Poison Rose of Avalon

*Disclaimer: The following chapter contains graphic depictions of violence and brutality that may disturb some readers. Discretion is advised before proceeding.*

"Stupid, I am talking about going together to the USA," Liora exclaimed, looking at Daran with wide eyes. How that idiot always thought of inappropriate things was beyond Liora.

Daran chuckled softly but laced with scepticism. He pushed the car door open and got out, leaning down to rest a hand on the doorframe. Shaking his head, he rolled his eyes.

"You've completely lost it, Liora Valentine."

With a huff, Liora followed suit, keeping the car door open. She squared her shoulders and pointed a finger at him. "I'm serious! Why don't we ask Rachel to help with the admissions? She's got connections, right?" Liora was desperate.

Daran's incredulous laugh echoed through the quiet street as Liora craved a hilarious joke. His light brown eyes fixed on her and filled with disbelief.

"Do you even hear yourself? Do you know how much it costs to study in the USA?"

He looked at Liora's innocent face, tracing her pleading eyes, faintly creased eyebrows, and natural pink lips, which were a little apart before speaking:

"Let me remind you, in case you've forgotten. I live in an orphanage." His voice dipped with a bit of frustration. "I don't have a billionaire godfather to bankroll my dreams. I can barely cover my daily expenses, Liora. This—" he gestured broadly, "—this is impossible."

Slamming the door harder than necessary, Liora darted around the car. Before Daran could step back, she dropped to her knees on the gravel, clutching her hands like she was in the middle of a soap opera.

"Daran, please," she begged, her voice softening to a sweet, almost musical plea. "You focus on your studies and day-to-day expenses. Let this noble lady"—she placed a dramatic hand over her heart—"handle your tuition. I'll work day and night to make it happen." Her hazel eyes sparkled with sincerity, lashes batting in a way she knew he couldn't resist.

Daran stared down at her, stunned, seeing a melodramatic queen Liora had turned into. Then, with a reluctant chuckle, he ran a hand through his red wavy hair.

He said, smirking, "Get up before I start receiving congratulatory messages from my siblings at the orphanage."

She tilted her head up at him, her pout unwavering. "Not until you agree."

His lips twitched in amusement as he extended a hand, pulling her to her feet. "I'll think about it?"

A radiant smile broke across her face, her earlier exasperation vanishing. "Thank you, Daran! I knew you'd understand." She dusted off her jeans, the grin never leaving her face. "Next time we meet, we'll finalize the plan. Bye!"

It was clear Liora was determined to have him come. She did not provide him with an option. Even had Daran expressed a refusal, she would have interpreted it as acceptance.

Without waiting for a response, Liora spun on her heel and skipped back to the car's driver's side. Her contagious enthusiasm left Daran shaking his head with a bemused laugh.

"She's crazy," he muttered as he watched her drive off. But even as the taillights faded into the distance, he couldn't wipe the smile from his face. Her persistence was maddening—yet, somehow, irresistible.

After reaching home, Liora collapsed onto her bed, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. She dialled Caspian's number once more, her fingers drumming against her thigh as it rang endlessly.

"Unreachable," she groaned, tossing the phone onto the bed. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling as frustration bubbled inside her.

"You're going to regret this, Caspian," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

******

In a dense and secluded forest of South America, there stood an old, concrete square-shaped house that looked like it belonged to a bygone era of mad scientists, where experiments often ended in explosions in the name of progress. The air inside was alive with malice.

Blood smeared the tiles like the aftermath of a storm no one wanted to remember. Caspian stood at the centre of it all, unbothered by the carnage, the low hum of the chainsaw filling the space like a grotesque lullaby.

His boots were slick with crimson, his tailored shirt immaculate. Each seam was perfectly crafted—except for a lone smear near the cuff, an oversight but one he found poetic.

The glass walls separated the three prisoners, but fear was a shared currency, traded in gasping breaths and desperate, their eyes darting on each.

Ronnie's screams had dulled to whimpers, and his voice shredded from begging. Caspian had silenced him—not with the blade, but with a stare so cold it froze the words in his throat.

Caspian finally muttered, stepping closer to the glass that separated him from Kevin. His calm, almost conversational tone made Kevin flinch.

"You are not even worth the sound of my voice."

Ronnie, Kevin, and Andreas lay strapped to the cold, metallic experiment tables, their bodies restrained from any attempt to free themselves.

