I audibly whimper as the healer, who Emily Bane has called a <i>white witch,</i> tends to my wounds. Still crying like the baby I feel I am, and reeling from the aftermath of our mock battle, I watch as the witch with a shock of curly red hair extends her fingertips, and as a white light flows from her hands like water. Warmth instantly weaves across my fingers and causes them to go numb.


    “Why—” I start to say.


    “Are you numb?” the witch asks. “Because I must realign your bones.”


    “What’re you—”


    Before I can finish, I feel a sensation akin to something moving under my skin. The sound of popping, cracking, and then the sickly crawl of my bones moving back into place envelops my senses, nearly causing me to vomit.


    “There,” the witch says as she pulls her hand back, then lifts her eyes to meet my gaze. “How does that feel?”


    My fingers are still numb. However, a quick flex of them shows that they are very much operational; and as a result, I say, “Better,” then reach up to wipe snot from my upper lip. “I’m sorry I’m such a big baby.”


    “I know it hurts, honey, but this isn’t the last injury you’ll suffer from training. Don’t worry, though—I’ll be here to fix you up.”


    “What is your name? I—I didn’t even think to ask when I came in.”


    “You had three broken fingers, dear. I doubt you had much else on your mind.” The witch laughs and takes hold of my mended hand. “My name is Belinda.”


    <i>“Belinda?” </i>I ask.


    The woman nods. “Yes. Belinda.”


    “Thank you,” I say.


    “You may go now, dear. Miss Bane will probably want you to resume your training now that you’re back to normal.”


    I push my legs over the side of the examination table, wait a moment for the dizzy feeling to pass, then drop to the floor. “Thank you again, ma’am.”


    “It’s no trouble, Scarlet.”


    With one last nod, I make my way out into the hall.


    “Scarlet,” Emily says.


    I am nearly startled out of my skin. “Yes?” I ask.


    “I expect Belinda took proper care of you.”


    “She did,” I say.


    “Good.” The woman pushes away from the wall she was leaning against. “I want to continue your training, but not physically.”


    “Not… physically?” I ask. “Then what do you—”


    <i>They will test your body, your mind, your soul.</i>


    Could this be what Shadow had mentioned? Was this meant to be my next trial?


    “Don’t worry,” Emily says as she gestures me to follow her down the hall. “Your physical training will continue. It has to in order for you to be the best you can be. What I would like to do now is expose you to elements of the Supernatural world that you will soon be facing. I won’t guarantee this will be an easy process, but it is one that you must undergo in order to become the Hunter you wish to be.”


    “All right,” I say. “Where are we going?”


    “Back to the chambers.”


    I follow without another word, but with the slightest bit of hesitation.


    <i>I can do this, </i>I am quick to remind myself as we enter the elevator. <i>I know I can.</i>


    Still, the thought of what I might be witness to, as we begin to travel into the depths of the building, unsettles me. I wonder, first and foremost, if I will be exposed to monsters, or mayhem, perhaps even their destruction. <i>Death,</i>


    I have quickly determined, is a cruel aspect of this world—and though I understand that I need to be exposed to it, potentially even graphically, the idea of what I might see haunts me.


    Much like my mother—


    <i>Who, lying dead on the floor, neck ravaged, blood pooling around her, had gazed toward the doorway with one hand extended, as if in plea.</i>


    A shiver travels down my spine as I consider the idea—as I, with fear in my heart and muscles and bones, stare down at my hand, which, though no longer hurting tremendously, still bears the memory of pain. Even despite that, I know what I must do.


    I must complete this training. I have to. Because if I don’t complete it, and if I don’t pass with <i>flying colors, </i>I have no idea what they will do with me.


    <i>Reduced to sorting papers, </i>I surmise, <i>or scrubbing toilets?</i>This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    The thought crosses my mind only briefly as the elevator door opens—as into the Induction Chamber we cross, then into the training quarters we enter. Here, we stop; and here, Emily Bane lifts the golden bar around her neck to open a door.


    “Before we continue,” Emily says as the door slides open to reveal a blindingly white corridor, “I want you to be aware that you will see some truly horrific things—monsters that you could only begin to imagine and things you would only see in the worst of your nightmares.”


    “I understand,” I say but grimace as the sound of rattling chains and the howl of something fearsome sounds further down the hall.


    “Good. Then follow me. We will view each creature as it is presented to us. Do note that most of them are kept in complete darkness and are masked behind one-way windows. They cannot see us, but you will be able to see them.”


    After steeling myself with a deep breath and exhale, I nod and follow Emily toward the first darkened prison.


    "The first,” Emily says, “is known as a Howler—otherwise called a Lycanthrope.”


    Inside, a bestial, half-wolf-like creature whose features are covered in blood from a fresh, recently devoured kill lifts its head to examine the one-way mirror. Its glowing eyes are utterly haunting in that they pierce my soul, in that they make me feel small; and though it cannot possibly see us, it turns its head to view the overhead light, bays like a dying lamb, and reveals its sharp teeth.


