Artemis had found a patch of cooler rock to sit on, one that didn’t scorch his skin.
The room was sweltering, heated by noxious vents. It was all he could focus on. It was all he would focus on because if he didn’t, he would dwell on what had just transpired, and that… well.
Even thinking about it... Shivers were rolled up his spine. Nothing had happened, as such. No more than a cut down his side, but Artemis felt… violated. He guessed that was the point.
Anger, terror and humiliation Churned in his stomach over an undercurrent of vulnerability.
That’s all it boiled down to, really. He felt vulnerable. Horribly vulnerable because he knew that, for once, he was totally helpless.
Despite his best efforts, he ended up marinating in his own powerlessness. Artemis was not generally the subservient type and the fact he had to be so submissive made him sick.
A weary sense of foreboding settled over him, if what Meg’s words were anything to go by, it would only get worse from here.
Artemis over the years, had come to the conclusion that extreme situations revealed one’s true character.
Perhaps, that was because he had reacted favourably in many high-pressure scenarios, the theory had painted him in a good light. That would make him a coward as well delusional, hiding from the truth.
The brief sojourn he had spent in this cell had proven that Artemis would rather bow and scrape to appease Alastair’s sick sense need for control than to endure any kind of pain or discomfort. It was pathetic really, in Artemis’ opinion.
Hours passed with Artemis just sitting there, trying to come up with some semblance of a plan. It was no use.
The demons were unbelievably strong, many in number, able to move objects with their minds and capable of willing objects into existence (although he had only ever seen Alastair do that). The cell was locked, although there was no handle nor was there a visible mechanism for it locking.
Well, Artemis assumed it was locked because there was always a click after the door shut. The door would not budge either, he checked.
Artemis perked up when he heard approaching footsteps, something was different this time however, Artemis could just about make out the footfall of two people.
The door swung open with a screech; Artemis was learning to fear that sound.
Alastair entered, followed by another man.
The newcomer was in his early twenties and had short brown hair, green eyes, and a square jaw. The man was indisputably gorgeous. When the man saw Artemis he froze, his face a mask of horror, “No.”
Alastair rounded on the man, “What’s the matter Dean? Afraid to get those hands of yours dirty?”
The man, Dean shook his head, “He’s a kid.” He said, his voice breaking slightly.
“How very observant of you.” Alastair mocked.
Dean ran a hand over his face, “What has he done? What did he do to get here?”
Alastair shook his head, “No crimes, this isn’t one of those cases.”
Dean frowned, “He sold his soul then?”
Alastair just smiled broadly.
“I can’t… You can’t do this.” Dean sounded so pitiful; Artemis couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
“I can and I will.” Alastair asserted, “The question is, Dean, will you do what you’re told? Or will you back on the rack?” The silence was long and telling. Dean shook his head. “Good.” Alastair said.
Not sure what to make of the interaction, Artemis filed it away for future reference.
Artemis wasn’t quite sure what to do, but he refused to get up from where he was sitting to greet Alastair, he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
This placed him in quite a precarious situation because now he was sitting, and Alastair was standing over him. Artemis was painfully aware that he was naked and that was only made worse by the fact that Alastair was not alone.
Alastair hunkered down in front of him, “I hope you don’t mind Artemis; I brought my intern.” He gestured to the beautiful man behind him, “Say hello Dean.”
Dean would not meet his eyes.
Artemis glared, “You don’t care about what I mind.”
In a flash, Alastair grabbed Artemis by the arm and hauled him to his feet and across the floor, that burnt like hot coals, and to the rack.
Artemis yelped and yanked against the arm but as usual, it was no use.
The smile that Alastair wore was sickly sweet, “Now, we can do this next bit on the floor or on the rack, your choice.”
Gritting his teeth, Artemis took stabilising breaths against the pain of his feet burning, “The rack.” He said quietly, looking at the wall.
“What was that?” Alastair asked, leaning in.
“The Rack.” Artemis said, louder.
“You want me to put you back on the rack?”
Hot daggers of anger and humiliation pierced Artemis’ stomach, Alastair was going to make him say it, wasn’t he? “Yes.” The seconds dragged on as Artemis’ feet burned, “...Please.”
Alastair smiled, “That was all I needed to hear.” Rather than simply flicking his wrist and having Artemis on the rack, Alastair chose to do it by hand, the contact between them always lingering for an uncomfortable length of time.
Artemis was laid down on the rack and the cuffs were secured which were now inexplicably made of leather rather than metal. The whole processes just served to make him feel more exposed and humiliated.
Artemis knew what Alastair was doing by presenting dilemmas for him. Alastair was trying to make Artemis feel as if he was responsible for what was done to him. It was clever, Artemis couldn’t fault him on that, and it would probably work if given enough time.
Alastair clicked his fingers and miraculously (or rather demonically) all the burns and cuts on Artemis’ body were completely gone. Another click and a metal table of surgical instruments were beside him. Artemis heart was in his throat.
