Deadly silence has spread, billows like an unspoken omen in the atmosphere and fills every pore of my sweaty body with foreboding of what is coming.
The air shimmers with heat, envelops like a steaming towel on my burned face.
I blink, dare me to slowly slid from the dark, forgiving custody of sleep, but after a few seconds I am aware of where I am. Still am.
A foul-smelling mixture of sulfur, poison and smoke befalls my exposed wounds, I can only express a painful hiss to make my agony known.
For more I am currently not able.
My tongue has been cut off by Michael with a razor blade a few hours ago.
The stump in my mouth makes me sick, I try not to think of it at all. Chains wrap around my wrists, scratch in my naked, wounded flesh so that narrow rivulets of warm blood bubble over my arms. They fall with a snapping, final noise to the floor, crackling like coal sparks do in a chimney fire.
I lift my eyelids, let my gaze wander around the room, although I could have drawn every single inch of this forsaken place on a piece of paper easily.
Lucifer's cage has no lattice rods, as the vast majority could have been thinking.
When I think about it, so the cage does not even have a self-contained terrain. I must know best, after all I've already tried on numerous occasions to break out here, but I am never got very far, no matter how many miles of trails I covered it well.
There is no limit delineated, no gorge, no locked output at which I could shake. The land is always the same, dry, rocky and barren, adorned with occasional streams of dark blood. I saw torn limbs of victims swim there once.
It took decades before I fully realized that there is no escape. No escape from hell or my fate.
How could I? I have chosen on my own. It's my fault. Always my fault.
This existence, where death is redemption and a bullet in the forehead means mercy. All I would accept now if it was only fast and clean.
God, when will this be over ... have I not already suffered enough?
"Well, Sam? How are we today?"
Apparently not, I suppose.
I suppress the urge to turn my head abruptly to the source of the voice that has become horribly familiar to me within this eternity.
Even the sarcasm, the sprayed, sadistic streak reflected in every single syllable has almost become a habit.
And, to my own shame, I even feel a twinge of relief when I hear this voice, this gentle, relentless baritone.
At least I can therefore exclude the possibility that it is Michael.
In an irritating way I've learned to appreciate the company of the devil more than the holy Archangel's in this endless torture chamber, crazy but true.
I also get selected appetizers of Lucifer's insidious torment, but at least he does not violate my body.
Just my soul ... and he is very inventive, to my chagrin.
I hear Lucifer's annoyed snort because I don't let follow reaction to his words. Typically, he hates to be ignored. I know that, there had often enough can try what I one or the other torn ear has introduced ...
The steady beat of his steps forces itself upon me, as he moves toward me.
Limply I allow two cold fingers rest under my chin and raise it almost gently.
My eyes combine with icy waters, melting like boiling oil into my corona.
The term in them is indefinable, no sensation seems to glint in them, not even disgust.
"Ah, he has you already removed your tongue, hasn't he? My fault, dear." Lucifer says in mild surprise when he realizes my dilemma, raises his other hand and places it on my cheek, stroking his thumb over the soft skin, battered by burns of third-degree.
"Shhh, Sammy. It will be over quickly, okay? Michael is impatient today."
Instantly I feel a tremor running through my body.
It always occurs as soon as this man touches me or talks to me, whispers in this soothing, lulling tone that wants me to seduce into a false state of security, throwing me on the ground of reality even harder than before, leaving me sobbing and pleading and crying for death.
Yes, this man ... no, this monster has plowed my soul like a field a thousand times, smashed it to pieces and built them up again, just for fun.
But I hate him and for what he letshappen mutely, even though he knows exactly what his big brother does to me.
Paradoxically, I even hate him for healing me afterwards, regenerating my tongue and all other wounds and injuries. I feel like a fresh victim, prepared for the championship.
"You don't hate me, Sam. The whole situation is unpleasant to you, that's all."
I curse inwardly.
Again. I forgot it again!
"Hold on. Out of my mind, bastard!" I shout, hesitantly taking use of my newly acquired tongue. It feels surprisingly numb when it tips against my teeth
The devil laughs softly, seems amused because of my rage, the frustrating loose beneath.
Bastard. Asshole. Son of a bitch. The list of my curses is endless. Dean would have been proud.
Dean…
"Oh Sammy, still so rebellious?"
He gives me an extensive screening, evaluating the healed, smooth skin, the bare flesh. I must divulge this without my agreement while he touches my chest with his fingertips, exploring the muscles underneath that emerge with each breath I take, until he comes to my face, which is framed by my chin-length hair on both sides.
Now it seems like I'm alive and well, immune to any procedure given to me.
But the truth is that nothing has changed.
I am and remain a prisoner, who is at the mercy of his jailers.
