Title: And We Are Flesh And Blood Disintegrate

Author: IndigoNight

Summary: The human hell of one who cannot die.

Feedback: Yes please, yay reviews!

Pairing: None so far, slight chance of Warren/Logan in later chapters.

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or the characters I'm just borrowing them for fun. Don't own the song lyrics either; those belong to The Smashing Pumpkins.

Spoilers: Nope

Warnings: TORTUREBLOODGORETORTUREYUCKYNESSDARKDARKDARK!

Author's Note: The sole purpose of this story is to entertain my demented mind in my boredom. Therefore, I have no plan, no decided length or end, the chapters have little to no direct connection with each other, and there's pretty much no plot. This is really just a personal writing exercise for myself that I figured what the hell why not post. Don't get your expectations up too much.

You are warned.

Chapter 2: Fire

In your darkest hour

I hold secrets flame.

There is no worse fate than that of being burned alive, unless it is to be burned alive without even the promise of eventual death and oblivion. A metal grate lay beneath him, he could feel each individual bar pressing into his defenseless back, it was a flimsy, futile protection from the fires that raged below. The metal of the grate had long since turned cherry red, beginning to bend in soundless submission, threatening to dump him directly into the conflagration. The inferno blazed, screaming for his flesh, his blood, his soul. It wanted him, all of him. It was hungry, it was angry, and there was nothing to stop it from taking its desire. He was bound, helpless. A single drop of blood slid between the bars, landing with a sickening sizzle-pop onto one of the live coals, mixing its acrid flavor to the perfume of smoke that choked the sweltering air. Tasting the blood only made the flames hunger for more, and it shot up probing fingers to lick at his exposed back, little more than a lover's caress, tasting, teasing, whispering promises of what was to come. The heat was searing, skin blistered and bubbled; lips cracked and bleed as all moisture was sucked greedily from the air. Flushed cheeks and fever dulled eyes stared upward in desperate horror. Parched screams echoed from torrid throat, but only encouraged the fire.

Tongues licked higher, bars bent but did not break. The fire shrieked its rage at being forced to wait, logs creaking and groaning under the strain of its increased demands. Lick, snip, bite, the devilish blaze ate at him, catching fine hairs and clinging to them, using them as ropes to shimmy up, reaching for his flesh, igniting, clutching, snatching, and refusing to let go. Then, the true burning began. Spites, tiny demons born of hellfire broke free of the flames' pregnant womb to dance wonton across his chest while he could do nothing but watch and wail a useless protest.

The air was now heavy with roasting carnage, as fat bubbled and meat cook. Skin gave way to muscle and tender inner organs, which in turn gave way to scoured bone. He now watched in morbid fascination as rainbows of hell-light flickered dully off of the metal grafted to his own ribs.

He screamed until his throat and tongue were nothing but ash and smoky fumes, and even then the sound continued, ringing silently in his ears, haunting him, the only way within his reach to describe his pain, inadequate though it was.

And the scream echoed, and the fire ate, and eternity stretched on.

~*Evil*livE*~

At first his body had reassembled almost immediately, leaving only his mental scars as proof that anything had happened at all. Those early, pain-free hours, now little more than hazy, half-dreamed memories, he had spent in crazed, desperate escape attempts. As days, weeks, eternities passed and he took longer and longer to heal he'd throw himself screaming against the walls, yelling, threatening, pleading, begging, deranged and mindless in his insanity.

Now though, he had lost all will to fight, lost himself, who he had once been to despair. He now merely dragged himself as far into the cell as his almost non-existent strength allowed and lay there, curled in on himself, relishing in the pitiful relief the respite brought him. Watching in morbid fascination as bones knitted together, muscles reformed, and skin stretched until his body was whole again. It was quiet. It was dark. It was all he had.