Searing pain…burning, freezing, unending pain…he was being torn, ripped apart from the inside out. Blindly, desperately, he kicked out and felt someone grab his foot. A hard fist bashed his head against the floor once, twice. His hands, raw from scrabbling night after night on gravelly surface, sought to find purchase anywhere, to pull himself away from the monstrosity behind him, inside him.
The first time this had happened, he woke up the next morning with his fingernails ruined and oozing darkly from the roots. He'd been afraid to look the second time it had happened. Then there was the third night. And the fourth. He no longer knew if he had any fingers left, or just stubs. The next wave of pain cast him into a spinning darkness, but before he could collapse into unconsciousness, the thrusts stopped and he was hauled onto his knees.
"He's going to save you," mocked a terrible hissing voice into his left ear. Something hot and wet slicked over his earlobe, worming its way upwards. "That's what you're thinking, huh? Your precious friend, he'd never leave you to be buggered every night, would he?"
Rat ran a tongue over his cheekbones, flicking at the corner of his eyes.
"So what's he doing now then, Jarl? What's your hero doing now? You know he's in the same room as us, he hears every one of your gasps, your screams, your pleas, so why won't he come save you? I'll tell you why. He doesn't care about you; he only cares for that whiny bitch. He won't challenge me, not for you. You try to protect him, but he won't risk his life for you. You might call hime your beloved friend, but he'll watch you die."
Rat cackled, reveling in Jarl's despair. Then he grunted and began moving again.
Jarl just screamed. It was a hoarse, broken scream, one that pulled its way out of his gut and forced up through his aching throat. It went on and on, without need for breath. Jarl didn't even know if anyone even heard his screams anymore, or if he was even really screaming. There was nothing better he wanted to do than twist around and rip Rat's eyes out, to run far, far away from this hellhole in the Warren. But he barely had the energy to stay conscious, much less move even his hands. He didn't know how many times Rat had taken him, only that each time Rat did something new to inflict more pain, more misery.
All this was just a show, Jarl knew, a way to terrorize the other boys into submission, a way to push Azoth even further. He couldn't tell nightmares from reality any more, but Jarl knew this. Rat didn't care a whit about him, but Rat wanted Azoth. Rat wanted Azoth to come to him begging, broken, bleeding. Rat wanted to hurt Azoth by taking and destroying everything he had, beginning with Jarl. And Jarl would not give him that satisfaction.
The first night, he fought until his throat collapsed from his screams, until he was bleeding from every orifice, until Rat had told Roth to break one of Jarl's toes to stop his kicking.
The next morning, not even Azoth could look at him without horror.
Sometimes, Jarl wanted to give up, to surrender himself to the madness he could feel fingering at the edge of his mind. Maybe if he just allowed himself to slip a little, the pain wouldn't hurt as much. He'd just be another of Rat's girls, and Rat would get tired and find some new method of haunting Azoth. But then his friend's face would appear in his mind, a vision of Azoth after the first night, averting his eyes as Jarl begged Azoth to know that he hadn't been taken without a fight.
Then Jarl would be lost in a new form of madness, a madness called hate. He'd seen the sudden coldness and desperation in Azoth's eyes when Jarl showed him the coins. It scared Jarl for an instance, but it convinced him that his friend had it in him to break free of Rat's tyranny. Only fear held Azoth back.
Fear for what? There really was nothing Rat could do to Jarl to wound Azoth more now. Jarl knew, and Azoth knew that Jarl knew, that death would only be a blessing right now. But Rat wouldn't let Jarl die. Not until he had Doll Girl in his hands.
Doll Girl. Azoth's precious weakness. Doll Girl, the key to breaking Azoth that Jarl could never be. There were times, when Jarl almost wanted to hurt Doll Girl himself, just to give Azoth that final push out of the Warren. Then Jarl would instantly recoil from the impulse. Azoth would never forgive him for harming Doll Girl. And Jarl would bite off his own tongue rather than lose Azoth.
As long as Doll Girl was still around, Jarl would continue to be taken by Rat. But as long as Rat hurt Jarl in order to hurt Azoth, then Rat believed that Jarl still meant something to Azoth after all.
A red mist filled up Jarl's vision, and his mind yielded gladly to the darkness. For a blessed, insane moment, Jarl allowed himself a dark glimmer of mirth. Let Rat take him then. Let Rat beat him to a pulpy, inhuman mess. If each night hurt more than the last, then it only meant that Azoth cared all the more.
A viscous bubble of blood gurgled to Jarl's mouth and burst.