Karkat was not surprised that Gamzee put him back in the dungeon, what did surprise him was that he was left alone for a long time. He was given water to drink, but no food, and no blanket to withstand the chilly evening. What was Gamzee planning for him? Why wasn't he down here himself beating the life out of him? Something was off about this whole situation. Whatever was in store for him he knew wasn't going to pass was easily as the beatings he had undergone.


Karkat groaned as he heard a harsh creeeeeeeeeeeeeak fill the dungeon. Due to the chamber's metallic nature, the sound was amplified and its unpleasant vibrations stung his ears. He quickly shuffled awake, eyes opening wide as he expected Gamzee to approach him. It wasn't him though, it was Serket. He felt his stomach drop; his vascular pump skipped a beat, and his body stiffened in fear. He knew what was coming to him if she was here. She opened the cell door, smirking.

"Weeeeeeeell," she started smugly, "It seems like the Grand Highblood is tired of dealing with your bullshit. Heheh, you're all miiiiiiiine now, Karkat,"

The Cancer released a terrified scream as she grabbed him by his hair, dragging him out of the cell and toward the exit of the dungeon. He flailed about, trying to get her to let go of him. He was in trouble when Serket was left to punish him. She was a master of scourge, of torture, and pain. That was all she lived for; to manipulate things to her liking and inflict pain on those that she could not bend to her will. She dragged him through the halls, cackling as he struggled. He had forgone screaming when they were amongst other Subjugglators, he growled and clawed at her thickly armored forearm. It was all for naught, she was much stronger than him. She was a highblood after all and took on her position with fervor.

"Gamzee!" he cursed, "Where the fuck are you?!"

"He's not coming," Vriska cackled, "You're aaaaaaaaall mine!"

She dragged him outside, onto the path and down to a small platform that had been set up by the gates. H e recognized what this platform was used for. It had something similar to a doorway, only without a door. It was framing made of metal and two chains that extended form the top. All that were missing were the shackles used to suspend the victim upward, just as they did with ancestor. He screamed as she tossed him to the ground, at the feet of other blue bloods. One was handling what appeared to be two halves of hot iron shackles. One of the other blue bloods grabbed him by his wrists and dragged him over to a tree stump, securing his hands.

"Fuck you," Karkat snarled, "FUCK ALL OF YOU!"

"Oh, but that's not your job," Vriska smirked. She approached him as the third blue blood prepared the two halves of the shackles, the same cuffs that his ancestor had suffered and forged his sign. She removed a syringe from her pocket, smirking.

"You know, I probably should be merciful," she smirked, removing the needle cover from the medical tool before pressing the tip of the sharp metal into his wrist, "But this'll make sure you stay awake the whoooooooole time,"

He whimpered as the substance stung his veins, burning his muscles. He had never heard of pre-punishment injections, lest they were being used to euthanize a traitor. Euthanasia was only used for the highbloods. This wasn't normal, she was plotting something. She removed the needle, covered the sharp end of it, and pocketed it once again. She was too brutal for euthanasia. No, that was Zahhak's territory; he had a strange fetish for being merciful. She was into poison, torture, and the pleasure she received from watching her prey squirm at her feet. There was no way she'd euthanize him out of nowhere. He cried out in pain as she grabbed the back of his head, painfully craning his neck back so she could whisper in his ear.

"This is what you'll get for messing with that adorable, fairy-tale loving lowblood," she breathed hotly into his ear, "Once you're out of the way, none of us will have to deal with your shit anymore,"

He screamed in pain as the first half of his shackles were placed under his wrists, burning him. The metal was solid enough that it would not melt into flesh and fuse, but it was still hot enough that they were burning bright red and also burning his skin. The next half was not as solid at the ends, they needed to slightly gooey to fuse to the bottom shackle, Karkat screamed again as they took extra long to fuse the two slots together by pouring ice water over the metal. His hands and wrists burned from the horrid pain streaming up his arms and down his back. His spine convulsed against scorching sensation, the irons were down to a medium red glow. They were solid enough to prop him up now. Vriska grabbed him by his shoulder, dragging him toward the platform. She propped him up, he was so light, and secured him before tearing the back of his shirt open.

She then stepped back several feet, "Instrument of torture please,"

Her assistant gave her the whip, "Karkat, for being such a whiny, ungrateful prick, you're getting teeeeeeeen lashes with a spiked whipping device,"

She cracked the razor-bladed whip once, signaling that the next crack would be against his back.


Gamzee whimpered, holding two cushions over his ears to drain out the screams of agony from outside his window. He did not like what he was allowing Vriska to do; it had to be done though. He was a highblood; he had to exact his authority upon those who disobeyed him. He felt each lash though, every cold, stinging jolt of pain that his pale bro was forced to undergo. The guilt seeped out of the sympathy wounds, crushing his vascular pump with each fathom of agony that struck him. He hands shook with fire, with the pain he was certain that would eternally mar Karkat's wrists. He hated this; he hated every single lash that snapped into the air with a vicious, inclining vibration.

"Gamzee," Tavros cooed softly, touching his shoulder, "You…You didn't, uh, have to do this,"

Gamzee whimpered, removing the pillows, "I had to, he was gonna motherfuckin' hurt you,"

Tavros bit his lip, he wanted to speak up. This was his own fault after all, he urged Karkat to help him escape. If he hadn't been so weak and pathetic to do it himself Karkat would not be in this mess and he'd be the one taking the heat. He deserved it. He was so stupid to deceive his own perception. Gamzee had been good in him, he just didn't know how to use it. His blood stained any endeavors to be just and kind, his violence was his own outlet of kindness he could show. He had every incentive to kill Karkat; his infidelity, his misconduct and disregard for his master's rules, his apathy, and his care for everyone else when Gamzee needed it the most. He should have convinced Karkat not to try and help him, rather to help Gamzee. Why did have to be so foolish? Honestly, it would get him killed one day, if not burden him with life-changing injuries.

