Warning: Please be careful when reading this. There are descriptions of physical and mental torture, as well as physical, mental, and sexual abuse. Please read with caution.
"Come on Ivan!" Ivan glances up from his grip on the rocks. He's exploring around the woodland area behind his house. He snuck out his window when he could hear his father snoring to run into the trees and met up with his only friend. They jumped over branches and muddy marshes. Now he's doing his best to climb up the small rocky hill. It's hard for his seven year old arms to hold him up. He's just a little chubby and it makes it hard for him to be running for so long. It doesn't help that his friend is the most hyperactive person he's ever met.
"I'm trying!" He calls out. He bites his lip and stretches up his hand. He finds a stable rock and looks down to his feet, placing them on secure ledges. He doesn't particularly like the grassy mossy town he now lives in. He overheats easily in the temperature. His father dragged him away from their tiny home in Russia and Ivan didn't want to leave. He felt at home in the cold tundra. His dad hit him for crying. His friend is the only one at school who talks to him. He comforted Ivan when he saw him crying in the corner of the playground.
"You're gunna miss it!" His friend teases. Ivan lets out a small whimper. He's never been good with climbing. He's not agile. He holds tight to a rock and wraps his oversized scarf around his neck once more. It's his third wrap around but the scarf still hangs loosely on his shoulders. He does his best to keep the ends from dragging. He got the scarf from his mother. Sweetest woman ever according to his old neighbors. She had sewn him the scarf before she gave birth to him. She never got to give it to him. Ivan is sure his father hates him for killing his wife. It hadn't been his fault. He does everything for his father. Everything he can. Making breakfast, cleaning the house, pulling weeds, staying out his way. Anything he can think of, Ivan does. He's always partially scared his father will hit him. The man has only done so a few times, but it always leaves a stinging mark.
"Jeez come on!" Ivan turns his head up to the sky. Standing on the edge of the cliff is his only friend in the world. Another boy, smaller than Ivan in height and size. Many times his friend has told Ivan how they belong to each other. It makes him happy to have someone he can call his. Ivan gulps, taking another step higher. His friend lets out a laugh and kneels down. They hold their hand down for Ivan to take. Ivan smiles widely, accepting the help. His friend gives a mighty tug, letting out a groan. Ivan scrambles to the top. They lean at the edge of the cliff, breathing heavily, dorky grins on both their faces. Ivan smiles brightly to the boy. His friend has the bluest eyes he's ever seen. Ivan does live for the moments he can see those eyes shining at him. His friend jumps to his feet, pulling Ivan up with him. He doesn't let go of Ivan's hand as he pulls him through the trees. Ivan hides his bashful smile in the layers of his scarf.
"There it is!" His friend rushes forward. Ivan lets out a surprised noise at the tugging.
"Ah! Wait! Slow down! Fr-"
"Ivan look!" His friend yanks him to the ground. Ivan stumbles with grace, landing on his knees next to his friend. The other boy is pointing to the sky with starlight in his eyes. Ivan is breathing heavily. He rubs at his nose and follows his friend's finger up. He gasps, a wide smile breaking across his face. His friend lead him to the other edge of the cliff overlooking the stream. There are no lights and the stars are brighter than he's ever seen. Ivan loves the sky. He loves all the colors it can turn. He turns to face his friend and they're already looking at him. They squeeze their hands at the same time. Ivan smiles at him. His friend laughs, his blue eyes sparkling. Ivan giggles. He's so happy. Happiness is so rare for him in his house. Only at times like this, where he can be himself with his friend does he allow himself to smile.
"Can I kiss you Ivan?" His giggles stop. He blinks at his friend. Their face is serious, eyes staring at him hopefully. Ivan can feel the heat coming to his cheeks. His friend squeezes his hand again, this time tighter.
"What? But you-" Ivan stumbles over his words. He takes his free hand and pulls up his scarf to hide his face. His friend shifts to be closer to him. Ivan stares at their linked hands.
"Please?" His friend asks quietly. Ivan glances up at him. His friend looks worried. Ivan gulps. He nods lightly. His friend releases a breath and smiles at him. Ivan manages to smile softly back. His friend places their foreheads together. Ivan's heart is pounding. He lowers his gaze away from his friend's shining eyes to the ground. They lean down. Their lips are so close. He only has a second to inhale before-
This is exactly why he doesn't sleep. Ivan jolts straight up from the ground. His breathing is heavy. The blood rushes from his head. He claws at his scarf covered neck. He yanks the cloth down and moves his hands up to his head. He digs his nails into his scalp and drags them down. He doesn't make a sound as the skin breaks seeping blood into his light colored hair. He releases a slow breath. The pain is a welcome distraction from his nightmare. He always dreams when he sleeps, which is why he chooses not to. He didn't mean to fall asleep in the first place. He had just overworked himself, a simple mistake really. The torture he enacted on his most recent of residents took a lot out of him as well. Hanging torture is always difficult. His body felt exhausted. He just meant to lay down and refresh himself. Then he closed his eyes and sleep took him.
He crawls to his feet. He can hear the screams of the other residents through the door. A smile slips onto his face. He feels an odd sense of tranquility. His emotions are out of balance. He knows. He's known for a while. He finds enjoyment out of the worst things and rages at the smallest. He really doesn't care about it though. He's happy just the way he is. Happy where he is.
