Shadows in the Siberian Cold

Chapter 3: The Descent Begins

As the weeks turned into months, Istvan’s methods grew harsher. He found himself drawn to the limits of human endurance, testing the prisoners’ breaking points with calculated precision. Each scream, each cry for mercy, was a symphony that echoed through the barren corridors.

Inmates were dragged to the punishment cells, where Istvan’s shadow loomed over them, a specter of pain and terror. The thrill of control was addictive, and Istvan felt a new power rising within him—a force he could not deny.

Katerina noticed the change, but she said nothing. Perhaps she, too, was curious to see how far the experiment could go. Or maybe she simply feared Istvan, the darkness that had begun to consume him.

The prisoners whispered among themselves, telling tales of the guard who delighted in their suffering. They feared him more than the icy cold, more than the bleak nothingness of their existence.

One night, as Istvan sat alone in his office, the voices began. At first, they were faint murmurs, indistinct whispers that seemed to come from the very walls. But gradually, they grew louder, more insistent, speaking of blood and hunger, of power beyond imagining.

Istvan listened, entranced, as the voices painted vivid images of pain and ecstasy, of domination and submission. He felt the stirrings of something primal, something forbidden, awakening within him.