Page 34 of Vasmora

“Remove the glove,” she commanded, and the enormous being lumbered toward me, his hulking feet thumping the floor as he approached.

I backed up, my heart jackrabbiting in my chest, throat drying.

A thick hand swiped up my arm with ease, my frail bones like a delicate twig in his grasp. Fear gurgled in my chest at the thought of him ripping my arm from its socket, and when he took hold of the glove, I held my breath, every muscle in my body trembling.

One hard tug slid the Orgoth’s palm across the glove’s razor-edged veins, and he recoiled. “Fucking hell!” he cried out, his voice like a roar of thunder, and he cradled his bloodied hand.

The gash must’ve been deep, the way he shook as he held it up with terror creeping over his face. Black fibers crawled out of the cut like skinny snakes, and I tipped my head, studying the strangeness.

“Ahh!” The Orgoth cried, flicking his wrist. “Get it off!”

I’d never seen anything like that before. Frowning, I turned my hand over, noticing that the veins crawling over his knuckles and fingers looked like those across my hand. But instead of weaving between his fingers, they formed something of a root ball around his fist. The teardrop shape of it reminded me of a hornet’s nest I once saw dangling from a tree branch.

“Get it off! Get it off me!” He swung around and slammed his fist into the wall above my head.

I sprang away seconds before the stones crumbled to the floor beside me.

He swung out again, narrowly missing General Loyce’s skull, as she ducked out of the way of his fist.

“Leave! You bumbling fool!” she snarled.

The Orgoth stumbled out of the cell, his cries echoing down the corridor.

Again, I fought the smile biting at my cheek.

“Cut it off,” Loyce spat, her words snaking through me like poison.

Color drained from my face, a sickness swirling in my stomach.

The soldiers seemed to hesitate at first. “Do we … think that was some kind of allergic reaction?” one of them asked.

She turned to him, kettled rage blazing in her eyes. “Do as you’re commanded.”

The man lowered his head. “Of course, General.”

The other soldier reached for me, and when I swiped at him with my claws, sparks flew on contact with his armor. I backed away, both arms flailing, but he hemmed me against the wall. One swipe toward his face would’ve gifted him a scar like the general’s, if not for the helmet he wore.

“Don’t touch me!” I cried out, clawing at him like a cornered animal.

The other soldier joined him, fully armored except for his helmet, and pinned my arms to the wall.

Cold, unforgiving stones scraped over my knuckles as the first soldier stretched my arm across them, his palm pressed into my wrist. From his side, he drew a long, silver dagger with serrated teeth.

My guts sank, fear gurgling in my chest, and I squirmed in their grasp. “Please! Don’t do this.”

“Listen to her beg now.” The general’s voice dripped with callous amusement. “A lioness reduced to a mewling kitten.”

The soldier lined the teeth of the blade to my skin, where the glove no longer offered protection.

Tears formed in my eyes as I imagined those teeth tearing into flesh and bone. “I won’t fight! Please!”

Cold metal bit into my skin, and I clamped my eyes shut, a scream ripping out of me.

Seconds ticked by.

I waited for that gruesome first cut.

No pain followed.