It had to be written in some book of the Gods that Amita would suffer. That wherever she was to go, whatever she was to do, some part of her would inevitably suffer.
She had come to know this, and was accepting it, little by little.
This was nothing compared to the one amazing blaze of agony of her life, so she was not concerned.
No, her entire countanance was completely uncaring, devoid of emotion.
She was a deformed magickal creature in a non-magickal Kingdom, and she was going to die. Or, she would have died, if she had been normal. But instead, she had been tormented for the entirety of the morning as her captures tried desperately to kill her.
Beheading had failed miserably, as had hanging, for the thick gold collar around her neck, deeply engraved with runes, had spited all their efforts. Burning at the stake had burned deeply into her flesh, but had stopped at a certain point, never reaching the point of death. And then, she had healed after the flames had died two hours later, even her tight body suit reconstructing. Her captors were both baffled and horrified, and were thinking of a more direct approach. Perhaps stabbing her multiple times would do the trick.
It didn't. It simply left her bloody and full of red holes.
Her right arm, abnormally long, reached to about mid-calf. Long bands of silver and gold wound about her arm, nearly hiding her flesh from view. It all ended in a melding that was gold and created a hand with thick, vaguely triangular shaped claws. This...thing was chained heavily to the ground, thick metal bindings clamped all the way up her arm to keep the entire appendage from moving. Her white body suit, now devoid of holes or blood after just a few minutes, was a creamy white and greatly resembled a future day one-piece bathing suit, however it covered her legs as well. Her hair was cropped painfully short, a healthy, dark rose color that would have been far more lovely if left to grow out. Her right eye was abnormal to match her right arm. It was a fierce icy blue, with a small pupil of black, the iris far larger than necissary. The other eye was a molten orange-gold, and far more regularly shaped. Under this eye was an elaborate black tattoo on her lightly tanned skin, that through its whisps and curves, vaguely resembled a flower. Two small horns curved from the front of her head, capped in silver.
Her muscular body tensed as her head was suddenly snapped forward, a large hammer having been smashed into the back of her head. Her skull did not crack however, and she stood straight again soon after. Luckily, they had not hit the two ports at the very top of her neck, the reason for her hair being so short.
Though small, it was obvious she was far more sturdy than she looked.
"Ah, I give up. There is no way to kill this creature! Aside from forbidden magick, there seems to be no way of dismantling her at all!" One of the men lamented, staring in disbelief at the stoic Amita.
Another scoffed and racked his brain for other possibilities. "Perhaps we're just not tryin' hard enough..."
