Belkar hung from the chains like a slab of meat in a slaughterhouse, the hooks tearing cruelly into his back, his weight sliding them deeper under his skin.
The devil held still for a few moments, staring at him appraisingly. Reaching up, the figure undid the clasp around his neck, his robes falling away. A beauty so pure it was terrifying greeted Belkar in that instant, something alien, beyond the ability of his mind to accept. Something struck the Halfling with a wanton heat, a hunger so intensely sexual his body could not determine his desires.
Belkar recognized the wings, the flawless form, the unearthly beauty and grace. An angel stood directly infront of him, or something that had once been an angel, holding a burning trident. Belkar struggled to focus on the being's face, to properly place the emotion he was seeing there. Was it condemnation? - Vengeance? Or did he spy satisfaction? - Pleasure? He didn’t know.
The angel had to be the most beautiful being in Creation. Tall, broad shouldered, slender but toned to incredible definition with delicate facial features, high cheekbones, a clean-shaven face, and large, burning-red eyes. A brilliant nimbus of orange flames surrounds his head, mimicking hair. Two pairs of great, gold feathered wings burst from his back, now folded.
The angel's lips barely moved, but Bekar heard every word. There was no doubt, he recognized the voice from the devil who’d brought him here. Belial stared at him, his eyes passing over the halflings body as if caressing him, his expression apprising, openly desirous. Belkar wished he could cry out, or run, but somehow could do neither, even if the chains hadn’t been there he would have held still and accepted the beings touch.
“I am not going to kill you. I will hurt you. You will suffer agonies until you accept them, until you beg for the pain. I will sever your sinews, weave a cloak from your living nerves and flay your skin, but you won’t die, even if you will it. And eventually, you will accept the pain. Come to relish it. To beg for it. Part of being mortal, no threshold for pain.”
Belkar swallowed, as the devil stepped forward, using a small, wickedly hooked knife to make the first, tiny cut.
- * * * *
There was no end to the pain.
Belkar hung from the silver chains, twisting slowly in an agonising breeze, his arms nearly pulled out of their sockets by his own weight. Even when the devil put down his blood splattered tools for a few moments, the hot wind alone was enough to torture his exposed nerves and muscles.
He felt shrivelled and weak. His wounds no longer bled. For a while he had been able to measure time by the steady drip of blood on stone, but now there was no progression between the minutes and hours.
He began to struggle. Pulling at the chains, flailing his body, trying to get down, to get free. He moaned. It had no effect, and soon he exhausted himself, and worse, drew Belial back, who smiled, his bright knives dancing in his hands.
He couldn’t scream. He should be, but he had no voice left to scream with. For a while he had, cried and begged himself hoarse through his cracked lips and swollen tongue, but the angel had only smiled and worked his knives against Belkar’s ravaged body. Occasionally he would pause and slice himself, wince, grit his teeth and then resume. He lost his consciousness many times, but whenever he opened his eyes Belial was there, his fine knives whickering through Belkar’s ravaged body.
In his delirium he forgot who he was, and hallucinated. It wasn’t enough to let him sleep, but it did make him dream.
Sometimes Belkar burned, and sometimes he froze. He perceived pain in colours, waves of bright burning pain, sickly green, burning red, blight blue. And it only became stronger consuming him.
He forgot who he was, or why it was happening. All that mattered was the perfect, beautiful figure, and his suffering, the fallen angels gift to him.
A crashing and a pounding begun in his head, beyond the pain of the migraine, beyond all pain. Everything dissolved into tiny motes which circled him like a multi coloured dust storm and hen it evaporated in the dark. The pounding ceased. Everything slowed, and the darkness that he entered this time was deep, and final.
Belkar lay in a bed of writhing bodies. Pale hands bore him up, caressing his body, clutching him in their hungry embrace. Lips pressed against his skin, tasting him, feeling him, worshiping him. The air hung heavy and still, fragrant with sweat and perfume, trembling with moans and sighs, and shrieks of a thousand rapturous voices. There was a slight chill in the air, making his skin prickle with goosebumps, but after what he'd gone through the chill was welcome, blessedly so.
He was whole again. His body was complete. He marveled at it, amazed to be complete once more. He’d all but forgotten what he looked like, who he was. He felt an urge to shout, and he did, an exultant sound.
Faces rose around him, pale, hauntingly beautiful with hungry looks in their dark eyes, though with the memory of the angel fresh in his mind they seemed plain, nonstimulating. Just the same, he felt himself stir.
They reached for him, running their hands across his bare chest, each delicate fingertip leaving a trail of heat across his flesh, warming him, making him shiver delightfully.
One climbed languidly ontop of him, naked as the day she was born, her dark hair seeming to float around her fine boned face, her full lips twisted into a wicked smile. She stretched herself across him like a cat, long fingers reaching for his face. Her smile turned sensual as she laid her long nails against his cheeks and sank them into his skin.
Hot blood pumped down the side of his face as he screamed and thrashed. She dug deeper, taking handfuls of flesh and pulling downwards, like skinning the hide from a hare. Flesh, muscle and tendons pulled away in a glistening mat, exposing his neck and the upper part of his chest.
He writhed and twisted, but the other bodies held him fast. Now the tore at him too, pulling away hunks of bloody skin. He felt the flesh of his entire left arm slough away like a soggy sleeve, and he felt a blast of hot air above him, burning his exposed muscles. Looking up he saw the angel, his golden wings spread, his face rapturous. “I think I’ll leave you with my pets a little longer…” He said, his smile beyond insane, beyond such mortal definitions, as Belkar screamed in pure terror.