Sophia ran through the cool corridors as the sound of heavy boots got closer. Her dress wrapped around her legs, causing her to stumble more than once. Her breath came in pants as her bare feet slapped the stone noisily. He was gaining on her, and there was nothing she could do about it. She came to the end of the corridor and had a choice to make: Left or right? The moment that it took Sophia to decide was enough for the solider to enter the corridor.
"Priestess!" he called out, as once again Sophia started to run. Hoisting up the skirt of her dress, she put as much speed into her limbs as she could. Skidding around another corner, Sophia ran straight into the chest of another soldier. As a scream escaped her, a rough, grimy hand was clamped over her mouth. Sophia struggled as a large arm wrapped around her, pulling her close.
The man smelt of stale sweat, dust and the oil that the soldiers rubbed their weapons down with. Sophia's thin dress offered her scant protection from the rough handling the man was subjecting her to. As her pursuer rounded the corner, her heart sank; any hope she had of escape died.
"Sir?" The man holding Sophia questioned her pursuer. He was breathing heavily, and was red faced from exertion. Sophia was able to study him properly for the first time: his hair was a dark brown, cropped closely to his head; he had piercing grey eyes that were currently narrowed in anger; the soldier towered over the man holding her, and had thick, muscled arms; an angry, silvery scar bisected the right side of his face, curling part of his generous lips into a grimace.
"She is to come with me for questioning," her scarred pursuer commanded. The man holding her stiffened.
"She is the spoils of war," he protested, his arm tightening around Sophia, tight enough that it was suddenly a struggle to breathe.
"If you wish to contest my word then you should seek out the General. She will come with me." Sophia was flung towards her pursuer, who pushed her roughly behind him. His sword seemed to leap into his hand, and in a strike that was lightening quick, it was plunged into the throat of the other man.
Sophia let out a sob at the horror that she had just witnessed. The man crumpled to the floor, dead. His blooded pooled around him, painting the cream stone crimson. The man before her, the man who had chased her through the temple, had defiled it with murder. Her whole body trembled in fear as he sheathed his bloody blade, and turned to face her. Without conscious effort, Sophia started to back away.
"No you don't," the man growled. His hand grabbed her upper arm in a vice like grip, smearing her pale skin red. Sophia felt her head start to buzz, and the room start to spin. She had a man's blood on her arm, a dead man's blood. Her knees stopped supporting her and she sagged into the arms of the soldier who had seemed to be waiting to catch her.
"Priestess, there is no time for this," the soldier snapped. He dragged her roughly to her feet, holding her against him. His calloused fingers gripped her chin and dragged her face upwards. Sophia didn't have the strength to struggle, but her eyes burned with hatred. The man studied her features for a moment, his grey eyes taking in every detail of her face.
"I have little patience, and the man who commands me has less. You are the last priestess here. Where is it?" The soldier didn't have to explain what he was looking for. His comment about her being the last couldn't be true though, she thought. The soldiers had stormed the temple three days ago, and for three days they had ripped it apart looking for the sword of the Goddess. She knew the other priestesses would have hidden, as did she. It was the man holding her who had found the concealed chamber behind her treatment room.
"I don't know," she replied weakly. It was the truth. Sophia could feel tears prickling in the corners of her eyes at the thought of her dead sisters, and the torment they would have experienced in the last hours of their lives, torment that she would likely experience herself all too soon.
Sophia yelped as the soldier roughly squeezed her breast. She started to shove at his chest as he closed his fingers over her nipple and started to twist. Struggling with all her might, Sophia got nowhere. Hot tears trickled down her cheeks as she whimpered under the cruel act.
"Think, priestess," the man instructed as he released her, leaving her nipple aching, "of the pain I could cause you if I had you at my mercy for hours." He ran the back of his hand down Sophia's bare arm causing her to shudder. His face was set in determination.
"I don't know," she repeated. If she did know, she thought, she would have told him. The sword was sacred, but she had never been very strong or very brave. The thought of being at the mercy of this man was terrifying.
"Elias," called a man behind her. The soldier released his grip on her chin, but pulled Sophia even closer. "We have it." Sophia's gut twisted. "You ought to take her before the General sees her. He's complaining he only got to deflower seven of them." With a laugh, the man left. Seven of them, thought Sophia. Surely raping seven priestesses in three days would be enough to satisfy even the most sadistic man's lusts.
Elias knew he had little time. Looking at the trembling, flushed mess before him, he knew he had a decision to make. She felt so good against him, so small and fragile, that he was desperate to keep her. He hadn't had a woman for a long time, at least not one that was free. The General would want her if she was a virgin. By the time she was returned to him, she would be no good. The General was cruel even by Elias' standards. Taking one last look at the priestess' innocent face, and remembering the delicious weight of her breast, he knew he would do anything to get her under him.
Elias let go of Sophia abruptly, roughly forcing her to take a step back. He took a long look at her. Before she could react, he had ripped the shoulder of her dress. The material flapped, coming dangerously close to exposing her breast. Shocked at such behaviour, Sophia stepped further away from him, ready to run once more. Elias didn't give her the chance. Catching hold of her arm again, he hauled her close, forcing an aggressive kiss upon her. Sophia wreathed in his grasp, desperate to escape the assault. When she was released, her lips felt tender and swollen.
"Stand still," Elias hissed as he released Sophia once more. She did as she was told, numb with shock. It had finally sunk in that she would be raped like her sisters. Wide eyed, Sophia watched as Elias took a knife from his belt. A whimper escaped her before she could get better control of herself. She quickly sent a prayer to her Goddess that she would be able to remain dignified throughout her ordeal.
It was with great surprise that Sophia watched Elias slice his palm. He quickly sheathed the knife again. A look of pure determination etched itself onto his features as the sound of marching became audible. Sophia found herself held against the wall. Elias lifted her dress with the cleaner of his two hands, then thrust the bloody one beneath it. Sophia yelped as the soldier used his legs to spread hers, sobbing as his fingers probed her. He rubbed his palm between her legs, then spread her open.