He arches his back, spreading his wings out to stretch. He rolls his neck and snaps his fingers. His bloody clothes melt away and are replaced by an outfit identical to it, only clean. He taps his toes to the ground, digging his boot tips into the earth. He pulls at the collar of his semi loose t-shirt. His scarf is draped around his shoulders like always. Since his growth spurt it no longer drags across the ground even when only wrapped around once. The ends flutter behind him as he walks out of his room. The pathway to the elevator outside his room is lined with broken glass. It crunches underneath his feet.
He lifts a hand to cover his yawn on the way up to the workroom. His hand rubs against his horns. They are dark grey, sticking out of his skull above his ears then curling down around the appendages. The points are facing forward, resting in line with his jaw. He's cut his fingers on them many times before when they were still growing in. Plenty of more times after that for not being used to them in his face area. The only way he would cut himself on them now is by force. Much like he's doing now. He's dragging his thumb across the point, a shallow cut slicing into the pad. He licks up the blood, sealing his finger in the process.
The elevator dings. He steps out into the rushing workroom. Demons are running about with their hands full of files. A few demons are tapping angrily at papers and screaming while others are just passing by dropping things on desks. Ivan passes by the mail slots. He picks up the files there listed with his name. More appropriately, his title. Ivan folds the papers under his arm and heads to the big office near the back. The windows are darkened. He giggles and knocks on the door. There's a high pitched squeak from inside. Ivan giggles again and opens the door.
"Morning sir," He greets sweetly. There are two demons by the desk in the back. One is sitting on the desk, blushing furiously to match the shade of his hair. His short black horns the same color of his wings. They are the same length as his arm span. Not that big. The other is standing in between the red haired demon's legs. His hair is white, with black horns jutting out towards the ceiling. He smirks at Ivan over his shoulder. His wings are large, spread wide they would touch the edges of the room. The largest, and thickest wings in the entirety of Hell.
"Morning Ivan, setting about work today?" Francis, the large winged demon says. He runs his tongue over his pointed teeth. The demon on the desk puts his hands to his face.
"Yes. Morning to you to Arthur," Ivan giggles. The red haired demon waves to him with a grimace. Ivan shuts the door softly behind him, heading to his own work. The demons in his path scurry off. It brings a smile to his face. His tail flickers back and forth behind him. The elevator dings open as he gets closer. The small demon inside nearly drops his things upon seeing Ivan. He slips out as quickly as possible. Ivan giggles once more and steps into contraption. Once the door closes, his smile falls.
His hand tightens on their hold of the files and he grits his teeth. He shakes his wings out and takes a deep breath. He doesn't mind not being King. He got over the anger of that years ago. It had bugged him of course. Gilbert, the mischievous bastard couldn't hold Hell together. Ivan thought him improper to rule. No order or any sense of logic. That bugged Ivan more than anything. It had been difficult enough to get his torture rooms set up but then the residents got lead to the wrong areas. It had been torture for everyone working. Some things got fixed but most of the changes came with Matthew. He put some sense to Hell, giving thoughts and plans to make it run smoother. He made everyone's jobs easier. He's the one who fixed the layout of Hell, making it easier for the demons to get to where they need to go.
Ivan likes Matthew. He's sweet and patient and manages to keep Gilbert out of the way of everything else. Oh, and his screams are delicious. He hums in pleasure at the memory. He got to torture the Fallen Angel for a year. A whole year to hear him beg and plead and yell. It had been the highlight of his decade. He had been so excited to torture him. He never took a break from hurting the angel. Matthew only had a year in the physical torture rooms and Ivan didn't want to waste a second of it. Gilbert had been mad of course. To see the King so undone and angry made Ivan smile. Finally, the King showed some semblance of care for his empire. That and it felt like he had tortured Gilbert at the same time. The pained look on his face when he found Matthew face down in a pool of his own blood had been amazing.
He's not upset that Francis became the new King. He also got over that years ago. Of course he had been furious at first. Some demon who hasn't been there as long as him, that has been tortured by him, on the throne? Ivan nearly tore out every tooth in someone's mouth because of it. It didn't make sense to him. Gilbert should have won that fight. He's been keeping his position for years. He had to be strong. What did Francis have over the King? Nothing, according to angry Ivan. Being able to think about it, Francis's wings had been bigger at the time, and now for sure they are stronger. Francis has been King for decades now. With him holding the reigns, Hell actually runs smoother. Ivan likes that very much. There are more workers now, meaning he gets to spend more time with his residents.
He likes Francis too. He had to torture him once upon a time, though he and the others took turns. Francis had the longest punishment out of them all. Years upon years of punishment and training. Ivan is still a little in the dark as to why, but he's put the pieces together well enough. The only one he's ever heard of having a punishment as long is Gilbert. Once Francis got out of torture and into the working field, he and Ivan did not get along at first. What could Ivan have done? His scarf had gone missing. It's not his fault no one would tell him where it went no matter how many of them he hurt. He could barely feel the dull ache in his wings as he put demon's heads to the floor.
Francis stepped up and pointed out his wing size. Ivan at the time had been in a lower demon position. He worked with simple punishments, people who didn't do much bad things to go to the higher ups. Ivan tortured them all the same anyway. He got in trouble for that sometimes, but the higher ups never really tried to stop him. They had a comparison after his little fiasco, Gilbert cackled the whole time. His wings grew bigger and stronger than a demon in a high spot. Ivan became the fourth in charge. While he liked the idea, his scarf did not turn up until later that day. He knew Francis took it immediately by the frilly note. He did say thank you of course. He's not a barbarian. He may have broken Francis's legs in ten spots after, but that's not the point.
