“Ah, you fuck!” I screamed. “Please, what the hell!”

He twisted the curvaceous blade, carving the flesh right off my thigh; sparing no consideration. The razored edge frayed my nerves like a violin of violence. Tears streamed down my face – and he lapped them right up. The pain seared to the point where I couldn’t give half a shit about his tongue on my cheeks.

He must’ve meant the shrapnel injury in my leg before I died. But this is incomparably worse. Not even the air rifle dieseling and detonating to blow my left arm off was this painful – or maybe I wasn’t conscious enough to feel it so much.

The asswipe pulled on the dagger, then forced it into another direction. My squealing went unheard as he ran his tongue into my left eye while strangling me with his strongest grip. I could feel myself slipping from the blood loss and the pain.

“Please! Please, I’ll do anything just fucking stop!”

He ran the blade up to my hip, tearing both nylon fabrics and flesh alike. I’ve suffered injuries before, but I’ve never been outright tortured. What’ve I gotten myself into?

“Of course, there is something you can do for me,” he said.

“What? I’m sorry for earlier. Please, just tell me what.”

He stopped grinding the knife against my bones.

“Surrender yourself, entirely, and without resistance. Allow me to take all your memories; let me free you from your burdens.”

..that’s it? Surrender? To free myself from the guilt behind spawning the industrial echoes of war in this world? Would Mondo fare better without me? It’s tempting, but trust is hard to come by.

Eschaton slowly paced back and forth, then patted my head.

“Mhmm, I can see the look of relief on your face. Please, give it some thought and make this easier for us both. I would much rather not result to barbaric torture until you crack. We have an eternity to decide this, so don’t be in such a hurry. The world will be a better place when I wipe those pesky demons off the map – I have only allied with them by means of convenience. It may not be the end of the world.”

After a while of looking down in thought, at the puddle of blood and piss beneath my feet, I’ve come to a decision. I looked up to meet his crimson eyes; a sharp smile awaited me.

“I, truth is.. I do have the plans for paradise in my head. But I’d never hand it over to your narcissistic ass. Mondo’s fate isn’t just something for you to decide.” I said, heaving heavily.

His smugness soured to bitter resentment.

“Y’know, if I gave you the blueprints for heaven, you’d only build the hottest of hells here on Mondo. I’m just glad most Mondonian men aren’t pricks like you. ‘People’ such as you – if such a term applies, have always sought power over compassion.”

He immediately backhanded my face, and followed it up with a punch. Enough to knock the teeth off my jaw. It hurt, but nowhere as much as the dagger in my thigh.

Eschaton gripped my throat. “You sanctimonious wretch!”

I spat blood on his face, but unfortunately the freak liked it.

The piece of shit gripped his dagger and made an even bigger mess of my body. I made my point, and will continue to stand by it despite my suffering. It won’t be long until I pass out from blood loss here, or outright die.

“..fuck you.” I said, with exhaustion, still being choked.

“You think death will save you from me?”

He tore off my armored vest and ripped the curved blade from my flesh, then jammed the dagger straight past my sternum – into my heart. I couldn’t believe the sharpness of the pain skittering about in my body as he pried the dagger up and about, cracking my ribs and shredding my lungs and so much more.

I can’t take much more, I’m done.

…

“Wake up! I am not through with you. We have only begun.”

I’m, back? The place looks just as fucked as it was the last time, and I’m still chained to this wall. I looked down to see my body has healed, and my clothes are all torn or cut up.

“Enjoying yourself? This is your fifth life here.”

Fifth? I only remember dying the first time just now.

Oh god. Shit!

There’s all sorts of guts, fluids, and bodily matter scattered on the brick-cladded flooring and walls.

“Hmm. I already went for your brain the last time.”

He traced over my chest with the tip of his dagger.

“Maybe I should go for your intestines again? How about, dicing your fingers and toes apart? Perhaps going for your brain was a bad idea. It would be a shame if you forgot my efforts.”

This went on for a long while. I really did die several times here. I could faintly remember. Multiple times again and again, and it kept going to the point where I couldn’t keep count.

