The Mad Baron - 1. Chapter 1

In a damp cellar, drops crashed onto the cold slabs, their falls resonating through the corridor and the large metal cage. Inside, chains hung from the ceiling. Thick, rusty shackles held and stretched the weak wrists. Still-bleeding scars adorned the naked upper body. A new whip crack split the air, accompanied by a muffled scream:

"Speak!"

The prisoner tightened his lips, biting them until they bled. He would rather die than betray the Resistance. Another jolt followed immediately. His back arched, mouth agape, but he made no sound, or perhaps he was no longer capable of hearing himself scream:

"If you don't speak, we'll kill her."

The face of a girl barely 16 was pressed against his blurred eyes: Victoria. Originally, she wasn't even supposed to be on this mission, but she had insisted so much... The Captain should never have accepted her into his ranks; he should have sent her back to the Base, to safety. If only he had known:

"You have three seconds to talk."

"Captain..." whispered the young hostage as she felt the gun against her skull.

He pulled on the chains, which clanged, but his body didn't budge an inch, powerless. Before him, the teenager panted, a look of terror in her eyes. At their feet, the squad members lay on the ground, motionless, dead. At what point had things gone wrong? When hadn't they noticed the enemy ambush? When they had taken too long to return to the Base? When they had been spotted while planting the bombs? Or perhaps long before, when they thought this operation would be simple and quick.

"Three."

The Captain's teeth ground together. He had promised Victoria he would protect her. He had kept promising over and over, even through the bars of this prison. She let out a sob, and he bit his tongue. A thousand lives were worth more than one. That was the first lesson taught by the Resistance. There was no other solution. The Captain had to remain silent just as Victoria had to die. It was necessary for the survival of humanity:

"Two."

"Captain, I beg you."

For the survival of humanity.

"One."

"Mercy!"

For the survival of humanity.

"Bang." The back of the skull exploded with the shot. Blood sprayed onto the Captain, whose mouth remained open, trembling. Silence swallowed everything, and his heart beat harder and harder against his temples.

The jailer hurled the carcass against the wall. A few meters away, the girl's empty eye sockets accused the survivor with resentful reproach. He swallowed. At the same time, he realized he had been holding his breath for several minutes already. He took in a crushing breath before pulling on the cuffs. He struggled in all directions, and the chains cut through the air in an act as desperate as it was futile.

Without warning, the whips, more powerful and more tearing, crashed against his back. And every bead of sweat or blood that slid over the open wounds pushed him to scream louder.

Outside, the Duchess of Draguimur plugged her ears, much more sensitive than those of a human. She sighed at the dissonant cacophony, an unbearable torture. As the blood spattered a little further, she took a few steps back. She feared staining her purple silk dress, an investment that had cost her all her savings.

Suddenly, she heard distant footsteps in the corridor. Her eyebrows furrowed at the sight of the Baron, smirking and arrogant:

"You're late," she accused.

He shrugged, without a hint of respect. He already had his full attention on the cries of pain. His lips stretched into a smile at the entertaining spectacle:

"Who is this?"

"A Resistance member responsible for the destruction of two garrisons. Because of him, the price of AB is going up again."

"What does it matter? I hate that blood type anyway, it's far too bland."

The young woman rolled her eyes; there was little the Baron appreciated aside from sadism and indecency. An even more shrill voice pierced through the entire basement:

"For Satan's sake, make him shut up! Even a slaughtered pig makes less noise."

"But Madame, he still hasn't talked."

"In that case, kill one of the monkeys that serves as his companion."

"They're all dead, Madame."

"Then do something quiet!"

The Baron's pupils gleamed in the direction of the Cage and the muscular torso, alternately branded with a red-hot iron and slashed with a knife. The smell of still-fresh blood scattered everywhere, and he was already salivating:

"What have you obtained from him so far?"

"Not much: His name is Alaric, and he's the mastermind behind this unfortunate operation. It seems he's the one who shot our late General."

The Baron whistled at this news. Inside the cage, the torturers had lowered the prisoner's chains. Crouched on the floor, they had plunged his head into a basin of water. They held it in there for long minutes before jerking it back:

"Speak!"