He got to know Francis when he personally took it upon himself to reset the bones every time they settled wrong. He may have been the one setting the bones wrong but that's just details. The demon had been an angel once upon a time, but still a whore. Ivan didn't really care. Leaving Heaven is supposed to be a big deal. Ivan doesn't know why. He's never been to Heaven. He's heard from Francis and Matthew that it's a place of clouds. That sounded nice to him. He's always liked the sky. The changing of time bringing the only color to his human life. Kind of ironic that he now stays underground and the only thing above him is a rock ceiling.
The part that doesn't sound nice is the rules. The Fallen Angels he's talked to, all three of them, said that the rules are one of the biggest factors to their leaving. Gilbert couldn't be as free, Matthew had been ignorant for most of his angel life, Francis just couldn't handle the way they wanted him to play nice. He hasn't talked to Arthur about his reason for leaving. The red haired demon just seems to always be busy. Ivan of course could have asked him when he had been going through his punishment, but Arthur couldn't really talk with his lips sewn shut now could he. If people wish to leave, then it really couldn't have been all that nice.
Ivan went to Hell right from the start, back when Gilbert recently claimed the throne. The place had been a mess. No one knew what to do. That bugged Ivan a lot. He felt almost disappointed. He hoped to get his punishment over with as soon as possible, but it seemed waiting had been a part of that. He sat as a human, a vague soul amongst the masses in the waiting room with the others. He hated it. So many people. He could probably have them punished by himself better than Hell could in the time it took for him to be called. The greeter had been nice enough, though Ivan rolled his eyes when the demon clarified twice he's Hell. That had been apparent, so he didn't react. The greeter thought him to be in shock.
He couldn't help but smile at his punishment. 50 years of physical torture. That's all? The demon greeting him changed his sentence on the spot because of it. Ivan almost laughed then. Some demon guided him to a red hallway and to a room with the numbers 329 written on it. The demon inside waiting for him strapped him to a chair and carved into his skin. Cuts spanned every inch of his body. He looked like a walking tic tac toe board. He smiled through it all. This demon worked well with knives. Slicing his skin intricately and making him into a walking canvas. Ivan nearly admired the work. He could never be that careful with someone. The demon became angered by Ivan's lack of screaming. He cut deeper and deeper over the years. None of it changed for Ivan.
Frustrated by his smiling, the demon requested Ivan to be moved up a room. So he left room 329 and moved to room 511. He liked the demon running this room. They hung his hands from the ceiling and left him alone for a few weeks. His arms stopped feeling in the process. He didn't sleep the whole time, watching his cuts slowly heal. That's one of his favorite things about the torture rooms. Near the end of every human day, the body goes through a mass re-healing process. So unless there is something physically blocking a wound, it will close and be almost as good as new. His cuts are healed by the time the demon comes back. Ivan learns the value of whips. They are good long distance devices. They rip the flesh and tear it off. Some have pointed ends, others have glass sewn into the seams. Ivan swears, even though he couldn't see it, he could feel his spine exposed. The demon left him again with barely any skin on his back to fester. That patterned continued on.
When Ivan didn't scream for him, he got moved up again. Room 653 became his new home. Here the demon taught him how to break bones. He hissed in pain for these. He never broke a bone before, but it got easier as time went on. At one point when the demon got increasingly furious with him, he broke every bone in Ivan's body and left him. Fingers, toes, ribs, skull. Ivan's eye could only see red. The bones healed wrong. So they all had to be broken again. Ivan started laughing to himself on the third day of loneliness. He swears for a second he saw fear in his torturer's eyes when they came in.
In room 772 he learned the value of blunt objects. The demon tied him to a pole in the center of the room and beat him. She started with her own assaults, punching and kicking with everything she had. Of course her gloves and boots had metal inside them. Nothing hurts pride more than just being beaten like an animal. She used bats and crow bars. The pipe knocked half his teeth out when she swung at his face. He got a literal sense of seeing stars. In a daze he told the demon she had a good hit. After being beaten into subconscious, he changed rooms.
The demon in room 848 he really liked. Not only did she talk to him, she taught him. She had been tall with long brown hair. She wore a conical hat. She's the only one who took his scarf off. He whimpered in protest but she assured him it would be untouched on the floor. He believed her. His scarf had already been doused in blood, but the gesture had been nice. She told him all about saws, and even explained to him something about the knives used during his first decade of torture. He smiled and laughed with her, and she laughed with him. She told him all the different ways to use a saw, even let him hold a few. She let him choose the saw she used first. The amputation of his lower leg went slowly. She stalled after almost every cut to ask him how he felt. Near the bone he started laughing. He couldn't help it. When she cut through the bone he bit his lip and groaned. She seemed pleased with that. She left his leg on the table, just pressed together, so it would weld back together during the night. Ivan had every limb severed at one point, just a torso and a head. She became less pleased when his noises never got louder than the one he first let out.
It had been room 999 that he broke. Every decade he moved up a room. The demons grit their teeth in annoyance because he didn't scream and he didn't cry like they wanted him to. This demon had been nice to him as well. His room looked fairly clean too. The demon had him lay on the ground and hold a weight over his head. Then gave him a shot. He explained that the shot would contort his muscles making it harder and harder for him to hold the weight up. The thing the demon forgot to mention is how it affected the mind muscle as well. At the start of every human week, he would receive a shot. It took only a few months for Ivan to stop seeing the weight as a chunk of metal. It turned into different things before his very eyes. Sometimes the weight would talk to him and call him names, but his arms hurt so he couldn't throw it. Sometimes it turned into the demons he saw. The thing that made him go cold though is when it turned into the face of his father after a few years of holding the weight above his face.
