Cyrus thought he knew the pain in and out. Only as he lay strapped to the chair did he realise how false the statement was. He knew nothing of the intensity and depth that his long-time companion had to offer. The roman had experienced it here and there but it was just the tip of a massive iceberg.
This thought truly hit home after his first bout with his two captors. It wasn't Cyrus versus the two "adventurers" but him versus pain. His willpower against the ever-rising temptation to give in, to be free of the sensation of his limbs going up in flames, the feeling of a million molecular swords slamming into his flesh all at once. The two fanatics knew the ins and outs of the human body, exploiting its many weaknesses and sensitive spots like connecting dots on a map. They offered mercy at the cost of his life, his honour and possibly the lives of thousands. A quick death became the untouchable prize, the ultimate fantasy of his nightmares.
The two religious freaks pulled all sorts of devices and machines from their never-ending bags. The blades of each instrument were matted with the blood of its previous victims. Some possessed edges curving inwards like hooks, others straight, serrated with needles branching out from the main inflicter of pain. These sadistic "tools" were all tested on him like a surgeon deciding the best method of operation. But instead of searching for the safest and painless option, the "doctors" look for the ones that trigger the best responses, the most pain. After each treatment, one of the monsters would take out a vial of red liquid and dump its contents over his head like a shower. His body would be brought back to full health, soon followed by another session.
Cyrus's body had slowly gone numb to the sensations of tearing flesh. The once sharp pain had turned into a dull throb. His senses no longer functioned. The gut-wrenching screams in the first few days had dimmed into a hoarse croak that fluctuated in pitch constantly before fading into a whistling sound of air. His throat felt like it was being slowly roasted on fire with all the moisture sucked out. Swallowing makes it worsen ten folds.
They pounced on this weakness like a man with terminal dehydration searching for water. The one named Maria had forcefully pried open his parched mouth and dumped a tar-like substance into his mouth. The liquid slowly crawled into his throat, inducing an unending swallowing and gagging sensation that ripped his mind and stomach apart. Bile sprung towards the surface only to be blockaded by the invading substance. Coming face to face with a far superior and powerful fluid, the vomit receded, retreating back to the stomach. As the black juice neared his organs, the man pulled out a hose-like object with multiple rune engravings carved into the sides. Activating the squiggly lines, the magical machine went to work, slowly pulling the tar out of his body in a painful, snail-paced fashion. The swallowing and gagging sensations returned like a never-ending nightmare. As the final black drops retreated from his mouth, the roman puked. The mix of stomach acid and spit reclaimed his throat and mouth from the black invaders before exiting his lips, pulled along by the still-operating suction pump. He heard metal screeching and a sharp click.
Despite his inner protests, his curiosity coerced his eyelids into cracking open. The slit of light slowly expanded as his swollen flesh coverings peeled back.
Bouts of stinging, hot pain flooded his mind. Managing to pry his eyes open halfway, the broken man peered at his blurry surroundings. After a couple of minutes of concentrating and focusing his vision on one spot, the image became clear.
That acolyte or whatever was tying a black box to the centre of his chest with a long black strap. Her brown eyes drifted from her work, gazing intently at Cyrus's face. Her lips moved, "You can...stop anytime you like...just press...yes." Although the words were foggy and muffled, the man understood the gist.
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[Would you like to relinquish control of the [Dungeon Core]?]
[ERROR]
[Would you like to relinquish control of your [Soul]?]
[Y/N]
He shook his head in denial. The blue screen disappeared.
He shook his head in denial. The blue screen disappeared.
The woman smiled cruelly and tapped on something out of his line of sight. The devil's face doubled. Everything sprouted a blurry copy of itself. Cyrus blacked out.
Over and over, this cycle of torture continued. The devil in human skin's sweet promises of death became more alluring than ever before. The sessions of massacring his skin and muscles continued with each decline. An occasional notification would appear of his second-in-command dying and the pain resistance levelling up. His mind wasn't in any state to read them.
[You have gained [1] level in [Master Pain Resistance [Level 8]!]
The strange and creative torture methods shredded Cyrus's mind, triggering a half-dazed, half-unconscious state that faded in and out between the moments of darkness. But his body remained forever susceptible to the pain, increasing in intensity and duration as a counter to his increased skill.
Between each meet and greet with a new torturing device, when the dungeon core was in a somewhat right state of mind, the man would brainstorm ideas and countermeasures to break him from this reality nightmare. Dungeon laws or anything related to the dungeon itself was out of the question.
[You cannot edit your dungeon while adventurers are in it.]
Cyrus had long given up on escaping his bonds and making a break for the exit, knowing full well he'd never make it even at his peak condition. In the meantime, the dungeon core was focusing his efforts on putting a picture together of why this was happening to him specifically.
From the bits and pieces of conversations he eavesdropped on coupled with a load of assumptions, the Decanus could safely assume that his core was needed to connect this reality to another. Since the man-woman was an apparent "Goddess," it was highly probable that she was trying to link her hellish domain to this world. But they needed to access the dungeon core, which they couldn't do without his consent. Before he could revise the uncovered information, gut-wrenching pain kicked down his mental defences, ransacking his brain once more of all sanity.
The torture sessions were increasing in duration and faster intervals now. It was clear his captors were getting on edge, their behaviour more frantic and extreme than ever before. It could mean only one thing, trouble was looking for them. Cyrus prayed that whatever force was searching for them would find them quickly and save him. Hope rekindled in his heart. His battered, half-demolished blockade of willpower was rebuilt anew. Light was on the horizon.
As another wrack of pain flooded his body, he heard a voice yelling above the din of the whirring machine.
[Your request for aid has been received. Help is arriving.]
There was a massive bang and what sounded like rocks falling from the ceiling. More shouting, more distinguishable now as the droning and creaking of the instrument stopped. A mighty crack. Meaty thuds rang out. A cry of pain from the sultry, feminine voice. Silence.
"Well deserved..." He mumbled. His cracked lips slowly peeled upwards hesitantly into a small smile. The muscle movement felt so foreign yet so familiar. Cyrus's eyes slowly flickered open, the blurry vision clearing as if sensing his anticipation.
The sight that greeted him was disastrous. Massive holes and human-shaped indents littered the room. Cracks and valleys dotted the landscape.
Laying in one of these fissures was the limp, mangled body of the woman. A stream of blood flowed from her lips.
The standard had found its way onto the ceiling, running straight through the chest of the limp tank, pinning him to the stone. A broken sword and shield lay on the ground beneath her, barely visible beneath the piles of scrap metal.
A lone man in what seemed like a weird, flimsy light blue paper dress stood amid the carnage, perfectly unharmed. He turned his head towards Cyrus as if sensing his gaze. In the blink of an eye, he was face to face with the man. He felt a warm hand squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. Darkness greeted him once more.