Title: And We Are Flesh And Blood Disintegrate
Author: IndigoNight
Summary: The human hell of one who cannot die.
Feedback: Yes please, yay reviews!
Pairing: None so far, slight chance of Warren/Logan in later chapters.
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or the characters I'm just borrowing them for fun. Don't own the song lyrics either; those belong to The Smashing Pumpkins.
Spoilers: Nope
Warnings: TORTUREBLOODGORETORTUREYUCKYNESSDARKDARKDARK!
Author's Note: If you're looking for a positive boost or a little sugary goodness YOU ARE IN THE WRONG PLACE, you are warned. This story is not for the young or faint of heart. It contains torture and violence of the most detailed and horrific proportions. Inspired by The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning by The Smashing Pumpkins.
You are warned.
Chapter 1: Suspension
Send a heartbeat to
The void that cries through you.
There is a certain gratifying sense of the ethereal to be found in finding oneself suspended feet into the air. A weightless feeling of freedom and elation, invulnerability pervades the senses and lulls one off into a dreamlike vision of divinity. That illusion, however, is shattered when one's means of suspension comes in the form of three unforgiving meat hooks driven mercilessly through folds of your flesh and then stretched until the skin resembles some demented parody of sticky tack fighting desperately to retain its preordained hold on two surfaces that are determined to part each other's company.
That is how he found himself. He had no recollection of how he had gotten there, but there he was. Above was an endless maze of more chains like the ones holding him in their infallible grip, the crackled, hissing with electricity, a stormy darkness housed them, and a dull glowing light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once through their links into sharp relief. Below him the exact same mirror image extended in a bottomless void of darkness and despair.
Three hooks held him, one in the right shoulder near the neck, one in the left side just above the hip, and one in the right thigh, midway between hip and knee. At each point a folded arch of flesh, pulled away from the boy with perfect curvature, formed a loop to provide the hook its latch to hold onto. A sullen, steady stream of blood dripped from the hollow crater left where the fold of skin had once been, falling, falling heedlessly into the depthless vacuum beneath him. He listened to the wet plonking sound as the sanguine waterfall was obstructed by a link in the never ending forest of metal cables, its progress slowed but not halted as it then slid along the smooth surface, leaving it's calling card in a russet stain before sojourning on.
The pressure assailing him from all sides, maximize at the stretched point of impact from each hook, stretching, rending, tearing, not just his flesh, but all of his limbs, tissues, and organs. His lungs especially suffered, besieged by the un-meet-able demands of his struggling body, subsidized by the terribly tight invisible bands of panic that embraced his chest ever harder, they burned and labored uselessly. He felt as though his chest might explode with the pressure, skin, muscle, and ribs expelled outward with the violence of his lungs' relinquishment. And yet still they labored on, fruitless but persistent.
This place was empty, barren but for him, the chains holding him captive, the boundless expanse above and below, and the intermittent crackling electricity that danced along the pathways of the links. It crackled and sizzled, a living entity unto itself, singing as it danced with reckless abandon. And he watched the little sparks with apprehension, dreading the occasions when it chooses to dance his way. Those little sparks of lightning, harmless and almost benignly beauteous from a distance, hit in a whirlwind of fizzy agony, making heart throb in a frenzy, and muscles contract and seize in a surge of raw power, that when gone leaves the body empty and aching, tingling and inflamed in the aftermath of the assault.
The links groaned under his weight, complaining, and their confines restricting even further, stretching, tearing, demanding more than he had to make up for their own inadequacies. He felt certain that the meager strips of flesh would give out at any moment, and sometimes he wished they would, longed for it like an acorn longs to be released from the branches of its parent tree, freed to forge its own way. But then he'd look down into the terrifying blackness beneath him and pray that his partially excoriated hide would hold out just a little longer. He could endure this pain over the horror of the unknown depths yawning beneath him, gapping maw awaiting his eventual surrender to it.
And so he floated in agonized limbo.
~*Evil*livE*~
He wasn't sure anymore how exactly he had landed in his hell. Hell, he wasn't really sure of much of anything anymore. Except pain, that he knew. It seemed that was all that was left in his world now; pain and agony beyond even the worst imaginable nightmares of most. Then he would heal, and it would start all over again.