“This otherworldly experience will only end, once you crack under the pressure of suffering and truly surrender. The memories your soul holds ever so dearly, will become mine.”

He went for my eyes and my guts, tearing apart my limbs from time to time. I learned more about anatomy in my time chained up here more than I ever did before. Every death just pissed me off more and more, I swear I’m going to get back at him.

“Wonderful work for making it this far, but your end is inevitable. The countless others who have fallen prey to this spell lost their will at around this point. Do not disappoint me, now. Besides, once you are utterly defeated, Kantax is next. She owes me.”

I must’ve died over several dozen times now. He’s decided to try out his magical spells to surgically mutilate me through all sorts of elemental destruction magic. He also spawned several torture devices and prepared them for use; already having used the breast ripper, thumb screws, and knee splitters. Please, no more.

He torched my body, severed my limbs, and melted the flesh right off the bones – several ways of which he’d burned into my mind.

This.. is hell. What did I do to even...

Eschaton twisted every single school of magic I’d both heard and never heard of, for the sole purpose of inflicting the most adulterated pain onto me. I’ve stopped sobbing at this point.

I writhed and resisted as much as I could, to the point of loosening the bricks my chains are bolted to. My left hand felt a little freer, and over a couple of more deaths I gradually focused on moving the brick off the wall.

“Please, please – I give up! Just, please let me..”

He approached close enough to lick the blood and sweat off my neck. I had my chance – with a careful lifting motion, I managed to release the brick from the wall.

I thought of using my left wrist chained to a brick as a flail, but instead I hooked it around his neck and locked it into place.

“Eschaton, you son of a bitch!”

With a sudden stranglehold, I forced him closer to where I smashed my helmet into him over and over. Which was odd – I swore my helmet had come off long ago. He burned and gutted me as I caved his skull in with mine. Eventually, I dropped him.

But him reeling away, alive, gave me a breather.

How’d I get my helmet again? I just, willed it up and felt it should’ve been there? My left hand was still freely chained to the single brick. The rest of my limbs were still stuck in place.

I needed to free myself. Maybe willing things into existence was how he got his stiff, and those fucked up devices. Maybe even this whole dungeon came about that way. I’m not powerless here after all.

Maybe this place gave me a kind of magic to work with.

I took a deep breath, clearing my mind.

My vest, and all of its gear. I always kept them ready.

I looked down, and there it all was. Still no clothes, aside from the vest and things I kept with it. Eschaton slowly recovered from his wounds, clearly casting healing magic onto himself.

A, a tranquilizer dart rifle! I held one before when I visited my college roommate back when she worked part-time at the zoo.

I still remember how heavy it was.

Then there it was, gripped firmly in my hand by the barrel.

My adrenaline was wearing off and my blood loss was getting severe. I pulled the dart rifle to my mouth and cycled the bolt with my teeth, then did my best to aim and fire it at him.

One soft hit. Then I cycled it again. Another hit.

Too few, it’ll do nothing, and too many, it’ll kill him. I’d rather it kills him later on, to buy me time. I fired a third one, before dropping the heavy rifle. Eschaton was so busy healing his head wounds that he didn’t notice the darts on his thighs. I need to die and come back before he regains his bearings

I took the grenade from my vest, then pulled the pin and jammed it into my abdominal wound.

Maybe I can win this.

…

Another breath. I’m back.

He’s still out cold, and I’m in perfect condition. I better free myself quickly before he decides to wake up. My left hand was freed from the chained brick due to the blast.

Blowtorch – a simple one we used for fixing up leaks on the old military vehicles, most of which were older than many of us fighting that war. I used the torch to weaken the chains binding my limbs.

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Once freed, I turned my attention to Eschaton, who slept soundly. He’s going to either wake up, or resurrect at some point. Better restrain him in every way possible.

His limbs, cuffed and bound with no shortage of bindings. His mouth, sealed with layers upon layers of duct tape over some super glue. Even if he’s skilled enough to cast spells without chanting, I won’t give him that chance.

I don’t need to hear his screams anymore, and there’s nothing he can say that’ll save him from what I’m about to do. There’ll be no way for him to utter or channel magic from this point on; Arsalan told me about the dreaded anti-mage prisons Ischyrosians had. Inkunzi even refused to tell me how they were built, just what they do. Debilitate the target and break their concentration.

