The boy's bare feet moved noiselessly over the cold stone floor, one step after another, as he trailed behind the guard. He didn't know where they were going, but he knew better than to ask. Questions led to trouble. Trouble led to pain. So he kept his mouth shut and his head down, watching the floor as it blurred past.
The corridor stretched on forever, lit by flickering torches that sent shadows climbing up the walls. He didn't look at the shadows—they scared him, though he'd never admit it even to himself. They reminded him of stories whispered among the other children: tales of monsters in the dark and what happened to those who were taken away.
A door loomed ahead, its iron surface dull and heavy. He wondered what was on the other side. A part of him hoped it might be a good place. The guards had sometimes spoken about feasts and games in the upper halls, laughing as they described tables heavy with food and music that echoed for days. He imagined what it might be like to see those things, even if he knew he wouldn't. Not him.
The door creaked open, and a burst of white light made him squint. The room was brighter than any place he'd ever been, the light bouncing off walls of polished stone. His eyes adjusted slowly, and when they did, he wished they hadn't. In the center of the room, chained to a table, was something he couldn't understand.
It wasn't human, not like the guards or the overseers. It looked softer, brighter like it didn't belong here. Its wings sprawled outward, feathers bent and broken in ways that made his chest hurt just to see. Blood streaked the soft white, turning the tips crimson. He stared at the chains around its arms and legs, glowing faintly with markings he couldn't read. It wasn't moving, not really, but its chest rose and fell in shallow, shaky breaths.
Is it an animal? He wondered. No, it's too big for that. Is it a person? A person wouldn't have wings like that.
"Move," the guard grunted behind him, shoving him forward.
He stumbled, catching himself before he fell. His gaze darted around the room. Sharp metal tools gleamed on nearby tables—things with edges and points that made his skin crawl. The air smelled strange, like burnt iron and something sweet that made his stomach twist. His eyes kept drifting back to the creature. He didn't know why, but looking at it made him sad.
A man in a long coat stepped forward. His face was thin, pale, and shadowed like he'd forgotten how to smile. He gestured toward another table—a smaller one, lined with straps and just as cold as it looked.
"Put him there," the man said.
The guard grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him like a sack of grain, dropping him onto the table. The metal was freezing against his back, and he flinched as straps wrapped tightly around his wrists and ankles. He bit his lip, breathing sharply through his nose, willing himself not to cry. Crying never helped.
The man leaned over him, holding a syringe filled with a viscous, copper-colored liquid. The boy flinched as the needle pricked his arm, the sting sharp but brief. A coldness spread through his veins, stealing his strength. His limbs felt like lead, too heavy to lift. His chest rose and fell in shallow, deliberate breaths. He was frozen, paralyzed, but his mind remained painfully alert.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the creature move—or at least, its head did. One of its eyes cracked open, just a sliver. It was looking at him.
The boy's breath hitched. Its gaze wasn't angry or fierce. It was… tired. Sad. It made his stomach twist in a way he couldn't explain.
"Good," the man said, straightening. He gestured to the assistants gathered around the creature. "Let's begin."
The boy's eyes darted to the side, watching as a blade was drawn across the creature's chest. Its skin parted with little resistance, golden blood spilling out in thick rivulets but was collected into drainage ports on the table. The assistants worked quickly, their hands moving with practiced precision as they removed organ after organ and brought them to his side. He wanted to scream as he felt the scalpel press against his own skin, but his lips wouldn't move. The sharp knife drew along his skin it blossomed across his abdomen, and despite the pain facing the boy, he noticed that along with the assistant that did the surgery there were those that kept chanting words that when you listened to them fragmented out of your mind, the boy tried harder to concentrate on what they were saying.
The procedure continued, the creature's body yielding its parts one by one. Each organ was carefully extracted and placed into the boy His body burned, his nerves aflame with sensations he couldn't describe. He could feel the foreignness of the pieces, their weight, and wrongness, but there was no escape.
The room blurred at the edges of his vision as the pain built, his focus narrowing to the distant sound of the creature's shallow breathing. It was still alive. Barely.
Toward the end, the assistants paused, hesitating for the first time. The man in the coat stepped forward, holding something delicate in his gloved hands—the creature's eyes. They shimmered faintly even after their removal although light dimmed with each passing second.
"Do it quickly," the man barked.
The boy tried to close his eyes, to look away, but he couldn't. He felt the pressure as the tool was placed in each socket and with a quick jerk the bright room faded, only after what felt like hours light finally returned to the boy's vision only each color the boy knew seemed different.
The assistants murmured to each other, their voices hushed as they worked. The boy couldn't see what they were doing, but he felt the warmth of something along the base of his skull, the pressure of something piercing the skull's bone, a pain so profound it turned the edges of his mind black. He felt something being taken from him, and something else forced inside.
When it was over, the man in the coat stepped back, wiping his hands on a bloodied cloth. "Close him up," he said, his voice indifferent. He turned away, sparing neither the boy nor the creature another glance.
The boy lay still, his body trembling inside, though it showed no outward sign. He stared at the ceiling, his new eyes capturing every crack and crevice with painful clarity. Somewhere in the room, the angel let out one final, shuddering breath.
And then there was silence.