I am helpless, fragile ... God, how I hate the way my thoughts lead me.
But the longer the devil stares at me, the easier such thoughts seem to creep up in me and gnaw at my senses. I bet he plants them intentionally in my mind.
And as if that was not enough to make me mad, but I really wonder what Satan probably now like to think about this portrait, his gaze resting on me.
Fine, he doesn't want to gloat. The telltale sparkle in his eyes is missing.
I really can't see any emotion in them, neither sorrow, nor hate, nor loathing.
He has even managed to copy Nick's facual (human!) expressions once, pretend to wear a stupid mask of feigned compassion when he spoke to me in the upper world.
Now he seems to have forgotten this too, but well, he doesn't need it here, does he?
Why had I to be this guy offering him the perfect cover?
Why not someone else !?
I ask myself again and again, but I find no answer, usually the pain prevents me from summarizing clear lines of thought.
The angels, his brothers and he himself have indeed said, I'd be deceptively similar to him, the devil. Our our essence, our career and our ideals would apply to each other.
But I've never believed it, it was just foolish chatter for me.
I mean, several Millenia of era apart, two different races, he, the most evil person ever and me of all people shall be like him !?
Although I accepted that I have a dark side caused by the demon blood… but that it could be THAT bad, I would have never guessed, believe me.
"Do you know whom you remind me of in this condition?"
Lucifer leans closer to me, so that cool breath touches my earlobe. I don't answer, so he continues with his story.
"You remind me of myself, after I had freshly fallen. I was vulnerable, tortured and left alone - but you're not alone, Sam. I'm with you. For all eternity. My poor boy."
The treacherous, comforting sound of his voice flows like sweet poison, biting into my ear, sets and reverberates in my skull, a smirking echo that goes round and round.
I would almost laugh if I had been inclined to such macabre jokes today.
He starts again.
The same old story he applied on earth to corrupt my mind.
Back when he was inside me ...
"Do me a favor and kill me for once and for all." I gasp. "Tear my soul to shreds, trample on them, eat them, I don't care just put an end to this! I'm tired of playing Michael's punching bag. You should understand best."
For a brief moment slight anger flickers in Lucifer's view, but lies down as quickly as it came.
Nevertheless, I have probably hit a weak point. All right. I hope it does hurt awfully.
"No." he replies simply, any unconcern missing in his words. "I would only punish myself with that. In addition, it would be so terribly lonely here without you. My brother and I would remain silent for ages."
He is suddenly so close to me that I can feel his breath surge against my lips. Only a few inches separate our faces from each other.
What does he intend to do now that? Certainly nothing worth striving for.
I don't know what he means with that part of self-punishment, let alone the loneliness, but in my opinion it's a farce anyway. A method to confuse me.
Although he practically vowed not to lie to me – well, who could dumb enough to trust the devil?
Because if he is actually serious, I have little use for it anyway.
Suddenly I feel the presence of another individual who is moving towards us. I clench my teeth.
This aura is unmistakable. Powerful and intimidating, even in hell.
It ... no, he is very close.
Lucifer seems to suspect it too, because before I bring a blink into existence, Satan appears several feet away from me.
"Oh, has my toy awoken? "
The temperature of the room rises by several hundred degrees, at least it feels for me that eay while my chest crouches in horror and I must watch Michael enter.
This extends relish, so that his bones crack, Lucifer nods briefly before he, his fiancée victims, gives me any attention.
"Hello, Sam. Ready for pain?"
Each syllable depends on a buzzing vibration, soaked in diabolical anticipation, sinister revenge.
Oh, damn it.
I swallow, my throat is dry.
Since we are here, Michael and Lucifer have apparently decided to convene a mutual ceasefire to me to break me both systematically by mutual agreement, be it on a physical or psychological level.
I think Michael's intentions include mainly the unpardonable crime in his eyes, that I have drawn him into the cage. Lucifer's frustration because of the failed apocalypse and his second imprisonment is added to my doom.
Whistling, the Archangel moves to a wide-ranged display of torture instruments, weapons and caustic substances, selecting a small ax that is doing well in his hand. I can see how the flickering of the flames is reflected in it's steel.
I am sick to the stomach.
"Don't you want a piece, brother?" He asks without looking up, grinning smugly. "It relaxes so wonderfully, you should try it out yourself."
The ... offer is addressed to Lucifer, but he puts him of, to my honest surprise.
"No interest. I consider myself preferring to dismember his mind. That will be more fun."
His mouth is promoting a light smile, but it doesn't look right somehow. Well, nevermind.
Of course, to torture my soul is his privilege alone. This bastard needs nothing else to amuse himself.
Michael gets ... the leftovers.
He raises an eyebrow, but shrugs his shoulders.
