Trafficked: Reborn Heir's Revenge-Chapter 21: The Feast of Nightmares

Chapter 21: The Feast of Nightmares

Oliver opened his eyes. This was not the real world. It was a dream, but it definitely looked real.

He couldn't move and he couldn't speak.

His lips been sewn shut with thick, crude black thread, still wet with blood. Alsp, he quickly noticed that he lay naked on a cold silver platter.

His limbs were splayed out and nailed gently through the wrists and ankles with surgical precision. The pain that came from them was sharp, but from the looks of it, there was more to come.

Oliver wasn't alone, but he was the centerpiece.

Around him stretched an endless banquet table, long enough to vanish into the shadows. Velvet chairs were lined with familiar faces—family, allies, people he once trusted in his passed life—all dressed in black ceremonial garb. Their eyes glowed dimly like dying embers.

The candles that lit up this room, floated above like ghostly fireflies, as their wax dripped down in slow motion. Time was broken here.

"Shall we eat?" his father said, raising a goblet. His voice echoed as if underwater, ancient and distant.

They all smiled.

Olover was no fool. They were talking about food, but what was on the menu? Him of course.

Then it happened. From all sides, forks plunged into him—his chest, thighs, stomach, and he felt everything.

The Bloodline interface had not been kidding when it said the subject experience would be for 168 hours.

Time didn't dull pain here; it stretched it. A single bite lasted an eternity.

Even when the flesh was plucked from his body and placed in their mouths, he still felt the chewing of their teeth and then the slimy swallow.

Muscles twisted, skin peeled back, and nerves sparked until his vision blackened—only to return in full, unrelenting clarity.

Blood dripped from their mouths, staining their teeth.

But the most mind blowing part was that they chewed slowly, mechanically, whispering polite conversation between bites. As if it waa not a life person they were partaking of.

"His skin is so tender," a woman sppke up. From the paintings back home, Oliver knew this was the mother he never met.

However, with that graceful smile, as if enjoying the meal of a top chef, she sliced off a strip from his ribs.

Oliver could not help but try to scream beyond the sealing of his mouth, but it was of no use.

Velma leaned over, almost lovingly. She caressed his cheek. "I love you, Oliver. That's why I want the part of you that saw me first."

She reached forward and plucked out his eye with her spoon. It was an emaculate well skilled scoop, and from the looks of it, she planned to wash it down with the goblet of wine in hand.

The eye ball, somehow still alive spun, staring at the fine lips about to eat it.

She didn't blink as she dropped it into her mouth and swallowed.

the system chirped.

And then came Leston—the spoiled noble brat that was also known as his elder brother.

He approached with a knife, face gleaming with petty joy.

"This is for the time you kicked me between the legs, demon snort." he hissed.

Oliver tried to thrash. He wanted to escape, but the nails held him in place.

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Leston's vengeful table knife moved between his legs.

'NO!!!'

He screamed—but it was muffled, useless, stitched shut.

He felt every cut. Every tear. Every crunch.

And when it was done, Leston held up the bloody mess like a prize.

The feast continued.

Over and over. Every hour, his body regenerated—stitched back together, but not quite right. The meat grew softer. The nerves became more sensitive.

Oliver remembered each cycle.

Every single fork, and every bite escorted with a swallow.

Time no longer ticked. It bled.

When Oliver finally woke, he didn't rise—he exploded out of sleep, his back arched, eyes wild, chest heaving.

"Oliver!" Velma's voice was soft but frantic, her hand gripping his shoulder. " Are you okay? You passed out the moment we entered the ship. I did not want the soldiers to know, so I hid you!"

Oliver's mind, still tangled in the lingering gore and betrayal, saw her differently—the girl who had swallowed his eye like a meat ball.

Oliver instinctively screamed and shoved her away with such force that she hit the metal bars with a painful thud. Her cry echoed in the dim-lit cargo hold.

Oliver scrambled backward, slamming into the back of the cage. His breath came in gasps. His eyes darted to every shadow. Every face. Looking for forks. For stitches.

Velma clutched her side, shocked and hurt. "O-Oliver!?"

She didn't not know what was happening, but this was not the loving brother that she knew. Never had she seen him encompass so much fear. Even his squabbling with Leston and the other siblings was not this bad. 'Did he have a nightmare?' She thought to herself, but did not back away from him.

To Velma, Oliver was her world.

"QUIET, YOU FILTH!" a guard bellowed from outside the cage, cracking a whip against the bars. "One more scream and you'll eat steel 'til you choke!"

The other slaves stirred but dared not speak.

Oliver sat there, shaking, drenched in cold sweat. He stared at his hands, still seeing blood that was not there.

Then—

Ding.

+100 Mental Endurance Points awarded.

New Rank: A+

The glyphs glowed blood-red in the air before fading.

Oliver's heart slowed. His breathing steadied, slightly. The nightmare was gone, but this was something he would never forget.

The bloodline interface was not lying. Suffering penalties like this last one was something Oliver did not want to go through again.

Velma moved closer again, slowly this time.

"I don't know what is going on," she whispered, "but I'm here, I'm here for you. And I won't leave you."

He didn't answer.

But he let her sit beside him, even as his eyes refused to close, and his fingers tightened. Oliver swore in his mind, never to miss another sleeping time.

Of course the moment he woke up, another timer had appeared before his sight again.

At such a time, an announcement was heard.