With ears, nose and eyes devoid of their power, and a body that only has pain as it companion, Ethan was confident that he ended up in hell. When the revelation came to him, that he had fallen into the devil’s playground, he wasn’t particularly surprised. He wasn’t a religious man by any stretch of the imagination. While he did believe in the existence of an almighty creator, he didn’t really believe that worshiping an omniscient being was worth his time and effort.

As he felt his body convulse - tearing his muscle tendons asunder, he supposed he should have least gone to church at Christmas or Easter. It Seemed it was too late now. The silver-tongued snake had claimed his soul, and Ethan doubted the fallen angel gives away his toys so willy-nilly.

As an unknown amount of time went by, Ethan realised that the occasionally pain he felt was nothing compared to the desolate void that was his home. A small part of him actually looked forward to the pain, for it was the only sensation he seemed to be able to feel. Ethan had to begrudgingly admit that the devil was a most skilled and talented torturer. He was slowly turning the fallen soldier into a masochist - a man who was gradually becoming addicted to the feeling of his body being set on fire, and ground into dust.

*  *  *  *  *

While Ethan was counting the seconds in his head until his next wonderful sensation surprise, he suddenly started hearing a loud agonized scream. It didn’t stop, the piercing wail continued to attack his ear drums. Wait… He could hear again…

In that instant of that epiphany, a bright light violated Ethan’s eyes.

*  *  *  *  *

“Finally! About time you woke up.”

Ethan threw his upper body upwards. He tried to take in his surroundings, but even the slightest light that cracked through his eyelids, pounded his brain like a hammer.

“Stop moving so suddenly, you imbecile! You haven’t moved in over nine months. Not to mention the load of tubes and needles buried in your flesh.” The same voice yelled at him.

Ethan ignored this mysterious voices warning. He continued to thrash his body to freedom, no matter how much it hurt him. He tried to stand, but his legs refused to obey his command. Running out of options, he began to swing his body back and forth like a pendulum - quickly gaining momentum.

“Would you stop that, you’re going to fall.”

Ethan fell. He only fell a couple feet, but to Ethan’s long dormant body, it felt like he had dove of a cliff. The force and pain of the landing knocked the air out of his body - making him gag and retch. He retched with such force, he slammed his head on the hard wooden floor, once again entering the devil’s abyss.

“Bloody idiot…” He heard the voice say, just before his mind left the realm of man.

Ethan awoke once again several days later. This time however, his eyes did not feel the assault of concentrated luminescence. Nor did he flail his body around like a fish this time around. For it was tied down to the surface underneath his body.

“Awake again, are we?” A familiar voice rhetorically asked.

Ethan moved his eyes with rapid speed, but he was unable to locate the source of the gruff-sounding voice.

He tried to reply to the voice, but all that came from his dry, cracked mouth was a series of grunts and low whistles.

“Can’t talk ay? Not surprised. You haven’t exercised those meat flaps of yours in nigh ten months. Unless you count all the screaming… I don’t. Not very eloquent.”

Ethan was too confused and shocked to properly comprehend what the voice was telling him. He began to breath deeply and slowly - attempting to slow his thundering heart.

“W...w-w...Wata…” Ethan croaked with great effort. A thin and wrinkly hand magically appeared beside his face, holding what looked like a metal cup. The  freckled hand pressed the top of the cup to his lips; slowly tilting it. Ethan felt a small trickle of cold liquid fall into his mouth.

“Drink slowly now, don’t want you choking.” Ethan obeyed the voice, sipping on the water as if he was a babe sucking its mother’s teat. In several moments, the water was gone. Ethan relished in the cool moist feeling that now resided in his mouth and throat.

He then began to cough deliberately, to help unclog his pipes. He didn’t feel even a morsel of embarrassment when he spat globs of thick yellow phlegm, beside his head.

“So… Who are you?” Ethan asked, his voice still hoarse but understandable.

“That’s your first question? Not ‘where am I and why am I tied to a table’.” The voice mused.

“Thought I’d ask that next. I can’t move right now, so I’ve nothing to do but ask questions.”

“I see. Well, my fabled specimen, I am the great Bartholomew Griffith.” The voice stated, in a manner that suggested Ethan was supposed to recognise that name.

“Sorry, but I ain't never heard that name before.” He replied flatly, not bothering to humour the mysterious man.

“Really? Greatest natural philosopher in all of Britain… Accomplished physician… Mastered calculus when he was nine… Wielding of lightning… Ring any bells?”

“Nope, sorry mate.”

“Bloody plebeians! Never knowing anything more than drink and the dried shit in between their arse cheeks!” Bartholomew grumbled.

Ethan wasn’t sure how to respond to the man, so he waited to see if he would change the subject himself.

“No matter… Not like I can expect all the common folk to know my greatness.” He said to himself, once again returning back to his husk neutral tone.

“So, where I am? Mr Griffith.” Ethan asked, deciding being overly polite was the best way to address this man at the moment.

“My, aren’t we a respectful pleb? You’re in my home, which is located about a mile away fromt the town Ramsgate.”

