His feet hurt, limbs ached.

But his eyes –

Oh! They were like dark ebony pearls against the little brilliance of Outside sun.

Left and right. Up and down. They were quick, wary.

They were watching, always watching. Silently. Amidst the whispers and the tangled voices, amidst the corridors of ancient stone and wrought iron that extended into infinite darkness, amidst the stale air that hung in the dim half-light like atomized ether, amidst the many eyes of carved faces, of such intrinsic insanity – it was his that were watching, that were waiting, that were ever so calculating.

Watch.

That was what It had said the first time.

Watch.

And It had given him so bitter the taste of fear and whispered harm, he was left with a torrent of red coppery tang smothering his gaunt face. The Captors had done nothing as the crimson of blood meandered down his hollow cheeks from long deep gashes he would have never thought his fingernails to be capable of. The Captors had done nothing at all.

But It had.

It had wept as he wept, had screamed as he screamed, had pained as he pained. And as the blood began to settle and the scarlet stain began to dwindle, It had quietened. It had soothed and calmed. It had comforted.

And It had made Its demand.

Watch.

So he had.

He had watched anything and everything he could – his fellow men, the poor female who sobbed to herself in a cell in front of his, the rats darting back and forth, what little he could make of the heavenly sky outside. He had watched the Captors trudge around lazily, bellies rolling with gallons of the strongest ale. He had watched them sneer, had watched them laugh, had watched them wolf down fresh bread. He had watched them doze carelessly, had watched them tinkle in secluded corners. He had watched and watched.

And he had hungered.

But it was then that It had stopped Its insistent commands for him to Watch. It had snickered, It had laughed, It had jeered.

Learn, It had then said. Learn.

So he had.

He had learnt, as his eyes combed the dark of the nights, that the poor female occupying the cell in front of his was viciously brought down each time ebony dusk fell Outside. She was groped and bitten, her dignity left to fester as mere shadows that would fracture and rise like smoke to the heavens when the Captors ended their burning perforations. She sobbed, wept for what little pieces of her bruised self she could painfully salvage. It hurt her, he realized. It agonized. Rape, he now knew, was utterly ruinous even to the tainted soul of the criminally insane.

Learn.

He had learnt, as his eyes kept to razing scrutiny, that his fellow men were mere pawns in a ruthlessly entertaining game. They were the circus freaks, the shows, the source of raw amusement for the Captors. They brewed silently, like clouds before the coming storm – imbued with such frightening silence and tarnished with the stench of strangely forbidding anger. They brewed till throats bled dry and bellies whined with tortured moans. And only then would they shriek, would they scream, would they threaten. Only then would they beg. It pleasured the Captors, tormented the men. Hunger, he now knew, was curiously compelling.

Learn.

He had learnt, as his eyes darted about in detailed study, that the Captors held strange concern with his very existence. As the pained cries emanating from the opposite cell dwindled each morning to no more than quiet sobs, the melodious laughter of Outside robins would come to be. He would hear then the shuffling of feet, the roar of callous laughter, the metallic groan of archaic iron, and he would smell the strong odour that was the Captors.

'¿Muerto?' one would ask, a ring a brass keys swinging carelessly around a podgy thumb.

Dead?

'No,' the other would reply, shoving a leather-bound foot viciously into his side.

Not yet.

The jingle of keys, he now knew, marked a defining opportunity for him to press and run free. That blessed sound meant a chance at freedom.

This small slip of knowledge pleased him. Or It - he could no longer isolate his thoughts. It cackled, reaching out a hand to caress his blemished brow lovingly. The gesture caused him a slight startle, but he smiled nonetheless, hardly deterred by his own skeletal hand now running its fingers lightly across his face.

Dawn came, as did the sound of keys, like silver chimes in the wind.

The time is right, It murmured. Watch.

So he did.

He watched as the Captors approached, guffawing readily when they caught his pathetic attempts at pushing up onto aching feet.

'Idiota.'

Fool.

'Si.'

He snarled at them, jaws snapping like a diseased canine. He would hurt them good for that comment; ensure that their eyes no longer saw, and tongues no longer wagged.

Wait.

Patience was not his virtue; he was not a virtuous man. But this was Its command – he would follow. He'd wait.

