Chain of Torture

Weakness is a sin.

Tighter still, the noose was made.

They must be cleansed.

The man futilely grabbed at the rope about his neck, the motion imploring. His other hand weakly touched the monster’s, seeking sympathy and freedom. At the contact, spikes along the demon’s spine bristled in outrage. Quickly, with a feral snarl, the tall figure wrenched the man’s arm from its socket.

Pain! They must be thoroughly cleansed!

The noose was loosened and at once the old man slumped down onto his knees, coughing as his windpipe was released. Blessed air; sweet, revitalizing wind of life! A lungful was drawn in, then immediately trapped. The man, seventy-six years’ worth of weariness etched in lines on his face, clawed again in tortured desperation at the rope around his neck. His eyes watered in agony and suffering; imploring for mercy, receiving pain.

Demonic and gruesome yet some speck of humanity there still was, trapped in at the center of the hailstorm of shadow and darkness in its heart. The apprentice took one look into the man’s pain filled eyes and – before the unseen party could react – grabbed his head and twisted it quickly to the side. Lifeless and devoid of energy, the body went slack and slumped over onto its back, the man’s face relaxing into a smile – a habit of the muscles from a long life of joy.

Blasphemy! The voice hissed angrily. Pain coursed through the demon’s head and limbs, straight into its chest – it’s core. At once, the servant bent over in agony at the unforgiving brutality of the Master. You will suffer greatly for this treachary… the mental voice boomed maliciously, the dark clouds of its mind surrounding that of the apprentice.

For miles around, there were no sounds to be heard – for none dwelled here any longer – save that of the Demon’s tortured screams, a substitute for those of the old man’s.


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