Disclaimer: I don't own the Diablo franchise in any form or fashion. Blizzard does.
The whip.
That was how his day would start.
For hours on end, the barbed, burned length of metal and rope would sear its way down his back, crossing it cruelly in different shapes and forms as its master laughed and laughed, until the next one took his place.
Then came the fire.
It was how his afternoons came.
It burned his body and choked his lungs as he struggled over the pit, screaming till his throat was raw with smoke and brimstone. The demons below him cheered and cheered, feasting and laughing as if it was a game to be had.
And finally, the piercings.
That was how he spent his nights.
Every demon in the Burning Hells seemed to enjoy wetting their swords and spears with the 'blood' of angels, and he was no exception. Every spear, every sword, every twisted black dagger that found its way into his heart and body and soul made him first scream, then whimper in pain, to the demons amusement. Hundreds and hundreds of the hell spawn lined up for it, their eyes hungry and their eyes glowing in pleasure at the sight of the pain and suffering.
Some days it was a faceless demon wielding the pain and misery he suffered daily, laughing and looking forward to 'having fun' with another soul. Other times it would be another lost soul, utterly broken by the realms inhabitants and fueled by the hatred that thrived in this place.
Even the Lord of Hatred himself would show on occasion, coming and going whenever he felt the need to see the one who had caused him such trouble face the pain of the whip and the fire and everything else Hell had to offer.
"You think you know pain, archangel? You don't know the meaning of pain." Those were his words the day they had disappeared into the realm of hatred, the sick playground and kingdom of the most vile and sinister of the Prime Evils.
How true those words had turned out to be.
He was given a single hour of sanity every day, to lick his wounds and recover as much as he could.
And all he could think of, in that small time of sanity, was her.
The only creature in all the Burning Hells and High Heavens who had his heart in the palm of her hand.
And she was gone from him.
"Lilith…I'm sorry."
Then the gates would open once more, and once more he would be whipped and burned and pierced as he was every day.
Then came the time he had for her.
Only for her.
A/N: Okay, I have no idea why I wrote this. I mean, the only Diablo game I've ever played was Diablo III (Best game ever!) and I barely know anything very deep in the lore. But alas, here is the story, and I hope some will at least read it.
P.S: The guy is Inarius. Look him up if you don't know who he is.
R&R Please.
Sincerely,
kingofsecrets15