Caspian stood over Ronnie. His eyes lacked warmth. When Ronnie looked into Caspian's eyes, he found no hint of the boy he used to know, the one who sat next to him in class, confiding secrets and recalling the countless wild things they experienced together, creating long-lasting memories.

Caspian had a cold, crazy psychopath look who got the item for the experiment. It was the predator's eyes relishing the intricate process of tormenting his prey, savouring each moment as he prepared to consume them alive, piece by agonizing piece.

Ronnie's screams grew louder with pain, mingling with Capian's maniacal laughter. Lying half-dead, his feet were gone, his body was soaked in his blood, while the one standing and laughing was drenched in another's. That sight could make any sane person's heart tremble in fear and skin crawl in disgust.

Ronnie crumpled and bleeding on the floor of his enclosure, managed to choke out, "Caspian… we… we were friends…"

" Yes! We were...in the past." Caspian said in a nonchalant voice.

"Just forgive me this once. I didn't even touch her!" Ronnie pleaded, his voice shaking with desperation. Sweat dripped from his brow, and his body trembled with the weight of his anguish. "We were friends once, for GOD SAKE!" he shouted, his voice rough and cracking at the end.

Caspian cocked his head as though genuinely curious. "Didn't touch her…" He echoed the words, tasting them like a bitter wine. "No. You didn't. You filmed her...." Caspian twitched his lips. "Tell me, Ronnie—what's worse? The wolf who attacks, or the one who patiently waits in the shadows, savouring the thrill of the hunt while biding his time to tear the lamb apart?"

Before Ronnie had the chance to respond, Caspian's laughter intensified, his gaze icy and relentless as he stared into Ronnie's pleading eyes. His hand tightened on the chainsaw's handle, and the roar of the blade made Kevin and Andreas flinch behind their glass walls.

"What would you have done if I had not called that night?" Ronnie did not dare to answer. His gaze wavered and fell to the cold floor in resignation.

"You would have done more than just touch her." His eyes darkened, resembling a robust swirling cyclone capable of pulling in with full force who dared to look.

Kevin screamed himself from another glass room, his breath fogging the surface. "I'll do anything. … stop this. Please."

Caspian stopped in front of Kevin's glass wall, his expression unreadable. "Anything," he repeated, the word hanging between them like a noose. "Anything is too late, Kevin. You see…" He placed a hand flat on the glass, leaning forward slightly. "She begged, too. She screamed, too. And none of you listened."

The memory of that night was still fresh in Caspian's mind. He straightened, his expression morphing into something colder, something inhuman. He moved back to Ronnie, who was still curled in a pathetic heap.

"If only you had followed the rules I set in school, none of this would have occurred. Rules keep everything in balance. But you couldn't follow them."

With that, the chainsaw roared to life again, its scream louder than anything Ronnie could manage. Kevin and Andreas screamed, too, their voices merging into a symphony of terror as they watched Caspian work. Caspian looked at Kevin and Andreas, who were equally horrified and in pain from losing both their legs.

It wasn't quick. Caspian wasn't merciful.

Caspian continued with his complaints, "It took two fucking whole years to track down all three of you."

The memory of Liora lingered in his mind. After such a lengthy search for these idiots, his promise to Liora deteriorated into a falsehood, which only intensified his frustration.

On the night of Liora's camping trip, Caspian was enjoying indulging in the ocean of frosty beers and sitting near the pool with James. The evening was painted with muted laughter, the soft clink of glasses, and maids bustling around to cater to his whims. His phone lay untouched on the table, silenced to mute out the rest of the world.

But then, a flicker of a feeling—a whisper of restlessness—drew his hand toward the device. Liora's face came to mind, unbidden and vivid, her smile holding him captive even in memory. He unlocked his phone, intending to lose himself in her picture, but what he found turned his veins to ice.

He inserted Bluetooth into his ears and received a voice message from Silvia. When he finished listening to her shaky voice note, a notification from Liora's device appeared—her camera had been active for a while. His thumb paused just before he pressed the notification. Once the live feed loaded, the world he had crafted around Liora broke into sharp pieces.

A storm brewed within him, emotions colliding—rage, fear, possessiveness—all converging into a singular, blinding fury. His gaze darkened, sharp and lethal, as the images played on the screen.

When Caspian finally looked up, his eyes burned with a silent verdict. Blood followed. The servant's life became the price paid for his boiling emotions.