“Ramsgate? But I was in Maidstone when… When… Wait! Didn’t I die?” Ethan yelled, his heart rate rising as his thoughts became more confused and erratic.

“You did. Six times actually. Good thing I have a few tricks up my sleeve to get a heart beating again. I found your corpse as I was passing through Maidstone. Must of found you shortly after your demise, since you were nice and fresh.”

A flood of questions invaded Ethan’s mind, but even in the torrent of questions, there was one that stood out from the rest. “Why..?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you save me?”

“Oh that’s simple. It’s not easy find corpses to do experiments on. Especially ones as young, strong and fresh as yours. Not to mention it seemed like no one would miss you. Ya know, cause you had been beaten to death and left on a public pavement.”

“I see…” Was all that Ethan could muster in response. In a way, he was relieved he hadn’t been saved from a kind hearted soul, good Samaritans made him uncomfortable. “I suppose I should thank you.”

“Do or don’t, I don’t give a shit either way. I learned a lot from experimenting on you. And now that you’re going to be working for me, that’s thanks enough.”

“Work for you? I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

“You don’t exactly have a choice in the matter. Your life is chained to mine. Without me, you die.”

“And why is that?” Ethan growled

“Because of those two huge batteries in your back.”

“What the hell are batteries?”

“I’ll explain that later. For now, let's get you up.” Bartholomew said, as he moved closer to Ethan’s defenseless body.

Once the philosopher was done releasing the thick heavy leather strips that had him pinned, Ethan slowly raised his body - stretching all the while.

“Why’d you free me? I can easily run away now, ya know.” Asked Ethan, as he massaged his sore arms.

“Not as easily as you would think, boy. And like I said earlier, you're chained to me now.

"What does that even mean?"

The old philosopher sighed. “I wanted to wait a bit before we did this, but I guess now is just as good. Follow me.” He said, as he turned one hundred and eighty degrees, and began to walk.

Ethan pressed his bare feet to the ground, and slowly applied his body weight. His legs began to burn, shake and throb in response to his actions. He breathed deeply and gave his legs a gently shake. His face flushed crimson from the demanding task. His mouth scowled when the sensation of needles being stabbed into his flesh appeared.  

Stubborn pride refused him the sense of taking this process slowly. When he eventually managed to stand up, knees wobbled and joints cracked. Suddenly, an object came flying at Ethan’s face. He caught it in his left hand just before it struck him. The object was long and made of wood. The blunted hook at the top of the stick told Ethan that is was a stick designed to help people walk. Gripping the hook, Ethan pressed the bottom of the shaft to the floor, allowing it to take some of his weight.

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The stick helped him walk, but it was designed for someone much shorter than himself - making him have to hunch his back like an old man.

Ethan eventually caught up to Bartholomew. The two walked side by side, it frustrated Ethan that he was struggling to keep up with the old man, when it should be the other way around. Together, they traversed corridors so dark , that Ethan was unable to describe them.

They eventually reached a large door that seemed to be made entirely of iron. Ethan wondered how they would open such a heavy thing, but instead of opening the door, the old man simple knocked. After a short pause, the door slowly opened - screeching as its mouth was forcibly opened by an unseen force. The philosopher walked inside without pause, Ethan begrudgingly followed after him.

This room like everywhere Ethan had been, lacked any light, it's decorum hidden in shrouds. But what happened next awed the frail man. Bartholomew disappeared in the darkness. A moment later, Ethan heard was sounded like a click, but instead of fingers, it sound more like two pieces of metal striking each other. Immediately after the click, a roar of steam came to be. A symphony of gears and pistons collided with each other. The sounds came from the entirety of the room. Ethan threw his head from side to side, but was unable to locate the primary source of the sounds.

Then, there was light!

Ethan slammed his eyelids shut, his body defending him from the sudden brightness. After several seconds, Ethan allowed cracks to form in his skin shields - allowing him to see glimpses of the outside world.

Through the cracks, Ethan was able to see the light source. Globes of glass that had somehow managed to imprison the sun’s rays, were scattered across the room.

“What is this!?” Ethan marveled, his eyes now fully open to the majesty of the room.

“Light my dear boy” The old man replied, like it was a stupid question.

“I know that old man… But how does this light come to be? I see no wax. No oil. Neither wick nor flame. Be this sorcery?”

“Sorcery, ay...” The philosopher himself seemed to light up at the word. “Afraid not lad. This is natural philosophy at it’s finest!”

“Natural philosophy…” Ethan tasted the words. “You used those words together before. What does it mean?”

“I’ll try to keep it simple for you. Natural philosophy is the study of everything in this world. From the human body, to the skies. The earth, metal, gems, medicine. Energy sources like wood, coal and steam. We natural philosophers study these things, and dedicate our lives to improving them.”

“I see. Fascinating - I’ll admit… So, how are these lamps powered?” Ethan asked, as he was drawn closer to a globe of light; a moth to a flame.

