoever it was with him, took.

"Her, let it be her."

Biting down on my lower lip, I stifled a whimper as a shiver ran down my spine to the tip of my tail at the thought of the fellow freak across the aisle getting his wish. Even worse, mine was not that different from his. Ashamed, I prayed that the asshole would choose anyone but me to test his vile concoctions.

"Pardon the... mess. The housemaid doesn't come down here anymore. I made her more...useful."

That cold, methodical voice, laced with undisguised perverse pleasure, cut through the cellar like a whip. Not a real one. In fact, I'd never seen the deranged asshole holding one. Yet his words cut just as deeply.

Every wretched freak in these dank cells cowered a little deeper, and of course I did the same. Ignoring the biting grip of the iron collar around my neck took effort, but I tucked my head lower, flattening my oversized ears against my skull.

'Please, anyone but me.'

Two sets of footsteps drew closer.

"Tsk, for the work you do, you lack foresight. Even our pig pens are cleaner. Which way?"

That was a new voice - a woman's - not a nice one, cynical, steady, and strangely unnerving.

"Right, follow me... and watch your step."

Their boots clattered against the worn flagstones, a menacing rhythm that matched the pounding of my heart, screaming doom, as if the two of them were heralds of some long-forgotten god of suffering. Except there were no gods here, not on this cursed planet. My pleas had reached no one but my ears - and my rotten luck. 

As they walked closer, their presence cast a shadow over my dwindling hope.

"Is that supposed to be her - your best work? That is not what you promised us, Dungreen."

The gnashing of our master's teeth pierced the silence of the cellar. 

"I am aware, Cognizant Mi..."

"Mind your words. I do not share my spouse's benevolence, nor his patience with you. For the last time, call me ma'am if you must. Or shall I engrave that into your mind?"

"That ... won't be necessary, ma'am."

"Tsk, that remains to be seen. Now, why am I not being shown what we were promised and paid you for?"

"There... ahem, excuse me... there have been a few hiccups. Combining the extracts from the samples with humans turned out to be..."

"Spare me the nonsense. We pay you for results, not excuses. And that..."

"If you just look at her," the asshole blurted out, barking: "YOU! Get your sorry ass over here!"

As if the nasty feeling on the back of my neck from our master's piercing gaze wasn't enough to tell me that he meant me, the runes on the bloody collar on my neck flared up and, alongside the array - a class in a sense, binding my mind, branding me a slave - got to work. Of course, I could have resisted and fought the sickening pull to obey my master's command. But why would I? Resisting the orders hurt and would only irritate the asshole needlessly when there was still a sliver of hope - the hope that I wouldn't taste pain today.

"See?" our deranged master asked as I stood by the iron bars, my head lowered.

"And what am I to see, Dungreen? Another one of your freaks? What's the difference between this one and the one over there?"

What was the difference? Did she really not see that the woman in the cell next to mine had the snout of a wolf and the foot of a bear, while the guy behind her got a wing sticking out of his shoulder? Was she blind?! No, I guess not. To her, we were all freaks - just freaks and nothing more.

And she wasn't wrong. 

We were freaks, robbed of our freedom, stripped of our humanity.

All we had left were names bearing echoes of our past - and pain, a lot of it; a pain that sank deeper than the side effects of that asshole’s concoctions. Every time I thought about who Korra Grey used to be, I couldn't find enough tears to shed.

Yet, despite the soul-crushing sorrow, I couldn't just forget. It was the only remaining connection I had to my world, the name my parents gave me.

So yeah, I stood there as Korra, Korra Grey - a daughter her own parents wouldn't even recognize now; a collared freak; a slave at the mercy of her deranged master.

"YOU!" the asshole in question spat through clenched teeth with such disgust it made my skin crawl. He was pissed. "Spread your... fucking wings and wag that damn tail of yours before I chop it off."

There was still hope, a hope that I wouldn't taste pain today, so I obeyed.

"Urg...did she shit herself?!"

The woman, an honored guest of our master, sounded like she was about to puke. Not surprising, considering her clean leather boots. Annoyingly, that was all I was allowed to see of her. My shitty array, or rather the skill, a weave as they called it here, the [Master's Lover] and the slave collar around my neck, barred me from raising my head in the presence of anyone other than my fellow freaks unless told otherwise. So it was either wistfully eyeing the woman's leather boots, one with brown lace worn down by time, the other with black lace, clearly recently replaced, or staring at my bare feet covered in the stuff that made her nose crinkle. 

Not so surprising either. The state of my feet, that is. Oh, and the stench that the movement of my wings stirred in general. When a vile concoction was twisting your flesh, keeping the contents of your bowels in was the last thing on your mind.

"An unfortunate ...side effect, ma'am. Don't worry. It should cease to be a problem once I figure out how to prevent tissue mutations. And as you can see, I'm one step closer."

"Are you sure your eyes are fine, Dungreen? That - thing doesn't look any different to me from... the rest of them."

"Yes, I am... ma'am. A pair of symmetrical wings, a tail that grows directly from the spine, and two FULLY functional beast ears. I'm sure I managed to stabilize..."

"Tss, I thought I made myself clear! Keep your nonsense to yourself and show me the results. Not...this. I - WE didn't ask to be covered in fur and have fucking horns..."

"Antlers ...it's antlers, ma'am," the asshole cut into the woman's rant about my grotesque looks, realizing too late that his pedantic insistence on being factual had come back to bite him in the ass. 

'A speck of justice, at last.'

"Well, you know, ma'am... antlers from the Mossbears, the beasts you asked me to..."

"To get their ability to control nature, not to have ANTLERS sticking out of my head after drinking one of your potions. Seriously, Dungreen, my patience - OUR patience with you - is wearing thin. Your failure to deliver results aside, though, it has come to our attention that these experiments, or whatever you want to call them, have attracted some unwanted attention. In fact, the main reason I came here today instead of my spouse."

"H-hold on...does that mean what I think it means?"

"Yes, we need to move you to a safer location."

"But... but that would mean disposing of all my subjects."

The ever-present, annoying drumming of my heart stopped. Disposing of his subjects - that meant me and the rest of the slaves locked in the cells of this nightmare. Daring to steal a glance to my right, I caught others doing the same. Man or woman, old or young, their gazes mirrored mine. In their eyes, the dread of death took a back seat to the glimmer of hope as they dared to dream this nightmare might end.