And he did.

He waited as the Captors sashayed their way over to his cell, bearing grins of grime and filth. He waited as the brass key turned in the ancient lock, the sound loud, distinct and ever so blessed. He waited as the large old iron slab swung open noisily, a clear threat to make no hesitation in simply falling off its hinges. He waited as the Captors foolishly entered his cell, laughing, sniggering, and so very oblivious.

It is time.

Yes, he had supposed it was.

Now, It snarled. Kill.

He frowned, unsure. Kill?

Kill.

So he did.

When he was done, the Captors were strewn across the floor, motionless. Crimson stained the dirt, creating minute rivers that meandered quickly around his two bare feet. The coppery tang filled his senses, and where he felt nauseous, It screamed victoriously.

He had killed. Lord, he had killed.

It shrieked in anger, in pain at his words.

Nay! Your Lord gives you no refuge. But I've given you freedom!

Yes, yes! It spoke the truth!

Move! For Freedom!

He did.

He stepped out his cell, heard the strangled cries of his fellow men. He heard them beg to be freed as well, but he could not comply – would not comply. It was his, and his alone. No one else could have It.

Move.

He stalked down the darkness of the corridor, feeling the Outside breeze brush his face a little stronger every step forward. He could hear the alarms now, the bells that warned of his Freedom earned. Men were running towards him, foolishly armed with mere flashlights.

'Parar!'

Stop? He would not be thrown back in to that cell.

Fools.

He kept moving.

'Parar! Parar!'

The voices were insistent now, threatening. But there were many – his freedom was to be thwarted.

Nay! Climb!

Climb?

Climb!

So he did.

He climbed the bars of a cell, filling the prison hold with the fearful shrieks of the woman behind it. But he had barely made it to the low grimy ceiling when he was suddenly strangled with the harsh caress of so deep a fear, fear that was his.

She's coming!

She? It had sneered and jeered, and laughed and killed, but it was afraid of she? She who?

She's been called!

She who?

Her.

'Going somewhere?'

A girl stood beneath him, hair of darkest ebony glinting enticingly in the dark.

Was this Her?

It snarled at Her through his teeth, used his blackened nails in an effort to scar Her porcelain skin. She merely stepped out of the way, frowning.

Run! It demanded in a fearful shriek.

He was confused. Where could he go? Men surrounded them, and She was waiting.

Run! Climb!

'Stay.'

Her voice was soft, comforting. Stay? Why would he stay?

Run! Climb!

'STAY!'

'Nay!'It screamed through his teeth.

It snarled at Her again, showing his blackened teeth.

'I've left a bonfire burning outside. A huge one. Holy water. You take a few steps closer, and you're toast.'

'You lie!'

She laughed, the sound caressing his ears lovingly.

'I could be. But you wouldn't know till you do take those few steps, now would you?'

This time, Its swipe with his bony fingers successfully drew blood from what little neck Her trench coat left exposed. She stumbled backwards, taken by surprise, small hands making quick work of examining the damage he – no, they – had caused.

'Damn you!'

'I am already damned,' It replied nastily, painfully drawing his lips into a dark smirk.

The men surrounding them surged forth in anger, brandishing batons and rifles threateningly. Where had these come from? He had only seen flashlights earlier. His throat was closing in fear at the sight, but It merely cackled.

'No mortal weapon can harm me,' It drawled.

Harm It. And him? Would he be harmed?

'Don't touch them.'

Them? She knew of It?

He was confused now, blinded by Its rage but ever so drawn to Her.

'Get down here, I'll make a deal with you.'

'You guarantee my Freedom?'

Its Freedom. And his? Would he get his?

'I will make no wagers till you get down here.'

Her words were spoken with such sinister ferocity, he did not wish to comply. She would hurt him, hurt them. He could not, would not comply.

Climb. He wanted to climb. Higher and higher till no one could reach them. He willed his limbs to pull them up, take them away, but he was already making his way down the bars of the cell, cackling as he did so.

Climb! He wanted to climb!

Nay, fool.

It lunged at Her suddenly, taking him by surprise. Her wrists were in Its grasp, in his hands. It shoved Her up against bars of an empty cell, holding his body against Hers, grinding his hips into Hers. Her breath scalded his chin, Her body warm under his.