At first he just smiled twistedly. He knew it couldn't be real. It started talking, starting insulting, started saying the things that meant a beating would come. Ivan began to scream. With his arms hurting and his mind already mush, he couldn't tell reality from the dream. He almost felt like he could feel the beating on him when the insults continued. The whispers made him cry. The dark whispers of what would happen when Ivan went too far. His mind couldn't take it. The weight fell and Ivan's skull cracked. Again.
When he finally woke up, the King sat at his side with a file and a bored expression. The King cackled loudly, explaining the rut he put the physical torture demons in. He tsked, telling Ivan that he should have been in some mental torture from the beginning. Ivan simply blinked at him when the King called him a 'sick little shit'. So even though his 100 years of physical torture ended, he went through another ten in mental torture. He test ran the ghost room. He got to see all of his victims crying and pleading and all of their families crying and pleading. Ivan got a break and smiled through the five years until the machine broke. He didn't mind. If he didn't stop when they begged the first time, why would he be remorseful hearing them beg a second time. It had been like music.
Walking through solitary confinement however, did a number on him. With nothing but pitch blackness surrounding him at all times, he did a lot of thinking. Having his victim's images fresh in his mind gave him something to keep himself busy. He killed quite a few people. 31 to be exact. He stole them away, regular people, people that blend in. Sometimes when he felt adventurous he would do research and steal someone who hurt their families and their kids. He always hurt those ones the longest. He killed them all over an open drain to catch the blood should any spill out. Mostly he did suffocation. It's easier to clean up and he can feel as they struggle to their last breath.
Solitary hurt him more, being able to think freely like that. He broke down in laughter a few times at the ridiculousness of it all. The last time he laughed, he started to cry. He tore at his hair and his arms. After so long of avoiding the thoughts, he could only think of his father charging at him with his fist in the air and a beer bottle in the other. Ivan cried for hours. He hated. He hated everything that father put into his head. He screamed loudly into the empty room. All at once, everything started to burn. His body felt like a match. He writhed along the ground, twisting curling in on himself. He managed to get to his knees to fold himself together and hold in the anguish.
A spiking pain went up his spine. He curled his fists and banged them on the ground, twitching as his back convulsed. He hissed when the skin broke. He could feel the bones slicing through his flesh. They crawled out of his back like spiders. Ivan felt the fat part of a bone settle just at the surface of the break. His shirt laid in tatters around him. He breathed heavily, the blood soaked wings covering his back. The pain didn't subside long. Another pain shot down his spine and a knife like point burst from below. His new tail laid against the ground limply.
He laid with his face on the ground for hours. He managed to stumble to his feet though. The wings threw him a little off balance, unused to their weight. He blinked into the darkness, trying to clear the spots form his eyes. He widened his wings as best he could. They felt sore like they've been used for days. They reached to his arm span. He folded them close around him. He felt safer inside. He took a step and immediately had to stop. He grabbed his head. He thrashed around. He slipped on his own blood, falling to the ground. He flopped to his knees and pushed his forehead to the floor. It helped the pain, but not by much.
Once more, Ivan could feel his skull fracturing. He could feel it bulging underneath his palms. He grit his teeth and groaned. His scalp tore and he felt points digging into his skin. He removed his hands and scratched across the ground. He could feel the nubs growing. They split his skin on either side of his head and curled back, the points setting just behind his ears. He went to clench his jaw but his teeth pulsed. He snarled. When the pain stopped for the second time, he sighed.
He closed his mouth and his teeth scratched against his lips now in jagged points. They felt odd and he had trouble finding the right way to shut his mouth. He pushed to all fours slowly. Blood rushed within his veins. He brought his hands up to his head and jerked them back down. The new horns on his head cut his palms. He brought them close to lick the wound. The cuts stung and healed instantly. Ivan took a slow breath. He started at the top, feeling the inflamed skin around the base of the horns. He dragged two fingers down, feeling the shape. His head started to feel light. He put it to the ground and passed out instantly.
He woke up in a bed, a paper next to him telling where he had to report. He fumbled around Hell on his own. Some demons scrunched up their noses at him. One demon stopped to help him, Gilbert. It's then that Ivan noticed two things. Their size difference, Gilbert stood a few inches shorter than him. It made Ivan wonder how he managed to be King. Then he noticed their wing difference. No one he's seen so far had wings like Gilbert's. None as big and none as strong looking. He almost questioned it but Gilbert ushered him off.
He followed the instructions back to his original room when he first started being tortured. From there he spent a year with each of his of tortures, learning their tricks and their specialties. They had been nicer to him, more accommodating and willing to pause in the middle of their work to explain exactly why they did what they did. Ivan sat by, watching with wide eyes and excitment. He could hear screaming and blood and he felt alive. He got to spend another year with his favorite torturer. He had actually been sad when she moved on to reincarnation. After he took her position anyway.
He told Francis all about his time in torture and even before in life. Francis is the only one who knows. He doesn't know why he told the incubus, but he never told another soul. Francis didn't judge him either, saying consoling words even though Ivan didn't need them. Ivan doesn't like to admit it, but telling someone made him feel better. The conversation had been light despite the dark undertones. He started at the beginning due to Francis's insistence, and his pretty little yell after Ivan snapped a bone. He giggled and told about his mother. From the details he heard, she had long flowing hair and a smile like sunflowers. She had the kindest heart, the perfect one to put up with his father.