"Gamzee," Tavros breathed, "Do you, uh, want a hug?"

It was the most he could say at the moment. He was considering something else, like "Do you think this will get you anywhere with him?" or "Do you think he'll want to be besides you after this?" but he didn't want to hurt Gamzee anymore than he was already hurting. He was crying, Subjugglators don't cry.

"Yeh," Gamzee sniffled, holding his arms open, "I'd…I'd like a motherfuckin' hug right now,"

Tavros smiled nervously before gently crawling up to him, wrapping his arms around his torso. He was careful not to hit Gamzee with his horns; he did not want to hurt him.

The hot metal coils were not removed when Karkat's whipping finalized with a particularly harsh crack and drag of the razors across his flesh. Serket was never merciful and made each lash dig into his skin, keeping him screaming and awake as each lash tore into the flesh. Mutant blood did not drip from his back; it streamed down in thick rivulets. He was feeling dizzy from the blood loss, and the burning in his arms was only surpassed by the stinging pain in his back. The most worrisome of all his wounds was the liquid coursing through his veins. Serket claimed it was to keep him awake during the procedure, but it was doing anything but. He felt blackness overcome his vision, what was happening? Was he dying? No, no, he couldn't be dying. This method of punishment was brutal and agonizing, but it did not result in death.

"What's wrong?" Vriska chuckled, tossing him to the ground. Karkat cried out softly as his raw, bleeding backside in the ground. Dirt and the rest of the filth that plagued the floor ground into the lacerations, causing them to sting and ache even more.

"Oh, don't worry," she smirked as his body began to stiffen. He felt tired and exhausted; his limbs became so heavy he could not move them. He laid his head back, closing his eyes. His lungs felt so cold, his vascular pump slowed down…So cold, everything was so cold, "Soon you'll be niiiiiiiice and cozy,"

She smirked as he finally lost consciousness. She waited a moment before checking his pulse and breathing; there was no trace of life. Now for the final touch. She cleared her throat and exited the cell, boasting internally about the success of her poison. The Grand Highblood would certainly lament the news, in fact, she'd much rather deliver them in person.


Gamzee smiled softly as he rested his head on Tavros', which was resting on his shoulder in order to keep his horns from directly hurting him. The left horn did press into his shoulder a bit, but that was on the underside and it did not hurt the highblood at all. He barely even noticed it as warmth permeated from Tavros' small body. He was so soft and small; he fit into his lap and arms even more than Karkat. He also admired how Tavros was taking this so well and that the Taurus was solacing him despite the circumstances. He chuckled a bit as Tavros moved a bit in his lap, trying to fit more accurately into his lap.

"Grand Highblood!" Vriska stormed in, nearly breaking down the door, "Something is wrong with the prisoner!"

Gamzee gasped and pushed Tavros out his lap and onto the mattress, careful not to hurt him. Tavros sat up immediately, worry filling his eyes.

"WHAT?!" Gamzee cried.

"He's not breathing!" Vriska responded, using her theatrical dramatics to fit the situation. Gamzee's eyes widened considerably before pushing past Vriska and past every Subjugglator he ruled over in the halls. He had to get to the dungeon. Tavros followed suit, he was equally worried about Karkat. His blood was on his hands if he was dead, he felt so terribly guilty. No, he had to stay positive for Gamzee; he had to sate the highblood to avoid a murderous rampage. Some time after Karkat was missing he and his team noted that the raids for victims had diminished, the mutantblood confided in Tavros that it was due to his presence. Keeping Gamzee calm and situated in his peace was vital. He had no time for self-pity, he had to be confident.

"Pale bro!" Gamzee cried as he rushed into the dungeon. He hastily approached the cell where the mutant lied in a growing pile of his own blood. The plasma mixed with the filth on the ground, adding darkness to the burning hue. The only thing that remained untainted were the hot irons still binding his wrists together. The highblood clung to the bars as he stood in the doorway, starting to scream and cry at the corpse that lied before him.

"Oh my gog…" Tavros covered his mouth, tears edging the corners of his eyes. Gamzee fell to his knees as he approached the body, his hands shaking as he reached out to touch the chilled flesh. He was hesitant at first. It was unlike anyone in their culture to care for a dead body; there were no burial rights or any sentimental views on death. Death was not a welcomed friend to trolls, especially highbloods who lived so long to build their legacy. There were stories foretold of a masked phantom that preyed on the death, his mistress besides him with his scepter as she tended to the dead. It was a dreadful reminder of their mortality, that death would one day take them. Gamzee knew that he should not care at all for the corpse of his most beloved friend

"Get out!" he screamed at Vriska at Tavros, "GET OUT!"

The two gave him a rather uncomfortable look before nodding and leaving, shutting the door behind them. Gamzee turned back to the motionless cadaver, his fingers shakily making way to Karkat's neck. He had a thing for decapitating the dead and painting in their blood. He felt tempted to do the same to Karkat's body, but he did not. The sentimental value of deceased friend was worth much more to him than a head or horns. He instead hooked his arms under the body, lifting the mutant into his lap. He cradled the mutantblood close, drenching himself in his blood and being careful to keep the hot coils off of his body, whimpering. He did not want to leave Karkat here to rot, he deserved traditional treatment. He would lay Karkat out in the surrounding forest and let the majestic beasts of his kingdom make use of his flesh. He would return for the hot irons once the flesh was gone. It was all he had left of him now.