The Demonic Gate

The red eyes glared at her naked, shivering form from every corner of the freezing darkness. Sara pulled her knees to her chest, curling into a tight ball on the invisible floor. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her palms hard against her ears, desperately trying to block out the chilling void. But she still felt them. The sickening, filthy touches crawled over her bare skin. Formless phantom fingers mercilessly squeezed her bare breasts with brutal force. Cruel hands forced her thighs apart again, shoving directly into her cunt with violent, relentless thrusts. She shivered helplessly as the relentless assault continued. She felt stripped, defiled, and entirely powerless against the wicked touches. She recited every single prayer she had ever learned. She begged the Gods to save her from the endless abyss, having no idea how to save herself. But the Gods remained silent. They never answered her former prayers—when she cried alone at night begging to see her dead mother, or when she wished for a single friend in this isolated tower. They had seemingly forsaken her long ago. Yet here she was, huddling in the freezing dark, desperately praying they might finally listen to her silent screams.

Too engrossed in her mind-wrecking struggle, Sara was surprised by the sudden painful pair of grips that clamped down on her shoulders like iron nippers. The firm hold yanked her forcefully from the mental abyss. Still trapped in the lingering horror of the hallucination, Sara threw her head back and screamed at the top of her lungs. She thrashed violently against the hold, kicking her legs and twisting her torso to escape the brutal phantom hands that were still violating her mind. Her body tried to fight off the grip, but it refused to let go.

"Sara, calm down... you are okay."

A deep, safe voice broke through the haze of terror, calling her name over and over again. It wasn't the dead priest or the wicked demons. It was urgent, yet incredibly familiar. Her frantic heart and mind took several agonizing seconds to slow down. The gentle, rhythmic patting on her back grounded her in reality. Her screams died, replaced by violent hiccups and uncontrollable shivering.

Forcing her eyes open, she blinked against the warm light. Taking in her surroundings, she recognized the familiar stone walls, the heavy wooden furniture, and the deeply worried face hovering above her. She was safely back in her own bed, wearing that hideous grey robe.

"Father?" she whispered, her voice cracking into a tiny, frightened sound.

At her small whisper, King Yoren pulled his daughter into a fierce, aggressively protective embrace. He wrapped his strong arms around her trembling frame, burying her face in his broad chest. "I'm here, Sara. You are safe. I've got you," he murmured softly into her hair. His kingly presence acted as an impenetrable shield against the lingering horrors of her nightmare. Yoren had been mortified when the news of the accident reached his ears. He had immediately canceled a crucial meeting with his royal counselors and traveled through the heavy rain just to reach her side. Now, holding his traumatized daughter, he tried to reassure himself as much as her.

But they were not alone in the room.

Hovering ominously nearby stood the twelve high priests of the holy council. Their wrinkled faces were grim, and their cold stares were laced heavily with blatant doubt and unspoken accusation. They watched the fragile princess clutch her father's shirt, their suffocating presence making the small bedroom feel incredibly cramped.

One ascetic priest stepped forward. He cleared his throat, attempting to abruptly discuss the urgent, catastrophic matter at hand. "Your Majesty..."

Yoren didn't even look up. He kept stroking Sara's back, refusing to acknowledge the intrusion.

"We would like to discuss..." the priest pushed, his voice echoing in the tense room.

"Can't you see she just woke up?" Yoren snarled. His voice erupted with explosive, kingly rage. He loosened his grip on Sara just enough to glare at the old men, but kept a solid, protective arm wrapped tightly around her back. His brown eyes blazed with a fierce warning, silently daring them to say anything out of place.

"We apologize, Your Majesty," the priest bowed stiffly. "And we thank the merciful Gods for the young lady's safety. However, we humbly ask you to address..."

"For Gods' sake, can't you wait?" Yoren snapped, cutting him off again, his protective instincts flaring wildly.

Sara stared up at her father, her deep, pure eyes clouded with fear and confusion. Her small fists gripped the fabric of his shirt tightly. "Father? What is it?"

Yoren stopped glaring at the priests. He looked down at his beautiful daughter, his own flesh and blood, the cherished fruit of his love with her mother. His heart bled for her. He offered a gentle, reassuring smile and caressed her hair. "Don't worry, Sara. You are safe. There is nothing for you to worry about."

Despite her trauma, Sara managed a small, shaky smile. Her father's presence and concern warmed her heart. He was her steadfast support, her only real family.

