Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a new idea. It's not a one-shot, but it's not necessarily a story either as there is no continuity in this piece, as in I don't have a plot for it... yeah, I know. In fact, the title is Latin, and in English Infernum literally translates to Hell. So yeah, this is quite the... quite the idea. I hope you all enjoy this first chapter, which I'm doing in a new style. Hopefully you can understand what's going on, lol. So, here is Chapter 1- Ruined Soldier.

"Metal... cold and grating. It burns the skin to the touch, it inflames the flesh. A slice here, a slice there and they're dead. Hahaha... perhaps I'm too twisted for my own mind..."

He sits in the room, hands locked in a straightjacket. Any struggle is shot down immediately as there are taser guns lined on the walls, ready to eject their streams of lightning without a second thought. His voice went out days ago, all he can do is screech that he wants his weapon back, he wants to enter the battlefield once more and kill all the infidels that made him lose everything. Now that his throat had betrayed him, all he could do was make noises that sounded somewhat similar to that of a donkey, pleading and moaning for freedom. The anesthesia doesn't calm him down, it makes him wilder. Closing his eyes, he can remember a more peaceful time when he wasn't necessarily a full blown psycho.

"But oh how I love it," he thinks with relish. "Maybe I'm too evil for my own good. Doesn't matter. Once I get out of this damn trap, they'll all wish they never put me in here in the first place."

He doesn't know how 'they' are. He has only heard bits and pieces of garbled conversations that keep him from deciphering long conversations. There is a camera positioned in his room, near the crook where the wall met the window. He cannot reach the window with his hands, clearly from being tied in a straightjacket, but he can't even reach it with his feet. That factor surprises him the most, for he was most noted for his amazing flexibility and dexterity, a skill that allowed him to be the greatest fighter the world had ever seen.

Sometimes a guard would visit him, and the person would talk in a low voice so their supervisors wouldn't hear them. If he got a closer look, he'd see that his only contact of human life was a girl, a person he couldn't ever really relate to. One day she had said something, something foul and so damn hurtful that he jumped for the bars of his cell, gnashing his teeth in a manner only described as evil. She fled from his presence, never to return again. That was when his voice was working, and he couldn't believe what was to come out of his mouth moments later.

"You slippery whore!" he screamed, bashing all of his might into the walls of his prison.

In a blur, something invisible struck him, and he fell back, yelling with all of his emotion emptying out in one fell hiss. A splotch of crimson rolled down the pallid straightjacket, dripping into a small puddle on the cold floor. He blinked, blinked some more, and blinked more after that before letting out the loudest scream anyone had ever heard. He backed up to the corner wall, and started muttering back and forth. "It's not real buddy, don't worry it's not real. You aren't hurt... oh you are hurt! That whore shot you!"

The pain in his shoulder still burned, and he zapped out of his traumatic state. Night and day flickered off in his mind, and he smashed himself into the bars once more. "Let me at her! I want to rip the flesh from her bones!" he howled. A light, much brighter than any he had ever seen before, flashed in his face. He fell back again, wishing he could press his hands to his face once more. The corneas inside his eyes flamed, he felt his skin crisp dark.

His cell had a mirror, next to his bedside so he could at least remember what he looked like. Scrambling quickly over to it, he looked back at his reflection. "Who are you..." he whispered, unsure of the monster staring back at him. His once pretty features were now smoldering, as if the light that he had been exposed to was much more than that. The scars still lingered, the ones on the inside were still hidden to him. Horrified by what he saw, the ruined soldier collapsed into a sobbing fit of tears, before he griped about not having a weapon. He wanted his weapon.

The wound kept bleeding out, the cloth felt a million pounds heavier than before as it soaked up the blood. The taste of copper lingered his mouth, a bad aftertaste that acted as his punishment. "Let me out! Let me out!"

The girl would stand nearby, from the steps. Although she never contacted or spoke to him again, she still watched. She felt his pain too, the stabbing cold in her heart resonated with his cries. He couldn't see her, his rage had blinded him to all else that moved. "He wants to get out, but he hasn't learned about what's keeping him here." she said to herself, disturbed to now see that the ruined man was laughing at the camera.

"I know who you are," he lied. "You can't fool me."

With a cackle, the ruined soldier jumped back to the middle of his room, but the force of his jump was much more than he expected. A resonating crack burst out from the back of his head, and he let one low guttural scream tear from his lips. A matching pool of dark scarlet trickled out from underneath, mixing in with the one from his shoulder. The tears trickled down his cheeks.

"I just want to go home..."

Since his mind was already gone, he could hear the blood whisper back to him. "You're already home, soldier."

The ruined soldier bled out, and two hours later, he had died.

Well, this is certainly a strange idea, don't you think. Not everyone is going to be in an insane asylum, but a few will be. This story is named Hell, after all, right? Well, thanks for reading guys! Please review, I'd love to hear from you! Thanks so much guys! Next chapter, is #2: Herald of Misery. Love you all! And, if you're able, go vote on my poll! It's about my multi-chaptered story I want to do for the autumn season. Go vote! I need your input. Bye everyone!

~ Paradigm