He struggled to step away, to release the poor beauty beneath him, but It was adamant. Determined.

Men were closing in.

'I said don't touch them!' She insisted, making no effort to struggle against It, against him.

It snarled, held his lips dangerously close to Hers. She whimpered at the slight contact, the sound leaving him nauseous. But this pleasured It, and what gave It pleasure, he could not deny.

'Let me be Free, and He who is the Spawn of Hellfire shall grant you all you desire,' It whispered with his tongue, words a sultry murmur.

He felt Her shift beneath him, then felt Her stinging lips brush his ear. He felt It tingle within him, crying out victoriously.

'I seek refuge -,' She began, lips dragging across the lobe of his ear.

Where his disgust became a strangely effortless calm, Its victory was suddenly stifled, swelled into thick oppressive horror.

'- in the Lord –'

It angered within him, snapping and snarling at Her with his jaws.

'Nay!'

It struggled against Her, struggled to pull his body away. But Her slender fingers now locked his wrists in vice-like captivity. She was no longer Its pawn - this was Her game.

'- from the pride, poetry and touch of the Devil.'

She released them then, and he stumbled backwards unsteadily. His mind was a torrent of hurricanes; he was confused, filled with so much anger but pressed with such comforting calm. Its thoughts became his – run, hide, kill! It could no longer touch Her, could no longer harm. It was as helpless as he had once been in that small cell.

It brought him down on his knees as She stepped towards him, eyes of darkest olive and dazzling emerald glinting threateningly in the gloom. He could smell fear, knew that it was present, that it was theirs and no longer Hers.

'He will give all you desire, and more!'

This was a fib, he knew, even as It offered her his hand.

'I highly doubt that, love.'

She didn't take the hand; he knew she would not. A knee was brought up instead and it slammed viciously into his face. He heard the small crack of his nose breaking, but didn't feel much else save the warm blood forming ribbons down to his lips. It, however, screamed from the stinging ache the gesture brought and It collapsed in prostration before her, taking him with It.

'Hold It down.'

Was She talking to him?

Murmurs erupted from all around him.

'¿Que?' came a timid voice.

'Hold. It. Down.'

It scratched and clawed within him at those words.

'Nay!'

He heard more murmurs, wondered about it. He could hold It down. Why was there such hesitation?

'Pero –' came the small voice again.

'But what? It can't harm you now.'

'¿De verdad?'

He could taste Her frustration, felt responsible for it.

'Yes, it's the damn truth! Now hold it down or so help me, I'll stab you in the eye.'

'Si, si!'

He felt himself being forced to his back by a thousand hands, felt his limbs threatening to pop right out of their sockets. It struggled against the many grasps, using him to claw and bite whatever it could reach.

'Spread-eagled.'

Her voice was business-like, firm.

'¿Que?'

'Cruz. Lay him spread-eagled. A cross.'

'Si, si.'

His arms were yanked from his sides and held down by the weight of two men. His legs kicked out, but hands snapped it at the ankles. They were left pathetically useless, but were pulled together nonetheless and kept in place by the weight of three.

'Let me be free!'

'I don't think so, bub.'

'Then when you are damned, you shall have no mercy.'

She lunged at them then, straddling him painfully to the dirt. A hand held him by the cheeks, nails digging into his pallid skin. Her face was so close, he could make out the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of Her nose he only just noticed.

'And who are you to say if I'll be damned to Hell?'

Her voice was low, so dangerously soft, the breaths she exhaled scorching his already broken nose.

'Come with me, and He shall be your salvation.'

She chuckled lightly, the sweet scent of berries and peaches she carried now an achingly suffocating inhalant.

'No, thanks.'

It growled in frustration, struggling against the many hands that held him down. It will be free! It will be free! It snarled, It snapped, all threats of Divine intervention now undaunting.

'I. Shall. Be. Free!'

The grip of Her thighs on his waist tightened.

'Shut up, and quit moving.'

She was waving something in his face, something small and gold and glinting. It shrieked as It let his gaze fall upon the tiny enemy, the sound emanating from his mouth treacherously painful to his ears. Horror filled his heart, horror that wasn't his.

'The Ring!'

