NOVEL WEB Chapter 10: Monster!!
The world felt like water.
Thick. Heavy. Blurred.
Aagartha's lashes trembled faintly as her consciousness began clawing back from the dark. Her breath was shallow. Limbs weak. Something cold pricked the back of her neck — an IV line?
She tried to lift her hand.
She couldn't.
A subtle clink followed — the sound of a metal cuff tightening around her wrist.
Her heart thudded.
Her eyes flew open.
The ceiling above her was concrete. Unpainted. Cracked. Damp.
A single flickering industrial light hung from an iron pipe.
The air was thick — like mildew mixed with chemical antiseptic. Cold. Too cold.
Her pupils adjusted slowly.
She was lying on a surgical cot — rusted on the edges, metal digging into her back. One of her hands was cuffed to the side rail, the other tethered with what looked like hospital restraints.
No windows. No clock. No sounds of life.
Just a low, rhythmic hum from a broken exhaust fan somewhere behind her.
She wasn't in any hospital.
She was in a basement.
Aagartha didn't scream.
She blinked once, then closed her eyes again, steadying her breathing. Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
It was the first lesson of trauma medicine — assess before panic.
Her fingers traced the restraints. Industrial-grade. Not easily breakable.
Her IV drip — mild sedative, she guessed. Enough to keep her weak but not unconscious.
She opened her eyes again. This time sharper.
Across from her cot was a small table. A steel tray sat on top — lined with tools.
Not medical instruments. Torture tools.
Pliers. Dull blades. A branding iron still stained with old soot.
And beside them, neatly folded — a black mask. The same kind her captor wore.
She turned her head slowly to the left. A single CCTV camera blinked red. Watching.
She was being observed.
No. Studied.
A faint creak from behind the iron door at the far end sent shivers down her spine.
She stiffened.
The bolt clicked.
It opened halfway.
A silhouette appeared — not tall, not bulky. Slender. Measured steps. Gloved hands.
The masked man stepped in. No sound. No words.
Just a clipboard in his hand and an air of clinical detachment.
He walked to her bedside and checked the IV. No eye contact. No interaction.
Then — a whisper.
"She's stronger than we thought. Double the dose next time."
The voice was crisp. European. Male.
He wasn't here to talk. He was here to break.
He injected something into the IV — and the burning sensation crawled up her veins like wildfire.
Aagartha bit her lip — hard — not to scream.
He wanted to see fear. She gave him silence.
As he turned to leave, she spoke — low, hoarse.
"You know, the moment I get out of here… I'll make sure I put that branding iron right where your soul used to be."
He paused — surprised.
Then chuckled.
"Doctors. Always believing they can fix the world."
He shut the door behind him.
The bolt slammed back into place.
Aagartha lay in the dark again.
Her body trembled. Her nerves screamed. Her veins felt like they were on fire.
But her eyes didn't lose focus.
She counted seconds. She mapped sound.
And she began to whisper to herself — procedures, medications, trauma drills — anything to stay awake. Stay aware. Stay alive.
She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her break.
---
Elsewhere — Nayan's SUV — Screeching toward Sector 12
The phone buzzed.
"Sir, the signal's back. Pinged once near the eastern portside. Then vanished again. We're running thermal scans."
Nayan's jaw tightened. His eyes glinted with rage barely restrained.
"She's still alive," he murmured. "She has to be."
For me..... For us...
Scene 1: The Cold Silence
Aagartha's head throbbed.
She wasn't sure how long she had been unconscious. The world returned to her senses in fragments—like shattered glass reassembling slowly in her mind. Her wrists were bound tightly behind a steel chair. Her legs felt numb. The only thing she could hear… was water dripping from somewhere in the corner of the cemented room.
The air was heavy — damp with rust and mold. A blindfold covered her eyes, soaked slightly from the sweat on her brow. Her lab coat was missing, replaced by something thin and unfamiliar.
But her pulse was steady.
Her doctor's instinct kicked in.
"This is a basement... low ceiling…no air flow… medical gloves... someone injected me."
She tried to move. Her ankles scraped against something metallic. She winced — the cuffs were cutting into her skin.
Just then, she heard it.
Footsteps.
Slow. Calculated. Deliberate.
The click of polished leather shoes across the concrete floor.
Aagartha straightened, even though fear ran up her spine like electric current. She wasn't the kind of woman to break. Even now, blindfolded, helpless — she held her breath, waiting.
A voice — rough, slurred — spoke in Italian from behind.
> "Così bella… perfino in catene sembri una dea perduta."
(So beautiful... even in chains, you look like a fallen goddess.)
She stiffened.
The man came closer, the scent of expensive cologne mixed with smoke surrounding him.
He leaned closer — and whispered, more to himself than to her:
> "Mi chiedo cosa protegga Nayan con così tanta furia… Forse… è il tuo sorriso."
(I wonder what Nayan protects with such fury… perhaps, it's your smile.)
His fingers hovered near her jawline — but didn't touch. Just the proximity made her heart race with dread.
Then he turned suddenly and shouted to someone behind the walls, his tone sharper.
> "Quanto manca? Devo spezzarla prima che arrivi l'alba!"
(How long? I want her broken before sunrise!)
Aagartha's breath quickened, but her face remained still — trained, composed.
She wasn't just a doctor.
She was fire waiting to burn.