"Nothing, Your Majesty?" another priest challenged, stepping forward. His tone was sharp and bold. "A priest was brutally killed on sacred grounds. A highly dangerous demonic gate was fully opened. The sanctity of the holy tower is deeply sullied. And you dare say nothing of it?"

Yoren's jaw clenched. Protective fury radiated from his posture. "All of you, out!" he ordered. His voice was low, but the absolute threat in his tone made the twelve powerful men flinch. Offended but unwilling to test the furious king, the priests bowed silently and filed out of the bedroom, closing the heavy wooden door behind them.

The room fell quiet, save for the crackling of the hearth.

"Father, what were they talking about?" Sara asked, her voice trembling.

Yoren sighed heavily. The explosive rage left his face, leaving behind a tired, worried father. He gently squeezed her hand. "Tell me what you were doing in the restricted section, Sara."

Yoren kept his voice tired but patient, knowing better than anyone how frail and sensitive Sara was. He felt she was made of delicate glass that might shatter. But he also knew the holy council would not simply let the matter of a functioning demonic artifact slide. Religion was a fundamental pillar of their kingdom, and the council held immense, undeniable authority. He needed the exact truth to protect her.

Words died in Sara's throat. Heavy sobs wrecked her small frame. The horrific memories of the freezing void, the phantom hands shoving into her cunt, and the dead priest's grotesque intentions flooded her mind. She lowered her head in shame, hot tears streaming down her pale cheeks. She was terrified of how her father would react if she told him the real reason.

"Baby girl," Yoren murmured gently, pressing his forehead against hers. "I know you are scared. But you must understand the situation at hand is quite serious. I need you to tell me the truth." He waited patiently, nodding for her to talk, offering a non-verbal promise that he would protect her and take her side no matter what.

"He... he tricked me," Sara cried out between wet sobs, a fresh tear sliding down her face.

"Who?"

"Patrick."

Yoren stiffened. Father Patrick was known as a devout, honorable priest. He was even a good friend to Yoren's second son. He was supposed to be kind to the souls around him. But hearing his daughter say the man's name with such deep disgust and raw terror, Yoren knew the dead man was not as clean as he claimed.

"He tried to kill me," Sara confessed, her voice breaking. "He explicitly stated he had direct orders to kill me. He tried to sneak into my room early this morning, but I was awake. I didn't know it was him at first. Then later... he told me there were royal registers in the library that contained my mother's name. I stupidly believed him. He lured me there with false, cruel promises just to finish the job."

Armed with this horrifying, undeniable truth, Yoren felt a murderous rage boil in his veins. He gently left Sara to rest and recover, storming out to viciously confront the waiting council.

He stepped out into the corridor. The twelve high priests were waiting, their faces set in grim, defensive lines.

Yoren didn't give them a chance to speak. "She said the bastard had orders," he informed them, his voice seething with barely contained rage. He paced in front of the council, his eyes scanning their wrinkled faces.

"I don't think that is what we should be discussing, Your Majesty," the lead priest interrupted defensively. "That book..."

"Fuck the book!" Yoren screamed, a stream of profanity echoing down the stone hallway. "I am telling you someone highly powerful gave a supposedly devout priest direct orders to assassinate my hidden daughter!"

The priests exchanged uneasy glances. "We do not know who would do such a thing, Your Majesty," one murmured.

Yoren scoffed, his mind working brilliantly through his anger. He knew the entire council couldn't possibly be involved in the conspiracy. If these twelve powerful men had consensually decided she needed to die, Sara would already be dead. They had absolute control over the holy tower. The fact that she was resting in her own bed, and that they had informed him of the accident, meant a powerful third party was pulling the strings, using Patrick as a pawn.

"Your Majesty, please, you must listen to us," a wrinkled ascetic pleaded desperately. The old man stepped closer, ignoring the king's volatile temper. "You do not understand the apocalyptic gravity of the artifact awakened in that library. That book..."

"What about the damn book?" Yoren demanded, crossing his arms, his patience wearing dangerously thin.

"It is not merely a book," the priest grimly warned. His eyes were wide with a chilling fear. "It is a highly dangerous demonic tool. It serves as a direct demonic gate."

Yoren frowned, the anger dimming slightly in the face of the priest's solemn, lore-heavy declaration.

"Since the ancient times when they were utterly defeated and cursed," the old man explained, his voice dropping to a grave whisper, "the demons have strategically left their eyes and ears hidden in our world. They use these cursed artifacts to passively spy on us, patiently waiting until the prophesied time of their dark return. That object in the library, Your Majesty... it is none other than one of those very eyes."