He saw Her smirk, felt Her hold on him loosen considerably.

'Why yes, yes it is! Beautiful, eh?'

Her words were met with curses that flew from his lips - threats, shrieks, condemnation. It forced his struggles to increase in ferocity, to intensify with such viciousness against the many hands that held him, against Her slender legs.

'Nay! Nay!'

It tossed his head from side to side wildly, pulled his lips brutally back to bare venomous teeth. Fear compounded the horror, gripped him so tight, he was left suffocated as She held the little gold Ring painfully against the bridge of his nose.

'In the name of the Lord –'

'Nay!'

It now struggled to have his teeth sink into the skin of Her arms. He could do nothing but now Watch as It waged Its war with his body.

'- I Command thee –'

She shoved his head back against the bare soil with Her free hand, face set with determination. He felt no pain, but heard the loud thud of his skull colliding with the solid ground.

'- Rescind!'

It screamed, recoiled within him. His hands no longer struggled, legs no longer kicked. It had relinquished Its hold, he could tell.

Was he glad?

This, he couldn't tell.

'Have a mirror?'

No, he didn't. He wanted to tell Her this, talk to Her, but his lips wouldn't move. His eyes, though, remained as wary watchful orbs.

'¿Que?'

'A mirror, a big one.'

'No.'

He heard the murmurs that followed this exchange between Her and the timid one, felt the grip on him tighten. Yet, his lips still did not move.

'Get the candles from bag.'

Was this directed to him? He did not know. He knew nothing anymore.

'¿Que?'

'The candles damn it! Vela! Vela!'

'¿Vela?'

'Si! Vela! Cirio! Candles! From the bag!'

He felt Her form shift above him, felt Her warmth envelop him comfortingly. She would save him from It, whisk him from this place, give him his freedom. He could feel it as he watched Her receive the bag of unscented candles from a scrawny man.

'Hold him down.'

Her warmth left him suddenly, and dark frost gripped him icily. He was cold, freezing without Her. Her warmth was placed with another's, one who weighed tons more and crushed him beneath the heavy mass. But this was different; he felt frightened now, no longer comforted. He wanted Her, perhaps even needed Her.

Fool.

He was no fool. It was the fool. He had wanted to climb, hadn't he?

She holds no care for you.

No, She does.

She has the Ring of Solomon. She is not worthy of trust!

He could no longer comprehend Its vicious words, so very intent instead on watching as She meticulously formed a large triangle around him with the candles, then lit each carefully with whispered prayers falling from Her pale lips.

Run! Flee! She makes to break us!

He frowned, furrowed his brows. Did She make to break them?

Or It?

Us! Us! Run! Flee! She comes! She comes!

It screamed within him, panic a dreadful leech, as She made Her way back to them, brandishing the little gold Ring it what seemed to be triumph. Her warmth cloaked him once more, comforting him, the Ring now held scorching against his brow.

I will only be the first of many! Free me and find your salvation!

'It is the first.'

The words had come from his lips. This startled Her as it did him, and She paused to scrutinize his scarred face carefully.

'It is the first,' he repeated in an effort to appease a strangely compelling force that demanded this of him. 'The first of many -'

'To come?' She questioned, soothing voice now laced with dangerously calm rage. She caught him by the neck and held him still, held his gaze. 'Or to leave by my hand?'

Fool! Fool!

He thought to give no answer, but did not wrench his eyes away from Hers.

Run! Flee!

No, he would not.

'In the name of the Lord, I bid thee break oh spawn of Satan!'

Nay!

Her words were like fire coursing through his veins. He felt It claw at him painfully to throw of the command, to hold on to Its pathetic vessel. He heard screams of fear and agony, deafening him, torturing him.

Screams that were his.

'Rescind from the flesh!'

Nay!

'Rescind!'

His screams dwindled to light whimpers. He was no longer suffocated, no longer clawed at, no longer held on to, and as Her warmth slid from him slowly, the pain came to settle – the sting from the gashes on his gaunt cheeks, the agony of his broken ankles, the ache of his concussed head, the hurt of his broken nose. The shadows that swept in with the torturous ache of pain sought to engulf him wholly.

He briefly wondered where It had gone.

The Exorcist had done her job well.