THE electric buzz of his cell door open had been his alarm for the past... how many days... three... five, maybe a week?
He had no way of counting the days, and the person who had just walked in was of no help.
For the past week, Isaac had been an inmate at Carcer Tullianum in Rome.
Also known as the Mamertine Prison, It was for the worst thaumaturges and Blessed Ones. In layman's terms, it was Alcatraz for witches and exorcists.
It was constructed around 640-616 BC by Ancus Marcius, though it was originally created as a cistern for a spring on the floor of the second lower level.
"... though it is not known when the prison went out of service permanently, but this site has been in use for Christian worship since the medieval times, and is currently occupied by two superimposed churches... "
Isaac didn't feel like listening to his torturer anymore.
He had gotten the gist. The only interesting information he had gotten was that the apostles Peter and Paul had once been imprisoned here.
"Hypocrites."
The woman looked up. "Excuse me?"
She looked like she was in her late 30s. He would have called her single since her daily sessions were what woke Isaac up, but she would often twist her wedding ring when she was stressed.
"Nothing," he replied.
She pulled back a strand of black hair that often found a way to escape her tight bun. Her pitch black eyes pierced him, and then she sighed. "Let's start again."
She shifted in her chair, and Isaac knew that the torture would soon begin. She pulled out a recording tape from her pocket and started recording.
"What's your name?"
"Isaac."
Her eyes shifted, and Isaac could feel her activate her charism.
The headache began.
"Full name," she demanded.
"Isaac... Ezra Wade," he replied with difficulty. It was as if his head were about to explode.
She reduced the effect of her charism and smiled at him. "I could easily peer into your mind and find the information I need, but you wouldn't want to be reduced to a vegetable, would you?"
Bloody Solomon Charism, he thought.
But it was an empty threat.
She couldn't do it because there was nothing useful that she could find in his memories. The most she could do was give him a hell of a headache.
Also, he was 'an important asset' to the exorcists. He would be of no use as a vegetable.
"How old are you?"
"Sixteen."
"Birthdate?"
"Twenty second of May."
"Gemini, huh. Your parents' names?"
"Jacob and Leah Wade."
"Any other relations?"
"None."
There was a pause. "Any other relations?"
He stood up from his bed. "Why are you -"
The sharp pulsing in his head shut him up. He clutched his head, hoping he could fight it.
"Fuc-"
The pain increased, and he fell flat on the ground. She liked, no, she relished watching him writhe in pain.
"Any. Relations?" she asked, stressing the words. the pain wasn't going to stop until he answered honestly.
He didn't want to admit it. Those people weren't his family. They couldn't even come to his parents' burial.
"Yes."
The pain subsided.
He was tired. There was no point in hiding anything. This woman demanded answers to her questions, so he had to give her.
"Are you on speaking terms?"
"No."
"Are you a witch?"
"Unfortunately."
"Are you an exorcist?"
"No."
"How did you get your charism?"
"I don't know."
"What about your coven?"
"Dunno."
He could see that she was going to fry his brain.
"Hold up!" he said, holding out his hands up in surrender. "I really don't know."
She sighed. "Of course you don't."
Isaac rose a brow up in confusion.
"If you did, they would have challenged us," she explained. "You thaumaturges are known to be clingy. You're an outcast even among your own people. I wonder if there's any place you can call home."
Thaumaturge. Sorcerer. Warlock. Mage. Where did the names end?
She looked at her watch.
"We'll continue tomorrow. Same time," she said and stood up. She stopped recording and took one final look at him. "Based on your performance today..."
She opened the door and walked out.
Before the door closed, he heard her talk to the guards.
"Starve him."
He collapsed back on the bed.
Day two without food had just begun.
The woman was a bitch. She was worse than a demon.
"Good luck," he muttered to his neighbor inmate.
Isaac's suffering was nothing compared to the person in the other cell beside him.
Ever since Isaac had gotten here, all he had heard from the other side were screams. He was her next victim. It took no longer than two minutes after she entered his room.
Once he had even rampaged, the next day she came back with a bandage on her cheek.
Through the daily hour of screams, Isaac had always tried to sleep. Even when the screams stopped, they haunted him in his sleep.
He couldn't take it again. He clutched his pillow and threw it over his head.
She was right.
This place had broken him.
How did he even get here?
Right, they had accused him of colluding with the demons. He had tried to explain, even Blanc had come to his defense, but the man detained him either way.
What was his name again?
Felix Reed.
Isaac engraved the name in his heart.
That man had put him in this hellhole.
Isaac looked around.
The room wasn't that big. All Isaac could see was white.
The door was white, its handles were white, the floors were white, his bed was white, his clothes were white, the plates they put his food in was white.
It was a miracle that the food they gave him wasn't white.
It was like they were trying to purge the blackness in their hearts by using the color white.
He had to give them points for trying to run him mad. He was beginning to feel delirious from the lack of food.
The screams stopped and his door opened.
His second torturer had come to take him away.
"Time to move, Wade," he said.
He got up slowly.
The man crossed the room in three steps and with one hand, threw him out the door.
"I hate slow people," he grunted.
Isaac quickly picked himself up.
Today was going to hurt like hell.
* * * *
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" Torturer No.2 yelled.
They were all watching him.
The guards, supervisors, the torturers and the warden.
The man appeared above him.
Isaac rolled away just in time. A crater was on the ground where he had been a few seconds ago.
There was nothing he could do.
The bracelets they had slapped on his wrists since he entered made sure of that. They drained their wearer's mana which was the prerequisite for casting spells. That was for witches. The exorcists were forced to wear a crown on their heads. He didn't know the science behind it but prevented their charisms from working.
One thing he hated about the anti-magic cuffs was that they stabbed into his wrists. The skin around them was inflamed, and it itched like hell.
Isaac had realized what his purpose of being here was since they had put him in this display case. He had neither offended anybody nor committed any crime.
He wasn't their prisoner.
He was their weapon.