There were dozens of naked bodies hung one after another in a macabre exhibition straight from hell. Their dead, dried, and putrefied bodies bore signs of unimaginable inhuman torture; each one was missing some part of their body: a leg, an eye, half their ribs. The descriptions were endless, while severed heads were placed in large glass containers as if they were a luxury collection. The expression on each face was more terrifying than the last, frozen forever in a silent scream of agony.
On a table, the bisected body of an old man was bound from head to toe, his organs sprawled across the metallic surface. In a water tank, the naked bodies of several women floated, displaying the worst of humanity. Others were locked in cages with empty expressions, as if they were no more than broken shells.
Daphne's family, those people who had welcomed me with open arms, who had treated me with kindness… were monsters hiding this chaos behind their perfect facade. A shiver ran down my spine as I felt my worldview crumble before my eyes.
—W-what the hell is this? —My voice trembled more than ever, unable to fully process the horror I was witnessing.
—This is the work of a Necrophage —explained Mica with a calm that could only come from someone accustomed to seeing the darkest side of humanity.
Necrophages were humans who had received stellar energy from an Apostle. This process turned them into subordinate beings, whose powers and forms reflected the distinctive characteristics of their creator, molding them in their image and likeness.
A mortal body, limited by its physical and spiritual fragility, was not prepared to withstand stellar energy without facing tensions and severe consequences. This internal clash generated a conflict that translated into corruption, manifesting as a distortion affecting both the mind and body of the bearer.
These creatures could have been Illuminated or even ordinary humans before their transformation. Necrophages possessed the ability to change shape at will, allowing them to hide among humans with unsettling ease, lurking unnoticed from the shadows. A common trait among Necrophages and Stellar Beasts was blind rage and a murderous instinct toward any intelligent species, as well as their intense lust.
As I listened to Mica's words, feeling more lost and disoriented than ever, I noticed Daphne trying to escape silently, taking advantage of our distraction.
—Isn't that asking too much, trying to flee like that? —said Mica, grabbing Daphne's hair roughly as she cried out in pain.
—Did the owners of this place do this? —I asked, though a part of me already knew the answer.
—That's right. They lure people from Danafor with sweet words, torture them, and play with them until they die. This is the truth of Sherazade. A family of sadists, accomplices of their lord, posing as good Samaritans. The guards kept silent, so they're equally guilty —confirmed Mica, not releasing Daphne.
I knew it… but I still didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to admit that I had been so easily deceived. My mind filled with questions and doubts, trying to understand why it had happened and how it could have occurred. I felt betrayed, as if the ground had vanished beneath my feet, leaving me without support or stability.
Naively, I had believed I was doing the right thing, but it turned out I was only defending one of the greatest atrocities in the world. The feeling of being used was deeply painful, and anger surged as a defense against my vulnerability and helplessness. My worldview wavered before this revelation.
—It's… it's a lie! I didn't know a place like this existed! —Daphne looked at me with pleading eyes, clinging to any chance of survival—. Will you believe the person who helped you or this murderer, Reinhardt?
I turned slowly to look at Daphne, whose face had transformed with the fear of being exposed. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, revealing an image I could never have imagined. How many of these atrocities had she witnessed? How many had she contributed to perpetrating?
Suddenly, Mica's expression turned serene and peaceful. She parted her lips and recited a calm poem, her words floating like a night breeze, laden with a magic that seemed to transport whoever heard them to a starry sky, to a place where absolute calm reigned. The echo of her recital resonated around me, enveloping me in a hypnotic sensation.
I watched as Daphne, caught by the spell of those words, lost all tension in her body; her shoulders relaxed, her hands fell limply to her sides, and her eyes glazed over as she entered a deep trance, as if her will had completely vanished.
Mica, with an elegant movement, summoned a sword from a dimensional ring, its silver gleam flashing under the moonlight, and threw it to the ground with a dull thud, just a step away from where Daphne stood motionless.
—Girl, end your own life —declared Mica with a cold, emotionless voice, turning away.
Daphne, as if trapped in a dream from which she couldn't awaken, picked up the sword from the ground with trembling hands, her fingers clumsy and hesitant as they gripped the hilt. Mica, without looking back, walked away with slow, deliberate steps, stopping a few meters away to raise her gaze toward the starry sky, as if contemplating a destiny only she could see.
Daphne's body shuddered with nervous spasms, a reflection of her internal struggle to resist, but her will no longer belonged to her. She looked at the blade she held before her with a mix of bewilderment and horror, her eyes unable to accept that her own body obeyed Mica's command without her consent.
Desperation etched her face, carving lines of anguish into her skin as crystalline tears welled up in her eyes, rolling down her cheeks in a silent river that reflected her torment. With a tragic sob that broke the night's silence, Daphne brought the sword to her neck, her ragged breathing and trembling hands betraying the weight of her fate.
The sound of the blade cutting flesh, a wet and definitive snap, was the last thing I heard before turning away with a knot in my stomach. I didn't need to see more; the image of her suffering was already etched into my memory. At that moment, a bitter lesson settled in my heart: in Sherazade, nothing was as it seemed. Appearances deceived with insidious cruelty, and true monstrosity often hid behind the warmest smiles, waiting for the precise moment to reveal its face.