He told about how she died giving birth to him. It actually hadn't been his fault like his father convinced him so many years ago. His mother had high blood pressure, making it more likely for her system to overuse blood and lose it quickly. His father had been devastated. They could only stay in Russia for a few years until his father couldn't handle the memories. They moved to America. Ivan hated it. The weather made him cringe. He missed the cold. He had been six when his father first hit him. Ivan had been crying about wanting to go home. The hit startled him, sending him to the ground. His dad left him alone to curl up on himself. His father left him alone often. It's a miracle Ivan even survived infancy.
He skipped over what he considers the most important person in his human life. Francis- no. No one, deserves to know about that. They are not worthy to know about them. So he talked about his growing years. Ivan tells how he did everything for his father. Any house chore you could think of Ivan did twice a week at least. He tried so hard. So hard to be good enough for his father's liking. Nothing he ever did made his father happy. So Ivan payed for it. The older he got, the more brutal the beatings got. His father drowned himself in alcohol and almost drowned Ivan in the sink. He didn't tell anyone about it. He wore long sleeves and hid all of his scars, all of his cigarette burns, all of the bruises. His father liked to give Ivan bruises. It's one of the first compliments he gave.
Ivan bulked up a little during his preteen years. That made his father mad. Ivan no longer looked like a pudgy little kid. He cut his hair with a pair of scissors. That also made his father angry. Ivan wore his scarf. That made his father furious. He choked Ivan with the piece of cloth, making him pass out. When Ivan came to, his father had done the unspeakable. Or at the time, in the middle of doing the unspeakable. Ivan screamed and fought and clawed at his father's face, trying to get him away from his body. He didn't like the touches and he didn't like the feeling. It felt invasive and overpowering, like his body no longer belonged to him. In that moment, it didn't.
It only happened once, and Ivan takes little satisfaction in finding out after talking to one of the demons in charge of sexual displeasure, that yes, his father had come through Hell, and yes, he got what he deserved more over what Ivan had done to him. Ivan found out why his father did what he did. Ivan looked like his mother, with his hair longer and scarf around his neck. His mom had been on the pudgy side too. Ivan blamed himself, as he did for everything else that went wrong in the house. He deserved it probably. He should have known better than to cut his hair or to make his father mad. Ivan felt stupid. He should have done something more to make his father happy. It's all his fault.
That's what he told himself. Everyday when his father came home and hit him at least once. He told himself he deserved it as he got down on his knees with tears in his eyes and his father wrapped a chain collar around his neck. He made Ivan get down on all fours and walked him around the house. He made Ivan walk in front of him, but he used a training collar that dug into his neck. So after every step, he pulled back, digging the prongs into Ivan's neck. That happened more than one.
Some collars had been normal, black or brown. The leather rubbed his neck raw. One had been a shock collar, but father's favorite had to be the spiked one. He got more extensive as Ivan grew. It seemed the stronger and bigger Ivan got, the longer his time wearing the collar would be. Another one his father liked had to be the thick chain one. He wrapped that one tight. Ivan took a chance and showed Francis the marks still there on his neck. Angry lines and pink dots scattered over the area. Francis didn't say anything. Ivan didn't want him to.
Ivan kept growing though. Health class saw to it that he had a place to work out and get stronger. He spent so many hours after school working out to find tension release from the life at home, and also to stall going there. His teachers said nothing. They knew nothing. Ivan told them nothing. Some girls he talked to once upon a time gave him relationship advice once, even though he didn't need it. He didn't like anyone. He did have the urge to possess a certain someone from his childhood like he always had. They left long ago. Not that he told Francis that.
The girls told him signs to watch out for in an abusive relationship. Ivan clenched his jaw tight. All those years. He went home and asked his dad about it immediately. It may not have been the smartest move. There would not have been a better time to ask. Except for maybe never. The moment the words left his lips his father snapped. He grabbed a chain out of nowhere and tried to wrap it around Ivan's neck. Ivan had grown however, and his father had weakened. Ivan pushed back for the first time. He started apologizing as soon as he had. His father lunged for him, punching him as hard as he could. Ivan screamed, then punched back. A sickening snap sounded out and his father screamed, holding his broken nose.
Ivan hid in his room. He stayed there listening to his father pound on the door screaming insults. How could he have done that. How could he have hurt his father. Why did it make him feel so alive. Ivan ran his fingers through his hair so much that he rubbed his scalp raw. He planned. He planted. He enacted. Just a day after he told a teacher his father had issues drinking, Ivan went home with a twitch in his hand. His father ordered him to get on his knees. Ivan said no. His father screamed. Ivan said no. His father came at him with a chain. Ivan fought back. He wrestled his father to the floor. He wrapped the chain around his neck. He pulled. His father screamed out. The more he screamed, the more Ivan smiled. Soon enough his father lay limp below him and Ivan laughed. He laughed so loudly. For the first time in years, since he sat at the edge of a cliff and looked at the stars, Ivan felt free.
He tied the man up to a chair and waited. He sat watching him with a smile on his face. When his father gained consciousness he threatened to kill Ivan when he got out of those chains. Ivan laughed. The only way his father would get out of those chains, is if Ivan let him out. He broke every finger with a bloodcurdling snap. Every scream his father let out relieved him more than it should have. He used one of the vodka bottles to smash into his father's face. He loved the yelling. It made him feel alive. He needed more. He didn't go to school for a day. He spent the whole time testing different ways making his father shriek. He sat for a full hour on the floor just looking at the bleeding face of his father with a smile.