In the meantime, I’ll practice this ‘creation ability.’

…

His eyes slowly opened.

“Well, took you long enough,” I said. “It’s time.”

I closed the third book I had the chance of re-reading, this one was “A History of Invention” – which I learned about the humble beginnings of an AC electrical grid. The environment had drastically changed, after I’d toyed with it. His torture dungeon was now a modern lab from a chemicals corporation I interned at, long ago.

He was still in a bit of a daze, but I woke him up quickly with a zap from a stun gun. I’ve restrained his limbs in a way that even if he resurrects, he’ll still be in the same bindings.

He’s laid on a steel casket with a large mirror in front.

I want him to see what I’m going to do with him.

First, I forced him to suffer a kind of paralysis from a special mushroom potion Lugosi taught me to make. Then, I forced several doses of stimulants into his system to keep him awake, and sensitive.

Then, a thousand cuts to his body with obsidian scalpels, the same kinds I’d gifted to Kat several times before.

Every nook and cranny, more and more scalpel cuts. This already got him squirming. And I’m going to do my best to make sure he doesn’t die – and if he does, it’ll be a living hell for him.

Drops of blood on some of the areas I dug the scalpel too deep. That’s fine, I never had the steadiest hand. Next up is capsaicin.

Crushed peppers, the ‘Reaper’ brand my best friend during the war always had a jar of. He said it kept him warm and reminded him of life away from the trenches. I got a handful, and smeared it over the parts of his body that I’d made countless fine cuts at.

Muffled screams erupted from this scumbag; music.

His arms, his legs, and especially his balls – who knew all those folds men have there could be so sensitive. Chili pepper jam, then doused with 70% rubbing alcohol to freshen up. Then more spicy jam.

The chili sauce is oil-based so when the partially water rubbing alcohol covers it, the sauce is forced further into the skin.

I made sure he could see himself clearly, but not before I mutilated one of his eyes just to see what would happen.

Every time he would pass out, that’s another few zaps from the stun gun to his junk. He squirmed, screamed, and cried like a little bitch. I don’t really see a way to leave this place so I’m going to run a few chemistry experiments while waiting for him to die of pain and shock, over and over. Might try some of the acids on him just to see what happens – show him ways flesh falls right off the bone.

I also tried injecting him with a 'piranha solution' that is composed of sulfuric acid and hydrogen peroxide. It caused severe chemical burns on his already-reddened spicy skin, but it did wonders in melting away his lungs and burning down through his diaphragm and other guts. It’s the kind of stuff we use to clean organic material off of glass and even silicon wafers. Every time he’d respawn, I would inject one of his eyes with various dangerous substances.

Would be nice to review and memorize the periodic table again while I have the chance, maybe while eating some of my favorite dishes out here too, since I can basically just imagine them up. I’ve never looked up their ingredients lists before but it’s informative.

Unfortunately, I can’t seem to spawn an internet connection.

Eventually I decided to automate the torture system by having him dipped over and over into a whole vat of industrial amounts of oily chili sauce with a hose of alcohol to hose him down.

Rinse, and repeat.

…

Hours passed. I was finishing up on peer-reviewed studies regarding various titration methods, after reviewing what I forgot about in regards to atomic structures and stoichiometry. It even got boring watching his flesh fall off the bone and reanimate itself back onto his body after he dies, over and over.

Then the world froze. Lighting dulled, and dimmed.

All the windows and doors glowed in a strange, old TV static kind of way. I looked back at Eschaton which I’d largely tuned out of my mind at this point, and it seemed that he must’ve cracked by now?

I examined him, and he was in the middle of a scream despite his jaws clamped by a special metal helmet I’d welded up. Eyes rolled back, skin reddened, swollen, and irritated beyond measure.

I grabbed a brick and smashed his head in, for good measure.

Then, to my left, was the lab doorway, but it opened to a pure blackness instead of the static everywhere else.

Guessing it’s time to go? The world around me began to crack and crumble, so I slowly walked through the door. Just before it completely sealed behind me, I turned to see someone grabbing the knob to hold it open for a bit longer.