"It's your choice." me he says before he turns his attention to me again.
Instinctively, every muscle in my body tenses.
I'm fucked.
By the way, I know that Adam has to be here somewhere, but I have not seen him the whole time.
Michael seems to deliberately hide him from me, and even from Lucifer.
God knows what he is doing with him ... but I hope he shows at least some mercy, after all my brother has done everything right. He served him as his vessel.
I know there is there no hope for me. There never was…
Like mad I pull on my chains, as I've done many times before, a stupid reflex, rooted in my nature.
It doesn't help. It never helps. I am at his mercy, unable to escape.
Panicking, my eyes flit back and forth, my breath turns out in hectic waves, my pulse beats in lost coordination.
Pure adrenaline, caused by bitter fear and despair, pumps through my veins.
Michael proceeds to move towards me slowly, the cleaver waving at his side in a semicircle.
I'm already aware of what is about to happen. It has happened many times. So often that I lost count and what is worth a number when it threatens to drift into eternity?
My body refuses to get used to unbearable burning, infinite and cruel, bloody spectacle.
In my despair I finally turn my face to the point, where Lucifer stands.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, his gaze rests on the ground, wrapping himself in unusual passivity.
My mouth opens and I hate every second more for the words that dissipate, but can not stop.
Even Dean has yielded in the end because he could not take it anymore.
Why should I be the heroic exception then?
"Help me! I'll do anything, ANYTHING just don't let him –"
The last part of my sentence remains abruptly in my throat, knowledge paralyzling my tongue.
An incredulous laugh almost torments up my throat, but I suppress it, let it fall silent before it hovers in the steaming air.
So that's what hell has made of me.
Now I'm begging the devil for mercy, while an angel sinks sharpened iron in my lower abdomen.
A cry escapes, the known taste of bittersweet metal flushes down my tongue, blood paves its way through my mouth, running down my lips.
The pain is indescribable, tears come into my eyes, I can not hold them back.
But I still won't let go of Lucifer, staring steadily at him although my view gets more and more blurred, while Michael swings back several times and the sickening smacking of my severed flesh echoes through the air.
Lucifer doesn't give me a single glance, no second our eyes do cross.
It seems almost as if he's not concerned, as he would want to anonymize during Michael's work.
Why?
I don't understand.
I don't understand why the hell he doesn't graze my torments, doesn't refresh on my cries as his brother does it with inexhaustible joy.
I do not understand why Satan himself denies eye contact, a contact he once sought continuously on earth, when we met for the first time.
Although, the mere memory of it seems to be eons ago.
"Lucifer! "
The name dwells on my lips like a mantra, overlapping with blood. It is a requirement of death devotees, those who are inevitably dying and mutter one last prayer. It's ridiculous, but he is mine.
"Lucifer, look at me!"
He shall watch me, if he already does nothing to prevent it. It may sound cheeky, but he owes me this. He OWES me.
But Lucifer refuses to help me. He's useless.
Not really worth mentioning, finally, he always had an allergic reaction to commands, hadn't he?
Instead, he simply turns around and goes, disappearing silently into the nearest wall, dividing for him without a sound.
I still call after him, even when the devil has completely vanished in the nameless expanses of our prison.
I call, call with fervor, hatred, grief and doubt, because my voice is the only thing I have somewhat under control.
And because he of all, Satan himself, is the only one who could save me from my misery, if he had wished so. If he -
My call only terminates when Michael strikes out for the final act and the blunt edge of the ax buries itself across my chest.
He pulls out a big piece of my right lung, so that blood gushes and I feel how I suffocate slowly. A few minutes later my head bagges to the side,
blood clots in my windpipe.
I've seen enough dead in my former life, to say with certainty that my eyes have the same shimmer like milky glass now. Looking at a place, far from heaven, hell and earth.
Before I take the last, rattling breath, I think about Lucifer returning in a few hours to call me back to life, using a touch and a flimsy, enigmatic remark to realize his own mental torture variant with me in visually stunning action.
He once promised not to hurt me. Never.
And by God, he doesn't.
At least not in the way how to cause injuries in general.
Souls pose no visible wounds.
But hey, why should he make this effort?
Michael is too willing to accept the brutal part that breaks my bones, shreds my flesh and rips my vocal chords.
He is never tired. He'll never be. Angels know no sleep.
What happens inside the cage is based on a continuous loop, a loop, I cannot escape no matter how much I might fight it.
Because the grids are locked and no one will ever be capable to save and carry me out.
I'm trapped. Forever.
But at least Lucifer is right.
I am not alone.
I'll never be alone.
Never again.
Hey :)
Hope you liked the prologue^^ Any comments?
Greets,
RoseofBrisingr