The police came of course. A few days after Ivan left town. He changed his identity and changed his life. He moved from town to town and every time he heard a yell he smiled. He took some other people, he never did something as bad as his father though. He liked his chains. He strangled them all. He got himself a name on the media. He didn't care. He just liked hurting people. He did his job carefully. Took all the precautions. He never got cocky, he never made a mistake. He only got caught because he wanted to. He called the cops saying there's a murderer in the house, and he's talking on the phone.
Needless to say the police sent a squad. Ivan just walked out with his hands up, a chain around his blood splattered scarf, and a smile on his face. The trial ended quickly, he admitted to it all. He nearly burst out laughing in the courtroom when they told him he would get the electric chair. He sat on the chair biting his lip in excitement. Oh how it felt to die.
Francis stayed quiet when he finished talking. Ivan didn't need him to say anything. He's come to terms with his human life. He's doing a lot better now. Really.
Ivan twists his nose when the elevator opens. He walks down the purple lined hallway to the end of the path. His torture rooms are the very last few. The higher the room numbers, the higher the torture level. Ivan doesn't mind the walk at all. It makes him excited. He can hear all the screams of the other demons doing their jobs. He giggles. He loves his job. After he gained his higher up position after his rampage, his resident number grew. He had more people torture. He liked that a lot. It didn't take long for him to work up the ranks even more. He took his favorite demon's position in the high rooms as the number two in charge. She relinquished her job without a fuss and went straight to reincarnation.
It had been Francis that gave him the High Demon title. They tested his wings span against the old High Demon, but their wings could not measure up to the sheer strength of Ivan's. They are the third strongest in all of Hell. They are long, nearly touching the floor with their spikes. They have been like this for a few decades now. He likes them just fine. It really doesn't matter to him what title he has however. He gets to hurt someone either way. His new title does come with perks though. He gets to choose who to torture, and he has to deal with the paperwork of the other demons giving reports one what tools they need more of and how their victims are holding up. Ivan has no complaints. He doesn't feel the need to be King. He doesn't yearn for power. He just wants control, and he has plenty of that where he is right now.
He lifts his wings up to stretch them out before he locks himself in the torture rooms for a few hours. The rooms are smaller than he likes, but he understand why they can't be bigger. There's so little space in Hell already. He hums and opens the door. There's a man sitting in the chair bolted to the middle of the room. Ivan takes his file out, not bothered at all by the frightened look the human is giving him. This man locked his children in a room without food, and when they came out he broke their fingers for trying to steal. Ivan smiles. He glances over his shoulder at the human. They are shaking. Perfect. He drops their file to the small table and steps over to him. Chains are wrapped around his body holding him down tight. Ivan kneels down to look up at the human.
He giggles at their pain. The human begins to cry. Ivan had welcomed them to the room, told them to sit, and wrapped their body in chains. Then he left. This is the first time he's seen this human in a week. This is their first official torture session. Ivan stands back up again. He reaches behind him and ties his scarf up into a bow on his back like a twisted little present. He hums and spins around the room looking for his tool. He smiles wide when he spots a simple hammer on the wall. He takes it off the nails holding it up and wiggles it for the human to see. They are twitching more now, struggling against the chains. Ivan holds out his hand and clenches his fist tight. The chains shrink, making their hold tighter. The human whimpers.
Ivan kneels down in front of them once more. He takes their hand and flattens it against the arm of the chair. The human is starting to beg now. They whisper 'please' and 'don't' but Ivan doesn't listen. It's not his job to listen. He pulls a finger just past the edge of the arm rest. He holds it still just at the knuckle. He smiles up at the human. Without warning he smashes the single joint right at the bone with the hammer. The human screams out. Ivan waits for the pain to fully settle. Then he moves their hand over an inch, and does it again to another finger. At first Ivan had counted the number of times a human begged him to stop. After a while, he figured it didn't matter.
He breaks every little bone in their hands. He snaps their wrist too just for the fun of it. Their screams are more strained now, raw from all the yelling. Ivan is still smiling. They deserve to be hurt. He flips their file open once more. He raises an eyebrow at the note of a broken foot as well. He giggles out and smiles over at the pained human. They are crying, looking at him in terror. Ivan puts the small hammer back on the wall and hears the human sigh in relief. He bites his lip in amusement at the pained gasp they give when he grabs a giant mallet. He kicks their foot, a chain shooting out to hold the leg in place. Ivan lines up the hammer, and with a hefty swing, cracks it down on the human's foot. He shudders at the scream they let out. So much pain. He places the mallet back on the wall, picks up his files, and leaves without a word. He can hear them yelling for help on the other side of the door. No one will come for them.
He goes to the next room. He's humming again. This resident he doesn't like at all. He opens the door to creaking wood. The victim is chained down to a large table with his arms above his head, struggling to get free. It won't work. Ivan glances at his file to make sure it's the right person. Animal abuse and assault. He turns to the human, wiggling on the table. He ghosts his fingers over the bruises across their chest. Such pretty colors. He spins around and grabs the metal pipe he's been fond of recently. He polishes the metal just a bit to make it shine. The human is whimpering, already begging for it not to happen. Ivan giggles at them and brings the pipe down on their stomach. The flabby part makes odd noises while the human gurgles and lurches. Not much screaming. Ivan twists his nose. He takes a step to the side, higher up on the human's body. He brings the pipe down with a whack. Here the human yells out. Ivan does it again, a crack sounding out. Another rib broken.