“Forlasita!” she called me. “It’s me, Satrona.”

A robed woman in distinct pre-Marbordian attire, typical of fashion across the Fekunda Strait. She glowed with golden brilliance.

“Satrona? I’m sorry, who?”

“Atrocious, you really did forget. That’s SO you. Regardless, I’m just here to thank you on my brother’s behalf. You freed Vess and Vox’s champion from ancient suffering. I have a gift for you.”

“Vess, and Vox.. twin deities of nature and harmony? And you’re Satrona, sister of Occasio – the twins of time and luck?”

She grabbed my palm and placed a cold can in there.

“Wow. Guess I lost a bet with Memoro on that one – looks like you do remember. Sort of. Anyhow, take this. I owed Vess and Vox so they told me to get you something. Your fate does not end so soon, and I hope to see you again when your journey is candidly complete.”

It was a modern can of.. elven wine? But the motifs on the print indicated tropical life between a goblin in shades, a surfing succubus, and a dwarf with a human burying an elf neck-deep at a beach.

The language is the same strange one from the odd cultist books. Rujia once explained how the writing is from the plaguelands, and the different castes of demons and demon-kin that reside there. She couldn’t read it either.

“We must hurry. The other deities cannot know I’m meddling with you. Take care, now.”

“Wait!” I yelled, but she had already vanished.

The door slowly closed shut.

…

Pure darkness, and then a faintly bright chandelier.

I was back in Eschaton’s castle chamber. He’d just collapsed in front of me, frothing in the mouth with garbled screams.

Without hesitation, I lowered my waist to his face and jammed my right hand’s fingers into his eyes, crushing them into a disgusting paste. I then crushed his hands to prevent him from casting magic.

“Impossible.. Just, what are you?” he asked.

I paused.

“Human.”

He screamed muffled down as I kicked his skull and neck repeatedly. Bloody and battered, the slippery floor made sliding his body to a step near the altar easier – and then I wedged his mouth over the ledge and curb-stomped him. Done and done.

I searched him for a weapon, and found the same ceremonial dagger he tortured me with for ages. With some difficult movement, I unsheathed it and unbinded my wrists.

A chance at freedom. Yet, my left hand was gone again. It was nice to have it for a while again – but I didn’t leave that dreamscape empty-handed as I found the modern pull-tab can of elven wine clutched in my prosthetic hand.

I took Eschaton’s satchel and made my way to the exit. Loud noises and groans echoed through the hallways and past his door. I found myself hungry as hell, so I took some of the delicious food on his desk and shoved them into my bag after a few quick bites.

One of the two armored guards left to check the commotion, so I snuck up behind the other. His fine, full-plate of blackened armor made it difficult to find a weakspot. His neck was my only bet.

Shanked. I then twisted the wavy flamberge dagger.

He reached for the back of his neck but crumpled to the floor, a shaking and dying mess. It wasn’t quick, it took about half a minute for him to stop moving. During that time, I grabbed his halberd.

It wasn’t just the usual guardsman’s halberd, it had a streamlined firing mechanism built into the handle, which was partly a gunbarrel. Decent craftsmanship, but still a muzzle-loader with no rifling. To set it off, it used a mechanism derived from the ferrocerium firestarters we sold by the boatload for cheap at Pulvera.

A halberd-gun with one shot, a dagger, and my mechanical arm’s built-in flamethrower with two remaining charges.

I snuck about the small castle, taking whichever hallway had fewer enemies. Multiple guarding races began fighting each other and the chaos got louder as time passed. The thralls were freed.

A small patrolling group of guards hastened nearby, banding together to fend off the rebelling sentries. I hid in the shadows and let them pass. They walked on by, arguing on what to do.

“Two of the hound knights are rampaging upstairs!”

“First, we must check the Grandmaster.”

“Halt!” said a wolf-hood. “I smell fear. Over there.”

He raised his pole-lantern towards me. Fuck.

“That’s the last sacrifice! Get her!”

I aimed the halberd-gun at him, and fired. The other goons watched as he fell, then gazed back at me. I ran down the rest of the hall to another group of enemies and screamed.