“Now,” Alastair intoned in that nasal voice of his, “any burning questions you would like to ask Before we get started?”
The first question upon Artemis’ arrival came to mind, “Where are we?”
Alastair’s voice had taken on a condescending quality, “Surely a boy as intelligent as you could figure that one out.”
Artemis’ face remained stoic, “I have my suspicions.”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Hell. Specifically, the pit.” Alastair said.
That confirmed Artemis’ theory. “What will happen to me?”
Alastair considered the question, “Well, I am going to teach my protégée a lesson in inflicting pain, which really isn’t good news for you.”
Artemis tensed “Why?”
“First of all, that’s just how this place runs, and Primarily I just enjoy causing pain. There isn’t anything quite like making someone scream, beg for it to be over. It gives me a… kick.” Alastair said.
That did not bode well. Artemis could feel his options narrowing and walls closing in, he was beginning to think that there was no way out of this.
Alastair sounded apologetic, “I really do have to get this lesson started, so if you do have any further questions, you can see me straight after class.”
Alastair took a gleaming scalpel from the table hovered it over Artemis’ shoulder.
Artemis eyes widened, “No wait-”
Alastair made a deep cut causing Artemis to groan in pain.
“There is skill to torture, even draconian torture like this.” Alastair said, gesturing for Dean to come closer, “you see I have made a cut, but because it is not over a nerve cluster, there is little impact. However, if I were to make an incision here,” Alastair hovered the blade over another spot nearer to Artemis neck, “there would be significantly more impact.”
Alastair brought the scalpel down and made the cut causing Artemis to buck, letting out a pained scream that tapered off into whimpers.
Alastair continued matter-of-factly, “Nerve clusters are located here,” he brushed his hand over Artemis neck, making the boy shudder, “here,” Alastair ran a hand under his armpit, “Here,” The hand trailed under Artemis’ peck and on his lower rib, “here,” Alastair indicated to the crook of Artemis’ arm, “here,” Artemis jumped and took a sharp intake of breath when Alastair placed a hand into his genital region then skated the hand down the insides of his thigh, “and here.” Alastair ran his hand over the arch of Artemis foot.
Artemis remained still, not daring to move. The impromptu lesson Alastair launched into made Artemis feel like a dead insect, awaiting dissection.
Alastair handed the scalpel to Dean, “Why don’t you have a go?”
The look Dean shared with Artemis as he took the scalpel was one of a prisoner being led towards the gallows. It was incredibly uncomfortable. They both knew what would come next but neither (it seemed to Artemis) could do anything about it.
Dean stepped forward. He steadied a hand over Artemis shoulder. Artemis closed his eyes.
The first cut Dean made was clumsy (as were many that followed) but over the next hour Artemis’ winces and moans of pain morphed into screams and begging.
The song of pain coursed through Artemis' veins, It reached a crescendo and he screamed though a throat rubbed raw. He held the bars of the rack under his hands in a vice grip.
Dean had slipped in a trance. His focus was unshakable as he on the canvas before him. He had lost all self awareness and apprehension towards the task at hand. Some cuts were small shallow things and others were long deep gashes.
Every so often, Alastair would click his fingers and the cuts that littered Artemis’ body would melt away like nothing happened.
The knife came down again and Artemis screamed. The knife came away and Artemis shook his head against the rack, “Please stop. Not again, please. I can’t...” The knife came down again, “No, please don’t-“ his begging was cut off by fresh cries of agony.
If Alastair continued to heal Artemis, who knows how long this could go on. The thought should panic Artemis, but the genius was starting to feel as if everything happening to him was a thousand miles away.
Alastair brought the cutting to a stop, “I think it’s time to explore other avenues. Our guest seems to be leaving us. We should be careful not to break him too fast.”
Dean blinked, then nodded. Artemis let out a sob of relief when the pain subsided.
There was a shuffling and a clunk before Alastair was at eye level with Artemis.
Alastair put a hand on Artemis’ cheek, “Are you still with me Artemis?”
Artemis did his best not to cry and lean into the hand. He nodded afraid to leave the man’s question unanswered but unable to form a coherent sentence.
Alastair’s voice was warm, “There you are, good boy.”
A cloth was placed over Artemis’ face. Ice fill his veins. Not this. He shook his head and let out a groan.
Water soaked through the cloth and Artemis held his breath. Thirty seconds passed and his lungs began to burn, his vision blurred and his heart thumped in his ears.
He gasped for breath.
Water flooded into his mouth and nose, it trickled down his throat and he coughed and spluttered. He tried to take a breath but only breathed in more water. His lungs on fire, his throat clogged with water, his head was pounding desperation filled him. This was what drowning felt like.
He needed to breathe.
Abruptly, the water was gone and Artemis drank in air. He gasped and spluttered and sobbed.
Too soon the process began again.