They probably healed over night. That means they are weak today. So Ivan swings again, and again, waiting till every rib snaps. The human is choking out breathes. Maybe he punctured a lung in the process. Perfect. He giggles and lands the pipe one more time on their stomach for good measure. New bruises are sure to form, turning them black and blue once more. Ivan dances his fingers over their chest, pushing down hard. The human passes out. Ivan blows at his hair. So boring. He puts the pipe back and heads to the last room he will stop at for the day.
This one he enjoys quite a bit. He enters the room and claps to himself. The human is chained to the wall with their stomach pushed flush up against it. This human enjoyed hurting their siblings all throughout her life by scratching at them with her sharp nails. It's Ivan's job to return the favor. He drops his files to the table and stands behind her. She's crying silently. Ivan ghosts his finger over her back, tracing out the patterns he made yesterday with a sharp knife. He's not as good an artist as some, but what could he do? Blood kept getting in his way.
He rubs a hand down his arm. A chain materializes at his wrist. He pulls the end out, extending it to the ground and longer. He steps back six paces away from the girl. He twists the chain in his hand so he can reach the end. He rubs it between his fingers, causing the links to grow spikes. He drops it to the floor with a clang. The human sobs. Ivan smiles. He hasn't used a whip in a while. He holds the end still attached to his wrist tightly. With a sharp crack it sails forward and hits it mark. The girl groans, arching her back out at the pain. A long deep gash is now oozing across her skin. She's saying 'sorry' over and over again. Ivan doesn't know why she's apologizing. It's too late for that now. For an hour he throws the chain against her skin. Each one getting more and more forceful. Her yells die out as she can no longer keep her voice together. When she throws up to the side, Ivan stops, not wanting to smell it any longer. He closes the door behind him with a click, making a mental note to send in a cleaner.
The chain zips back into his arm, circling itself in the form of a tattoo on his upper shoulder. The marks made their debut during his breakdown when Francis stole his scarf. The chains appeared in his hands. The weight of them held perfect for him to throw them about and smash desks. His old favorite demon showed him her tattoo as well, a standard construction saw running down her calf. She said it's because that's his tool of choice. Ivan understood when he used them the next day on a resident. They felt natural to wrap around people or use to beat them with it. They swirl around his arms in tight coils. He likes them very much. They feel like friends, his constant companions. They obey him.
Ivan takes a deep breath once he gets to the elevator. He's a little angry today. He's no longer bugged by not being King. He likes the demons he interacts for the most part. Gilbert leaves something to be desired but he can manage. No. What really bugs Ivan out of it all is that both the Kings have someone. They both fell in love. Ivan just doesn't understand that. He doesn't want for someone. There's not a soul he likes in a romantic way. He never has. He's tried. A few people in his human days had crushes but the feelings he could never return. He never really questioned it. He didn't really want it to begin with.
It bugs him though. How did they both manage to find someone who would be with them for that long? Ivan just simply doesn't understand. What's the point of feeling? It's weak to show emotion like that. They made themselves so vulnerable by exposing their feelings. How could someone be in charge when they are too busy giving attention to someone else? It doesn't make sense. Ivan sighs. He's understood for a long time now he doesn't feel the way some do. He enjoys hurting others and he can't get his head wrapped around liking someone, let alone loving. The words just don't sit right in his stomach. He knows he's incapable of loving, but that's alright with him. He doesn't need the distraction. He doesn't need the feelings. He just wants to own someone.
The door dings and he steps inside. The demon next to him squeaks at his presence. Ivan glances to them, instantly recognizing them. He smiles widely at the demon. Their horns are short and black, a typicality in the lower level demons. His wings are small and not very thick. Ivan would know, he's broken them before.
"Toris how are you?" He asks with a giggle. He doesn't really care how the demon is doing but it's a pleasantry he knows is supposed to be said. He likes Toris very much. The demon begs and pleads and yells at the right times when being tortured. He's been under Ivan's 'care' for a century or so now. Until very recently, about four months ago when he asked to change to a new room. Ivan had been very upset by this. Toris is his favorite toy. How could he have wanted to go to some rookie demon for his torturing? He hated it, almost snapping uncontrollably when Francis told him he couldn't stop the demon's wishes. Luckily, the King knocked him out of it before it got too bad.
"I'm-" Toris gulps, forcing a smile onto his face. "I'm doing very well Ivan, how have you been?" The demon smiles at Ivan though it is clearly fake. Ivan giggles.
"I am decent," He giggles again, bringing a hand up to his mouth to hide his face. Toris gives out a shaky laugh, holding tight to the bucket of tools in his arms. He's a cleaner demon, under the physical torture branch. He washes the tools, making them shine for the demons who like to get bloody. Ivan hums.
"How is your new torturer doing?" He smiles. Toris jumps at the question, rattling the items in his bucket. He laughs awkwardly, gritting his teeth. Ivan simply watches him fluster.
"He's doing well, gaining confidence with me," Toris lets a genuine smile slip onto his face. Ivan's drops. Toris is his favorite toy. How could he leave Ivan for some low level demon in training. Toris glances up at him and his smile drops to a frightened expression. Ivan is scowling down at him, unimpressed with his answer. Toris begins to stammer, saying how his new torturer is fine but not as good. Ivan doesn't listen. He reaches out his arm fast, gripping tight to Toris's hair and banging his head to the side of the elevator. The bucket of tools drops, scattering the floor with knives and saws perfectly polished. Toris whimpers, writhing against the wall at the grip on his head. Ivan leans in close, his smile back on his face.