“Hey, watch out! These guys are gonna kill all of us!”

Four of the guardsmen behind stopped to fire their halberds, but missed me at a distance. However, they managed to hit the guys I was running towards. The group ahead stopped fighting amongst themselves, and readied to deal with the ones chasing me.

Then I ran into the pantry and barred it with the halberd.

Trapped, there’s barely a way out. The drop from the closed windows was still too high, and there’s no rope here. Heavy fighting occurred past the door – I don’t have much time left.

Fuck it, there’s a ladder leading to an attic, a complete dead-end. What do I do? I uhhh, let’s try something. We have to try. I daggered up some bags of fine flour and scattered them about the pantry, leaving a thick but even dispersion in the air. I spent about a minute doing this, and I hope it works. The fighting lulled.

Bam, they busted the door open.

I’d already broken the ladder off, so they didn’t notice it led to this extended storeroom up the steps – now merely reduced to a den of rats. It was dark, but my low-light vision made it manageable.

“Come out now,” one growled. “Little pest!”

They closed the pantry door behind them.

“There’s no escape for you now, so come out!”

I covered my ears and opened the hatch a little and fired a jet of flame from my prosthetic arm using a lanyard between my teeth – but before I could close the hatch, it blew open. The pressurized blast in the pantry turned the room into a thermobaric bomb.

It worked, a little too well. My prosthetic arm was blown off, and after a fit of coughing, I jumped down the hatch to finish off anyone who wasn’t done for yet. All those fried, charred remains and shattered armor left little for me to deal with.

The smug one I shot earlier down the hall barely survived, had my survival knife on him. I picked up an axe and severed his neck. Looted him for the knife and his coat, and headed out.

I beamed for the closest exit downstairs. Some of the remaining guards tried to chase me down, but didn’t get far.

The freezing winds made it difficult to keep my eyes open. My remaining fingers had to stay warm.

I walked south for hours through snow and storm.

The coat I looted kept me largely warm over my black vinylon coveralls, but my leather boots and thick socks couldn’t protect my feet that well. There’s nowhere to take shelter at, and the windchill hurts more atop the trees so that’s not an option.

Trees – riddled with eyes, wherever I looked.

The roasted meats and soft bread I carried was nice to snack on, along with a looted waterskin and the futuristic can of elven wine. But the food tasted like they just came out of a fridge. Almost frozen.

Wish I could have a warm meal – the perfect use for that wine!

Besides, I don’t think I’ll live long enough to use it later on anyway. The warmth is welcome, and damn does it feel great. I kept the food close to my abdomen to keep them from freezing over.

Then, a snow pantera had emerged in my path, unfazed by the storm. Its fur seemed like a luxury, and I pulled my survival knife out.

Kantax’s stories of them were all full of bravado.

But, this creature just yawned at me across a frozen creek. I carefully walked over, making sure it wasn’t too thin. My legs are so freezingly numb, it’s like I’m walking on stilts.

I followed the big cat for a while longer as she moved south. Maybe for an hour or so, I’m not sure. But she led me out of the blizzardous area – and vanished.

Soon, I could see smoke. The innocent kind from a small village, not the kind from dead armies. Thanks be.

The locals were a hardy kind, the villagers of Kalisker.

I collapsed for a moment, and found myself on a hard bed with a sturdy fever. They took some of my clothes off to carefully warm me up. Hot soup and fresh meat, even a precious egg. They tell me there isn’t much they can do now; I’ve been walking on dead feet for hours.

Stupid. I didn’t come this far to necrose and die. I planned a way to have an assisted amputation done as soon as possible. I’ll fucking do it myself if I have to, dammit. Nothing compares to what Eschaton put me through, and I’ve already lost a limb before.

Then Senior Lieutenant Shit-cup’s tank arrived. The 449 had gotten lost scouting ahead, and they stopped by for directions. I hitched a ride. Using their 16ths cut map of the region, I led them to the nearest Pulveran rendezvous point. We’re saved.

Now, proper treatment; two more amputations. The medics and healing mages could only do so much for dead flesh. Still, the pain’s far from the psychic war Eschaton put me through.