“Why, lightning of course. When used like this, philosophers like to call it electricity.” The philosopher spat forcefully on the floor, emphasizing something Ethan didn’t quite understand. The thick chunk of phlegm made an audible smack against the wooden ground. “Such an ugly term, don’t you think? I myself call it Potestas Electricus! sounds much nicer, doesn't it?”

“Sure.” Was Ethan’s response, unsure how to reply to the old man’s ravings “This is very impressive and all, but what has this got to do with me?”

“I was getting to that. Kids these days, no patience…” He paused, considering his next choice of words. “You see, like these light orbs, they need a constant supply of electricus to keep them alight, and so do you.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Well, after the third time your heart stop beating, a jolt of electricus was not enough to get the thing going again. No, this time it needed a constant supply of electricus to keep pumping, and that’s exactly what I did. Touch your back.”

Confused and a tad scared, Ethan did as he was told. He moved his feeble arms around and began rubbing his hands across his back - looking for something amiss. It didn’t take long until he felt the cold touch of metal on his fingertips. He slid his hands up and down the metal, until he again met skin. The metal covered all of his upper back, felt cylindrical in shape, and protruded several inches from his skin. He didn’t truly start to panic, until he tried to move the metal, and it wouldn’t. He pulled harder and harder, but they didn’t budge. Each tug pulled his back along with it, causing him to stumble.

“Would you stop that!” The philosopher huffed “ They’re fused to your back. To pull them out, would take your insides with them too.”

“I-I don’t understand!” Ethan gasped.

“Like I said, your body needs a constant supply of electricus to survive. Those two titanium and tungsten hemispheres sticking out your back contain batteries. Batteries store the electricus, so you don’t have to be chained to a bunch of wires for the rest of your life, if you can call it that.”

Ethan did his best to calm down. Every method failed until he thought of his life in the King’s army. He was so strong and brave back then. Now look at him, turned into a freak because he his murdered by a bunch of common thugs… Pathetic. If fate had decided to give him a chance of redemption, by turning him into a mockery of God’s creations, then so be it...

“Okay, I think I’m beginning to understand. Am I really alive though?” Ethan pondered, his composure once again becoming an poorly tempered iron rod.

“Of course. Your brain is still ticking after all. You’re not just some corpse that I’ve turned into a puppet with electric shocks, like my previous patients. No, you just need a little help to keep ticking, like a pirate needs a wooden peg to replace his old leg.”

“I guess that’s not so bad,” Ethan thought, but he wasn’t a fool, there must be a few ‘complications’. “What are side effects?”

“Ah, not a complete  buffoon then.” He praised. “Let’s see… You will need to charge your batteries at least every four days, or you’ll flop on the floor and meet whatever deity you worship… again. Your body also constantly leaks a small amount of electricus, so you need to be properly insulated, or you’ll cause so serious problems.”

“What do you mean by problems?”

Before answering, Bartholomew picked up an iron rod and walked towards Ethan. “Touch it.” He ordered, holding the other side of the rod towards Ethan. He gripped the iron rod with his left hand. Instantly he saw  a cascade of small lightning bolts travel down the iron rod, suddenly disappearing when they reached the philosopher's hand.

“That’s amazing! Am I doing that?”

“Do you always ask people stupid questions?”

“Alright, old man, just checking. How come the lightn… electricus isn’t harming you?”

“Now that’s a less stupid question. You see the gloves I’m wearing? They’re made of rubber, and electricus can’t travel through rubber.”

“Interesting. So does that mean I’m going to have to wear rubber from now on?”

“In a perfect world, yes. But this isn’t a perfect world and I’m quite poor. For now you will have to wear wool. Not as good as rubber, but certainly better than nothing.

“I see… And do you have any wool clothing for me?”

“Of course not! You seem our height difference lad? I don’t own anything that will fit you, except maybe a curtain.”

Ethan looked down at the old man and noticed that there was indeed a huge difference in their heights and builds. It was times like this when Ethan cursed being five-foot eleven, in a country where the average man is five-foot five. The philosopher looked even smaller than that. “Wait! If I was in your care for over nine months, how come you didn’t prepare me some clothes in that time?”

“You deaf lad? I said I’m penniless. Any sort of income I get, goes straight to my experiments not clothing some overgrown boy!”

“Then what am I supposed to do? I can’t go out in just my pants,  with a body that threatens to vaporise anyone I touch.”

“Don’t be daft, at most you’d burn someone or put them in a seizure if you touched them long enough. But I see your point… Can’t have my new bodyguard naked. We’ll have to find some coin and a tailor who’s filling to travel to a shady manor, next to the roaring ocean. Over a mile away from civilisation.

“Bodyguard?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. What did you think you’d be doing, cleaning? Cooking?  No lad, I’ve got to know your body quite well over the months, and I know it was built for fighting. Sure you’ve lost a lot of muscle mass due to your comatose state, but you’ll get it back.”

Ethan thought over what the old man had just said, and he had to admit it made a lot of sense. If he was going to be this man’s unwilling servant, he’d rather slay his enemies then iron his clothes. “You at least got a weapon I can use?”

“Lad, I don’t think you’ve been listening to me...”

That’s a no then. Ethan sighed.