Alaric didn't even have the strength to retort; he coughed, taking short, painful breaths that burned his chest. In a matter of seconds, his lungs were once again deprived of air.

"If he could give us the location of their central Base, it would be very convenient. We could get rid of these parasites in one fell swoop."

The Baron bit his lip, savoring the spectacle greedily. It was impossible to know if he had listened to a single word spoken by the Duchess. Still fixed on the cage, he inquired with a hint of curiosity:

"I bet hypnosis is ineffective on him."

His interlocutor nodded slowly, dismayed. It was the first time they had laid hands on a Resistance Captain and gotten nothing out of him.

The Baron approached the prison, slowly. Then, he wrapped his long, slender, gloved fingers around an iron bar. He seemed to be paying a bit too much attention to the prisoner, and that didn't please the Duchess at all. She preferred to change the subject:

"The garrisons in the North need to be rebuilt, and the General replaced. My foolish brother thinks a promotion could save your reputation. He would like the Capital to see you as more than just a debauched clown; he thinks highly of you."

"Too bad, I don't feel like pleasing him."

"Go to hell!"

The Captain's neck cracked as the punch landed on his cheek. Two teeth flew out onto the ground, and a trickle of blood escaped his mouth—a heady smell, so heady, the Baron was going mad. With a screech, the chains forced the mortal to stand up. His arms stretched upward, spread out, while the tips of his toes struggled to maintain contact with the ground.

"What do you intend to do with him?" the Baron addressed, tilting his head.

"You know the rule."

He rolled his eyes, of course he knew it. All Resistants had to die; they represented too great a threat with their combat skills and their knowledge of vampire weaknesses. Yet, the corners of the Vampire's mouth stretched dangerously:

"Give me your prisoner, and I will grant your brother's request."

The Duchess almost choked with indignation. Not possessing any manners was one thing, but flouting the rules!

She glared at the ruffian who had just effortlessly stretched two bars of the Cage. Despite the Lady's curses, he entered the prison nonchalantly. Inside, the guards had stopped their torture, bowed in respectful reverence.

And right in front of him, Alaric had frozen.

The prisoner's muscles tensed, and his insides twisted. He was breathing poorly. The Vampire's boots echoed on the slabs with each step. His hypnotic, fiery red hair trailed over his broad shoulders. His face was just centimeters from his prey; he fixed his reddish pupils on the mortal's. With a mischievous grin, he slid his tongue over his prominent fangs. Alaric shivered:

"Don't come any closer."

"Or what? What can you do while hanging like a piece of meat?"

The monster pressed his gloved hand on the lower abdomen before moving it up the torso, sculpted by training. He bit his lip in front of the stoic figure struggling not to falter. The human pressed his tongue between his teeth. He frowned, fists clenched, and this amused the Baron even more. He gripped the dark hair with a sharp tug, pulling it backward. Alaric groaned in pain. Against the exposed, vulnerable neck, the vampire inhaled the sweet scent like a pervert inhaling the scent of a young girl:

"You're insane."

The corners of the monster's mouth stretched with delight. The Resistant had never trembled so much, body drenched in sweat, hair standing on end:

"If you only knew, you've seen nothing yet."

As soon as he said it, he captured Alaric's lips, devoured his mouth, slid his tongue inside like an elastic limb. The mortal choked, suffocated, his head still pulled backward. The Duchess, meanwhile, turned away in a disgustful sigh. He wasn't obliged to act with such impudence. Furthermore, she knew enough rumors to understand he wouldn't stop after a mere kiss. And she had no desire to witness the spectacle. All she wanted was to get rid of the Baron as quickly as possible. With arms crossed, she grumbled:

"If you insist, take him, but don't expect me to cover for you."

The Vampire broke the kiss with a sharp pull, without releasing his victim:

"Fear not, he'll be dead in less than a week."

"Like all your other Chalices... you're despicable."

He shrugged calmly before refocusing on his prey. His pupils locked onto the pulsating, swollen carotid artery. Slowly, his fangs distended further. He pierced the skin. Alaric moaned, body on fire. The Resistant's head spun so much his eyelids closed on their own. He lost consciousness. The Vampire withdrew in a sigh of frustration. That's why he hated mortals; what a contemptible weakness.