His world was reduced to cycles of pain and relief. Bruises formed on his arms as he struggled against his bonds. To Artemis it felt endless, it would never stop.
Artemis felt his senses dampen, leaving the world muted. The sounds of water and his own gasping quietened to a distant murmur, the pain dulled and Artemis’ struggles weakened. He stared ahead, unseeing.
To Artemis’ ears the sound of Alastair speaking was garbled as if he was underwater, “Dean, that’s enough.” The cloth was removed from Artemis’ face. Alastair waved a hand in front of Artemis eyes, to no reaction, “The lights are on but nobody’s home.” Alastair said with barely contained glee.
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Alastair clapped Dean on the back with a jovial expression, “Well done, I didn’t expect him to tap out that fast. I’ll have to plan for that in future, maybe less physical torture if he is going to disconnect so easily.”
Dean flinched on contact. He was staring fixedly at the slack features of Artemis’ face. Water dripped down from the Kid’s damp locks. Dean had tortured before and had entered his ‘flow state’ (as Alastair called it) before but surfacing from his trance this time was different.
With most people Dean tortured, he had the assurance that either, they deserved to be here or that they had made the informed choice to sell their soul.
The Kid, Artemis, hadn’t done anything wrong. Dean reckoned he looked about fourteen or fifteen so there was no way that the kid could give consent to sell his soul.
He probably had no idea what he was getting to when he signed the contract.
Dean raised a knife to plunge the knife into Artemis’ heart only to be stopped by Alastair’s hand. Dean was taken aback, it was standard procedure to kill someone after torture as, because everyone here was dead they just reset, unharmed.
Alastair had a knowing look in his eye, “Leave him alive.”
Dean tilted his head at this. They didn’t use words like ‘alive’ here, they used words like ‘intact’, as everyone in hell was dead.
Alastair waved Dean away, “I’ll deal with this, you should go back to your work. Sorry to have dragged you away but I thought this would be a valuable learning opportunity.”
Dean left and Alastair couldn’t contain a triumphant smirk, “Neither of you realise what just happened do you?” Artemis stared at the wall, unblinking. Alastair sighed, “I thought not. It’s so much less fun this way.”
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The higher levels of Hell scorch with a burning heat but deeper in the maze, the breeze is frozen and cold.
Somewhere deep in the pits of Hell a stone wall on split and cracked down the middle, revealing a darkened cage. The cage was laden with an intimidating number of locks and shook with the force of the creature held inside.
An eerie laugh filled the frigid air and drifted out, causing the guards outside to turn.
Frost spread across the bars of the cage, glittering malignantly.
The laughter died but hung in the air, still laughing at the cosmic joke, at the irony of it all.
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Artemis didn’t register much but he was aware that he was unstrapped from the rack and carried somewhere. He was lying on his side.
There was a nagging voice seemingly a thousand miles away but it was persistent. It was nasal and steady, and becoming incrementally louder.
Slowly, he became aware of a hand raking through his wet hair. It was nice.
Artemis was floating away, the only things grounding him to reality were the voice and the hand in his hair.
He clung to them, focusing on the only thing that was real. He could just about make out the words now, they were assurances and words of comfort, “It’s okay, just relax. You did so well for me today.”
The words washed over him as Artemis’ mind lazily worked to decipher them. His head pounded and his lungs stung as he laboriously inhaled and exhaled.
His eyes fluttered open. Blinking, he noted that he was in a well lit room, lying on a bed with his head resting on someone’s lap. He closed his eyes and leaned into the hand in his hair.
An unknowable amount of time later Artemis’ thoughts began to shuffle into a chaotic order. He had been in his cell. He had been in his cell and...
Artemis began to shake.
Memories of drowning and cutting blades filled his mind. His breathing became frenzied and panic rose in his chest
Alert, Artemis lurched upwards. His head swivelled to see Alastair and Artemis began to scramble away only to be caged by strong arms. Alastair held him close as Artemis’ struggles became more subdued, eventually ceasing.
Artemis would like to that he didn’t dissolve into tears and collapse against Alastair’s chest but, then again, Artemis would like to say a lot of things.
He couldn’t stop the sobs that wracked his frame as Alastair shushed him and ran a calming hand down his back.
Artemis was not an expressive person at the best of times and was not used to being so vulnerable. He didn’t remember even showing this much emotion to Butler, never mind his own mother. He felt as though his feelings had been pulled out of him forcefully leaving him raw and helpless. A small part of his soul had been ripped from him, a screeching feral creature, bloodied and beaten.
Artemis hated how fragile a few hours of pain had made him. Alastair had knocked down Artemis’ walls built over years, which even Artemis struggled to lower.
This sick parody of tenderness felt wrong.
Everything about this felt wrong.
He wanted to scream.
But once the tears started to fall, it was impossible to stop, years of sorrow, pressure, hurt, and repression escaping him. It didn’t occur to Artemis to speak.
What would he say?
He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be gone. So, he closed his eyes and waited for the next best thing.