Mm-hmm. More misery for the children of our heroes. I'm evil, I know.
But what do you want when you combine a mentally unstable writer with way,
way, way too much soda, sad music, and severe Luka-deprivation? :p
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
*Cold. So very cold.*
A shiver played down his spine, and a ragged breath was drawn. How many more? he wondered. How many more times would he be forced to breathe in the humid stench of rotting carcasses? He inhaled again, and coughed as the horrid air clogged his lungs.
He curled up in the corner of the cell that he was forced to share with at least a dozen rats and began to drift into unconsciousness. It was not by any means sleep. Sleep was a peaceful rest. What he did was fall into a nightmare-like world of old memories, most of which could not be conjured up in his conscious mind anymore.
An oily, furry body traveled over his bare foot, its tiny claw-like nails digging into his skin, but he has learned to ignore it. Ignore it like he ignored the taunts and cat-calls that he received on his way back down to hell.
He rubbed his still-burning and unswollen eye from the sudden exposure to the dull lighting his master's chambers. He had grown accustomed to the dark, the pitch blackness that enveloped him day after day, just the way that his master had planned.
He hated it. Hated his own weakness in allowing himself to be broken like a horse. There was no doubt in his mind that he had put up a good fight, but in the end he had succumbed to the Man's will. He hated the darkness that he had been thrown into because of his unwillingness to go easily. He hated the pain that he felt physically, but most of all, he hated the way that his master could draw something much more difficult to obtain than blood from him--- his tears.
A dirty, pale fist came up and wiped a tear-stained cheek. He had been able to do it again. He did it every time, no matter how hard he fought it. The Master had forced him to cry. The Man's twisted obsession with the emotional agony that he put his prisoners through seemed to arouse him more deeply than the beatings that he administered.
A sudden wave of nausea and shame overtook him, and he found himself lashing out at his four-legged cell-mates. He seized the small body that had begun to creep up his leg and hurled the squealing creature across the tiny room. It bounced off the slime-covered wall and fell limply to the floor.
Instead of the wild pleasure that he was sure his master felt from hurting living things, all he felt was an even worse feeling of sadness and anger. It crashed over him, and he began to sob uncontrollably.
The result of his violent shaking was like a punch in the stomach. He doubled over, holding his sides as he retched up what little food was in his body. Falling back against the stone, the last thing he thought was that maybe he really was dying, and how that might not be such a terrible thing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Atar..." He woke as soon as the sound, soft as a breath on a gentle breeze, touched his ears.
Was that voice really real, or had it been just another miserable reminder of his once-happy past that had resurfaced? It must have been his imagination, he dismissed wearily. After all, no one else was kept down here--- with the exception of the bodies and rats--- especially a creature with such a lovely voice.
He began to drift again when he heard it a second time. "Atar..." A girl's voice, slightly cracked with extreme emotion, but nonetheless beautiful.
His eye fluttered open, and he instantly had to shield it. A soft white glow pierced his unprepared eye and shattered his brain with one blow. He heard a groan escape his dry lips, then a gasp from somewhere close by.
"Is someone there?"
No, he realized, this was most definitely not a dream. Not only was there light in the normally unpenetrated walls, but also a strangely familiar sweet, earthy smell lingering all about him. There was someone else trapped in this living hell.
"I heard you! If there is anyone else down here, answer me!" Her shrill voice, saturated with panic, cleaved into his skull. His head began to throb. He felt the lump in the dense clump of matted hair on his head, and vaguely remembered hitting it as he fell back after he killed the rat.
To keep the girl from yelling again, he forced himself to answer her fearful pleas. "I'm here," he croaked. His voice had gone unused for... days?... weeks?... months? He didn't know.
"What?"
He winced as her high pitch stung his sensitive ears and head. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "I'm here." He had been louder, but the statement was cracked and raspy.
"Where?"
He crawled over to the barred door of his cell and stuck his arm out. "Look around," he ordered in the same broken murmur. He squinted as the harsh light grew brighter, then there she was.
A pale young woman, looking to be no more than twenty peered out of her cell, which happened to be the one directly beside his own. A weak smile broke out on her face, one of relief, he supposed. Once his eye had adjusted to the light, he managed to make out some facial features more clearly. She had wide, sparkling blue eyes set in a creamy complexion marred only by a faint bruise and a small cut over her right eye. He could see that under the veil of long brown hair her ears curved up into a delicate point. That explained the glow that seemed to radiate from her body. She was an Elf.
He felt a trace of a smile playing upon his cracked lips. Being near something so lovely was like a cold drink quenching a parched throat. It was something that he had, without knowing it, been missing badly.
"I thought I was beginning to go mad when I heard you. I did not think anyone else merited enough hate from them to be locked down here."
Before he could respond, they were interrupted by the sound of metal scraping against stone. The grating screech sent him scrambling back against the darkest corner of his cell. The familiar sound of boots scuffing, slowly coming closer and closer until he could see a light flickering against the opposite wall.
Five figures stopped in front of the barred door of her newfound friend's cage. Melime could see before they even got to hers that they were Guryn's men. Disgust welled up inside of her. She had noted how quickly he moved to get away from the door when their presence was made known. What exactly had they done to him that made him hide in the dark like a beaten dog?
"Those two. Get them out. No, no, you three get her. Lord Guryn said he won't be a problem," the smallest man ordered the other four about.
What did he mean by "he won't be a problem"? Melime wondered. And where were they being taken out to? Would she be separated from this friend as well? What was going on?
