“Ah! Let me go motherfuckers! Don’t you know who I am?” A man struggled to free himself but failed miserably.

This is it. They got me! Let it be quick, God! Let it be quick!

"Oh, we know who you are, you little piece of shit! And you’re royally fucked. Our boss wants us to give you the VIP treatment," exclaimed a masked man walking behind him.

“You bastards, let me go!”

“Stop struggling, you shit!”

Fuck! Fuck! This is bad!

His captors tightened their grip, feeling his heart race beneath their grasp. A rush of excitement exploded amongst all participants, inciting their primal impulses further. Some recoiled in disgust, while others did so in anticipation. Tension filled the air as onlookers eagerly awaited the show about to commence, a common occurrence in these lands. The scene unfolding before their eyes was all too familiar: a struggle for survival before the inevitable end.

Their victim fought with all his might, until the commotion that followed rocked the small passage. Dust kicked up as the scuffle became chaotic. Though the poor soul’s strength faltered, he never stopped trying to break free—to delay his impending doom. With every step, this unfortunate soul got closer to redemption—not one by God, but by the hands of men. And this kind of redemption was hell on earth.

That bitch! She betrayed me and delivered me to them! Fuck! What should I do!? Think, think!

“Well, here we are. Why don’t you take a seat?” one of his captors advised with a smug grin.

Arriving at a dimly lit room with an old dentist chair in the center, the victim took in the sight of ropes, surgical instruments, a camera, and another pair of masked men. The overpowering stench of chemicals and iron lingered in the air, mingling with dried bloodstains on the walls and ground. Muzzled and strapped to the chair, his heart rate skyrocketed, scratching his own limits as adrenaline pumped into his system.

No! This can’t be happening!

Then it spoke. A voice he hadn’t heard in years.

[Can’t it? If I remember correctly, you did it too.]

A ghost from a past long gone strolled around the poorly lit room, its figure shrouded in darkness.

It was just business! What could I do! It’s a shark infested world out there!

[Judgment is here.]

Fuck you and fuck your judgment! I don’t deserve this! Damned shit life!

"Did he pass out, Gallo?"

“Nah.”

“Either he’s one tough bastard or simply in shock.”

“At least he hasn’t pissed himself.”

“Give me the syringe. A nice cocktail for our friend here. We don't want him to faint at his life’s most crucial moment, do we?”

The masked men continued talking between themselves, excitedly inserting the syringe into the victim's arm and administering whatever compounds they managed to fit into it. A cold sweat broke out, and involuntary quivering jolted his body as despair invaded him, the chemicals taking hold in his bloodstream.

Are those drugs...? It’s just a nightmare. I'll wake up soon. Everything will be alright.

[Pain is coming, and we deserve all of it.]

Go fuck yourself! I don't deserve this shit! All this is just happening because I never knelt before those above me! Because I decided to do it my own way! I killed to survive, to thread my own path! How the fuck do I deserve this!? How?!

[No more excuses. Here it comes.]

Huh?

“And this piggy finger... off it goes!”

His right thumb flew off with the help of a rusty knife.

“Argh!”

“Shut the fuck up!” the overjoyed masked man yelled in a drug-fueled rage, hitting the victim's head. “Now this... this is some quality meat!” he exclaimed after taking out his frustration on the bound and gagged victim.

“You’re not going to go one finger at a time, are you? Shit’s boring.”

“I wanted to make sure our welcoming cocktail took effect. Now it's time to have fun."

My finger! Fuck these assholes! I’m going to kill them!

“Hey, you rookie, keep recording. This is it!” a senior criminal ordered the fresh recruit.

“The ax, hand me the ax!” the butcher demanded.

Motherfucker! Just do it fast!

The executioner took the ax, prepared his stance, swung, and struck the man's hand. The blow hit bone with a dry thud but was off balance and only managed to partially sever his hand. Swinging wildly, the ax nearly slashed the executioner himself. Pain filled the wretched man's mind, filling every dark corner. He tried his best not to show his suffering to his captors, but the agony caused his consciousness to flare up. His contorted face betrayed his intention, but he held in his screams.

“Mmmpphhh!”

Ah! Hell! This bastard doesn't even know how to do it right! It fucking stings! Motherfucking amateurs!

“What the hell are you doing? Cut it properly!" the senior criminal chastised his underling.

“Ah... who cares? It’s just a mass of flesh at this point. Does it matter how it's cut?"

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

“Fucking cokeheads. Give me that!”

The substitute stepped forward, a look of superiority on his face as he regarded his disgraced colleague. Exuding confidence in his skills as a butcher, he stood firmly before the captive, legs apart and arms raised, ax in hand. With a single, fluid motion, he brought the ax down, severing the man's hand.

"Mmphh!"

"See, this is how it's done," he triumphantly declared.

"We'll have to make some edits now... oh well."

"Nah, leave it all there. Watching you fail at this is part of the entertainment."

Fuck! My hand! It’s nothing... I can still keep going. Everything will pass... damn it hurts!

[Are you trying to escape? The pain...? Reality?]

Ahhhrrrgg....!

The bound man struggled with the rising pain and shock. The substitute raised the bloodied ax again and swung it down onto his left ankle. Like a knife through butter, he cleanly amputated his left foot.

Aahh! My foot, it burns! Goddammit!

“Look at his face. Fear, pain... it's what I love. But to be fair, this son of a bitch is tough. Most others would be drooling by now."