"I am glad you are liking your new friend," He giggles out when Toris whimpers once more. He makes no move to remove Ivan's hand. Ivan knows why. Toris likes pain. He expressed that very clearly to Ivan when he still had been just a young demon working the lower level rooms. Toris had been one of his first and longest lasting. Once or twice he even did what the demon asked, mixing his torture with the pleasure that Toris wanted. Ivan didn't really care for it, but Toris screamed, and he liked that.
"But," His smile drops once more. His eyes brighten dangerously at the fear crossing the little demon's face.
"No one will ever be as good as me," Ivan threatens. Toris twitches more and Ivan lets him go. He drops to the ground, curling himself up in the corner. The doors ding and Ivan steps out with a smile plastered back on his face. He drops his files back in the slot with his title written on it. He can see Arthur scolding Francis through the windows of the big office. He sneers. The demons around him notice the expression change and skitter away as fast as they can. Ivan stomps away.
It's true what he said to Toris. Ivan is the most skilled demon when it comes to torture. He didn't get the High Demon title for nothing. There is not a single soul in the entirety of Hell that can do what he does as well as he does. He knows more about technique and style and tools than any other demon to ever come through Hell. He's specialized in every aspect and can perform flawlessly. He didn't believe the words at first when Gilbert told him so. However, he had no reason to doubt otherwise. Some of the longer running demons had been upset when he got such a high position so quick, but they had to respect him. Ivan is the best. He'll just wait for Toris to figure that out and come back to him.
He likes Toris sure, but he does not feel romance for the demon. He doesn't feel lust either. He does feel possession. He wants to own Toris for himself. No one can play with his things. Toris is his. He grits his teeth hard. He's bitter. Some low demon, that Ivan probably tortured himself has managed to take his play things and he's not happy about it. He scratches at his arm dangerously. He can feel the metal of chains rippling beneath the skin. He doesn't take them out. He will be patient and wait for Toris to beg for him back. That is all he can do. Francis will punish him if he does not control his temper.
Threats don't usually affect him, but solitary confinement makes him uneasy. A small bubble of nausea forms in his stomach at the idea of wandering endlessly with nothing but his sick thoughts to guide and keep him company. Francis found that out after Ivan told him about his life. It's the one defense besides brute strength that Francis has over him. He doesn't entirely mind that. He knows about Francis's life too. He doesn't have real reason to harm the King. Besides, Francis comes to him if he wants pain. He's just a smidgen grateful that Gilbert hasn't told him about the electric chair. Ivan likes the chair, but it always jolts his mind back into his childhood. He laughs and cries when he's strapped down like that. He hates it. Ivan knows he's twisted. The therapists have said so. Both the ones in the human world and the demons he's met. Sociopathy is rare. Ivan doesn't really care.
He goes back to the torture rooms after an hour or so of pacing around the hallways. He visits the other few rooms that he's in charge in, dishing out more pain and taking pleasure in more screams. The screaming is his favorite. They all sound the same and yet are different. Some screams are high pitched and squeaky. Some are lower and partially gurgly. His favorite are the kind that Toris, and Matthew, make. Not too high, or too low, and flawless. He has found very few demons with screams like them, but he doesn't mind the variety. Arthur didn't have the pleasure of being his to torture, but he did sit in on the demon who got the chance. Arthur's screams are low, just a tich raspy. Ivan hadn't cared for them much, but he could see why Francis does.
Ivan washes his hand in the sink at the corner of the room. There's blood all over the floor from the cuts he made into the victim's chest area. They liked to stab people, so Ivan's job is to make him feel their pain. He hums to himself and leaves the person face down on the floor to maybe drown in their own fluids. Ivan unties his scarf from it's bow. It's the only thing he has from his human days. Very few demons have something like it. Matthew has his converse, and Arthur has his earrings. Some other demons he know mostly save their favorite piece of jewelry. Ivan never goes anywhere without his scarf.
It holds too many memories. Too many happy ones and the worst of the sad ones. It covers up his neck from the scars that would never heal from his human days. He could wish them away, but what would be the point? It'd take constant energy to hide them. The scarf is easier. He works hard to keep it the white color his mother first meant for it to be. It had been stained pink when Ivan first killed someone other than his father. He cried over the ruined fabric, but got over it when he couldn't get it out, turning the scarf a different color. The blood splatters kept coming, so he stopped bothering to wash it out completely. When he died, his age changed to his choice. Since his scarf had been from the human world too, it changed as well. Ivan wished for it to be the same as it had been at age seven. Pure as snow. Ivan took great care to keep it that way. He always tied it up and instantly removed any blood that could get close to it. It's easier to remove blood with magic over washing it.
Ivan goes back to his room and paces. He doesn't like to sleep. He has memories and dreams and flashbacks and he hates them all. He's not that person anymore. He's not even human. He doesn't need to sleep as much anymore being a demon. His body can survive without it. It needs a rest every now and then though. So he calms himself with pacing about. It's the most relaxing thing he can do besides go and sit in the waiting rooms and watch the horror in someone's face when they realize they are there to stay. Demons do need to sleep, just not as often. Lower level demons can last about a week before they start to feel the effects of fatigue. Ivan has been here long enough to handle the pressure. He can last nearly five months before he passes out.
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. His blood trails from before are gone and the tears in his scalp are healed. He breaks them open again. The soft pain is relieving to him. It makes him feel at ease. He stops his walking and sinks to the floor. He doesn't use a bed. Too soft. He buries himself in his wings. For hours he lays curled up, doing his best not to fall asleep.