    Then it launches itself at the window.


    I stumble back.


    My elbow bumps a switch.


    The resulting concussion against the glass causes a second creature to launch itself at the window and slam its decaying fists against it.


    <i>“Zombies?” </i>I gasp.


    “They are just as real as any other creature,” Emily replies. “Many are the result of dark magic, some the genetic experimentation of viruses. This is one of the latter.”


    I stare into the prison in awe. This creature—who was undoubtedly once human—barely resembles its living self, in that clumps of matted hair hang loosely from a decaying scalp, and that its hands, bloodied from pounding against its prison, are merely lumps of bone. Teeth show through gaps in its torn cheeks, and glazed eyes focus blindly at the window.


    “Come,” Emily says as she switches these lights off. “Let us go. There are more that need to be seen.”


    And so over the course of the next few moments, I am exposed to the horrors of the Supernatural world. One is a monster whose writhing form is composed of nothing of tendrils, whose tentacles reach for the light as it is turned on. Another is a spirit with no physical body, who screeches at the light ignites above its head. A third is a child who, when he opens his mouth, reveals a rotating maw of teeth, while a fourth is a man with red skin, black horns and wings, and cloven hooves.


    The fifth, however, stuns me into submission.


    Standing, in the center of the fifth chamber, is what appears to be a man—who, with sullen skin and dark red eyes, appears to be watching me.


    “It’s—” I start.


    But a flash-bang of memories impacts me.


    <i>My mother, dead—</i>


    <i>Her blood, pooling—</i>


    <i>The creature, hovering—</i>


    The monster inside the chamber opens its mouth to reveal sharp, elongated teeth, which gnash together as it eats the inside of its mouth. It’s as naked as can be, and I watch blood slide from the creature’s mouth all the way to its feet and grimace as it opens its mouth to laugh and gouge holes through its cheeks.


    So stunned am I by the sight that I can do little but stare.


    <i>Stare.</i>


    Over the creature as it laughs. As it screams. As it commits to its body acts of self-mutilation that I could only begin to imagine or even fathom.


    “This is one of the Sanguine,” Emily Bane says in a low and somber tone. “Though from what I’ve gathered, you’ve already seen one firsthand.”


    “It killed my mother.” My hands instinctively ball into fists. “I saw it with my own eyes.”


    “Channel your anger into your training,” Emily says. “Allow it to fester. Germinate. To make right the wrongs that have been committed against you. Use it to make your world a better place. But Scarlet,” she then adds, “do not, for one moment, let it control you. Anger is an emotion that will tear you apart far quicker than any Sanguine could.”


    I nod as I lift my eyes to face the creature mutilating itself opposite me.


    <i>I</i><i>’ll kill you,</i> I think. <i>Even if it</i><i>’s the last thing I do.</i>


    <i>* * *</i>


    Emily is the one to escort me from the trial and tribulation chambers to the floor that houses the refugees. During our time in the elevator, I think of everything the woman had said—and how anger, as great a fuel as it can be, could ultimately destroy me.


    <i>It is an ugly emotion, </i>I think.


    I know this to be true—had experienced and expressed it throughout my childhood time and time again, especially toward my mother, who was just trying to do her best by me as a single parent.


    <i>You should have been kinder, </i>I tell myself as we continue to rise. <i>You should have been better, and not as angry.</i>


    I know, however, that the anger I’d experienced early on in my teenage years had been the result of an unbalanced upbringing.


    <i>My mother, always at work—</i>


    <i>My father, dead and buried six feet under—</i>


    <i>My life at school, fulfilling but often empty—</i>


    All had contributed to a silent frustration that, at times, would build to a fever pitch.


    I hate to think what my mother might have thought of me—what she might have considered when I, like an impetuous child, had frowned when she said she couldn’t come.


    <i>Did she know, </i>I beckon to ask myself as we step out of the elevator, <i>that I loved her?</i>


    I stop mid-stride as I am struck, suddenly, by grief I am unable to control. I bow my head. Try my hardest not to cry. To hold it together. To be the strongest person I can be. But the tears come anyway, and with them, the declaration that I am not as strong as I thought I was.


    Emily’s hand on my shoulder is enough to make me lift my hand.


    “Scarlet,” the woman says, her red eyes kinder, <i>gentler, </i>than they’ve been all day. “I did not test you to cause you grief.”


    “I know,” I say.


    “I tested you to show what this world is capable of—that this world, cruel as it happens to be, often spits out the people it thinks is unworthy. What happened to your mother is unfathomable. I… I wish I could say more, other than that I am sorry.”


    “It means a lot,” I say. “To hear you say that, I mean. Especially after today.”


    “I know it does,” Emily replies. “Just remember that, through your training, you’re working to avenge your mother and help save people like her. You understand that, don’t you?”


    “I do,” I say.


    “Good.” Emily lifts her eyes to face the door to my quarters. “You should rest, now and prepare for what is to come. Your greatest challenge has yet to begin.”


    With that said, Emily turns and walks away—


    Leaving me to my own devices just outside my room.