No hand, no foot... I... I can still live on. I can still do things... they can be reattached if I get to a hospital soon enough...

[Has it occurred to you, inside that thick skull of yours, that maybe you are not thinking straight? I wonder...]

“Knife.” The butchering expert pointed a finger to the table. “Not that one, the small one." He selected the right tool for the task at hand.

“Learn this shit. First, we get the knife under the chin... don't cut too deep. Slow and steady... savor it. You two, hold his head! Don’t let him move. Then we go all around his face...”

The masked men worked on their captive's face diligently, without conscience or hesitation. The substitute pulled the man's skin, slicing it inch by inch, until half of it was detached from his face. He put down the knife, grasping the man's loose skin.

Expectations.

“And then... you do this!”

Met.

“Arghhh!” Pain shot up in an instant. The faceless man squirmed between shouts and involuntary convulsions.

Aah, fuck! My whole face is on fire! Did they really—! Argh!

“Now, I’m sure he felt that...”

"See, pretty boy? You're pretty no more!" The masked men laughed.

The captive writhed in his seat, his screams and spasms blending with the constant waves of pain that threatened to consume him. Blood colored his world red. Unable to close his eyes anymore, light burst his mind open. The drugs in his system worked wonders, keeping his consciousness wide awake. This wretched man, now under the knife himself, had always wondered, as he gutted his enemies, what went through all his sorry victims’ minds in their last moments while he mutilated and tortured them. Was it regret? Anger? Pain?

Blood flowed freely from his wounds, revealing raw muscles as agony surged to unbearable levels. Sharp spikes of pain jolted through him, but he could barely cling to consciousness. Despite the drugs pumping through his veins, his mind kept slipping away, losing focus and sight. Only blurred, red-tinted shapes swam before his vision. A masked man donned his victim’s skinned face over his own and cavorted grotesquely.

“Ta-dah! Who this? Me? You? I’m your worst nightmare motherfucker!”

The group of masked men chortled as they took turns wearing his freshly peeled face and performed a macabre ritual.

Ahh! Fuck! Is that my...? I... I can’t...

[Hey, don’t die yet! You’ve got to feel it... penance, punishment, judgment... Stay awake! Are you listening?]

Intense currents of pain rammed through him, but his thoughts retreated further. Reality became a hazy swirl. His reasoning slipped out of reach, and life drained away.

There’s pain, nothing else. How long has it been...? Am I still alive? I feel less and less... a knife... Yes, I’m alive. I can... feel.

"Three hours and this motherfucker still lives."

"Tough one."

"But time's up. Prepare the grand finale."

A masked man grabbed a long knife, lifted the victim's blood-soaked shirt, and gutted him, drawing a smile in the victim’s abdomen.

Ah... a sharp stomach pain, am I sick? I have to make an appointment... I wonder if...

His entrails spilled out, the last vestige of life escaped from his battered body.

"The light... the light...," he whispered before darkness claimed him.

*

Light flooded his senses once more, forcing him to close his eyes. He had to wait for his sight to adjust before daring to open them. Was he alive after all? Had it all been a dream? He felt no pain.

"A dream? No, a fucking nightmare!" he muttered.

Footsteps and voices reached his ears, speaking a language he couldn't understand.

“Olaso kois plasdilk osril paslop pokkepr!” More incomprehensible utterances followed.

"Hey, who's there!?" he shouted, filled with concern as he sat bound on the floor.

“Esahds daczes dinrgef!” That foreign language again.

“Answer me!”

Despite his blurred vision and confusion, he saw a figure approaching, knife in hand.

“Stay away, you fucker! What the— Argh!”

Two hands plunged the knife into his chest, piercing flesh and bone alike.

“Gasue ksazui ujs opp! Sfoosdi kalik kidfaaso!”

"Aaarrghh!" he yelled. "My chest... it's exploding... I can't breathe... calm down... this pain..."

Blackness engulfed him once more.

*

A canopy of leaves offered shade from the scorching sun, but sweat covered his body, and his lips cried out for a drop of water.

What is happening? Nightmares? Visions?

"I... can't... breathe..." he gasped.

A hand tightened around his neck.

"Who's... there?" he growled. "Bastards, show yourselves!"

He looked down to see a man strangling him. He tried to break free, but his strength failed.

“Kiju iew quiko! Lajs donuj!” Another bout of strange vociferations.

What the hell is happening?! Ah I can't... breathe...

Again, his consciousness departed.

*

Light returned, but this time a dirty brown hue invaded his sight. He laid on cold, moist soil, the smell of wet earth filling his nostrils. Tied with his hands behind his back, he struggled against the ropes.

"What the hell is happening!?"

Footsteps.

Someone’ s coming.

“Oosxd jehffi okop dased. Luiljyse jamad dosf!” The new and unknown words only added to his exasperation.

"Fuck you all! Speak a civilized language, cocksuckers!"

“Saghkosd! Defhrse nouimfad sodfig!”

The familiar silhouette of an old friend emerged: a knife.

"Ahh! Bastards! What are you—!?"

A shrouded man grabbed his head, pulling it back to expose his neck.

"Fuck you, fuck this life, and fuck the gods!"

His neck was sliced from side to side, blood spilling onto the ground.

"Argh!" he gargled his screams.

Pain.

Darkness.

*

Where am I? Is this hell?

... pain... only pain.