Three of the Men unlocked the gate to her cell. Melime, too caught up in her thoughts, did not fight as they grabbed her by her bare upper arms, their fingers snaking around her soft flesh, digging in roughly. Her hands were shackled behind her back, and she was dragged to her feet.
"Get moving!" the largest of the three ordered, giving her a hard shove in the back. She moved forward numbly, still lost in her own world. She followed the three figures in front of her, her eyes catching on the one that stumbled about, falling every now and then, only to be kicked or hit by a gloved fist.
How could they do this? she thought miserably. Even to their own race they are cruel and unfeeling. What had this man, nay perhaps this *boy* done to them?
A sudden ray of light pierced the inky blackness of the dungeon, and they began to climb a stairway. Dread knotted in Melime's stomach. She had a feelingthat she knew where they were going. To see Guryn...
Sure enough, at the top of the stairs, they went through the door that she remembered from her first day in this slow hell. It led into the grand hall, the place where Guryn, the self-proclaimed king, "entertained" as he put it. Melime shivered. What that had meant, she knew not and did not want to know, for the Man had said it with that evil glint shining in his eye.
She was pushed through the doorway and onto her knees in front of the throne that Guryn had most likely stolen from another much greater man and king. It took a moment for Melime's eyes to adjust to the harsh light in the room, but when it had, she really wished she had been stricken blind.
In front of her, Guryn sat, a mockery of a ruler, tapping his fingers idly on the arms of the chair. "Ah, so Melime..."
"Guryn..." she growled back.
He tsk-tsked and uncrossed his legs. Then that sick smile played over his lips, and he rose to his feet. "Have you met my other playmate, Melime?" He held out his hand, and Melime heard a soft whimper from behind her. She turned slowly.
Lying on his side not far behind her was a young man. He was curled into a fetal position and shaking. Dried blood and dirt covered his entire body, and his hair hung down in matted clumps. Not a shred of clothing still clung to him, so Melime could see that he was dangerously thin. His wrists that guarded his face from their vicious stares and blows were rubbed raw, along with his ankles.
A snap of Guryn's fingers, and the Men dragged the poor wretch into a kneeling position as she was in. Fingers wound into his hair and yanked his head back, cracking his neck. Melime was afraid that they'd killed him, until she saw his one unblackened eye open slowly. It flicked to her, and she saw all the pain and misery that he felt bearing down into her soul.
She let her eyes travel down his freshly exposed body, taking in every bruise and cut. She could see that several of his ribs had been broken; one was pushing against the skin at his right side, threatening to break through. And then...
"You bastard..."
TBC...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Who is this mysterious stranger? I'm horrible, I know! Gosh, I almost hate myself for being so mean to poor Melime and her new little buddy. Don't worry, though, it shall all be okay soon.
And now, for my reviewers!
~Radiion~ Back evil imposter! Away with you! *hiss* Heh-heh... I feel so bad whenever I finish writing this stuff. So mean to everyone, I am! Tsk- tsk, bad Pyshcie...
~hunter goddess~ And here's the sad-psycho story, updated for you!
~middleman~ I can't tell you how much I enjoy hearing reviews like yours. I think I actually blushed the first time I read it... Wait, I'm supposed to be crazy... I'm not supposed to feel anything! Ah well... I'm working on the next chapter right now actually, so I hope it will be up soon.
~PrincessEvenstar~ My motto is "Violence is good." Heh-heh. I hope you enjoyed this last chapter too. Rat violence...
~Mellaquiimm~ Aaahhh, retardedness is awesome. Glad you're enjoying it. Very violent though. I think I have torture-tendencies or something... Therapist would tell me to think of happy things like the fluffy bunnies... Going to happy place now... ^_^
~orlandobsessed~ Hee-hee, pass the Elf around! Yes! Oh, but you must hand him back over when you are finished. I kind of want/need him back y'know. *winkie* Glad you like. Come back now, ya hear!
Okay, well thank you everybody! You know how much I loves yas! Gonna go to the happy bunny place now. Gaylord, give them their candy!
~*PsychoPoet*~
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
*Cold. So very cold.*
A shiver played down his spine, and a ragged breath was drawn. How many more? he wondered. How many more times would he be forced to breathe in the humid stench of rotting carcasses? He inhaled again, and coughed as the horrid air clogged his lungs.
He curled up in the corner of the cell that he was forced to share with at least a dozen rats and began to drift into unconsciousness. It was not by any means sleep. Sleep was a peaceful rest. What he did was fall into a nightmare-like world of old memories, most of which could not be conjured up in his conscious mind anymore.
An oily, furry body traveled over his bare foot, its tiny claw-like nails digging into his skin, but he has learned to ignore it. Ignore it like he ignored the taunts and cat-calls that he received on his way back down to hell.
He rubbed his still-burning and unswollen eye from the sudden exposure to the dull lighting his master's chambers. He had grown accustomed to the dark, the pitch blackness that enveloped him day after day, just the way that his master had planned.
He hated it. Hated his own weakness in allowing himself to be broken like a horse. There was no doubt in his mind that he had put up a good fight, but in the end he had succumbed to the Man's will. He hated the darkness that he had been thrown into because of his unwillingness to go easily. He hated the pain that he felt physically, but most of all, he hated the way that his master could draw something much more difficult to obtain than blood from him--- his tears.
A dirty, pale fist came up and wiped a tear-stained cheek. He had been able to do it again. He did it every time, no matter how hard he fought it. The Master had forced him to cry. The Man's twisted obsession with the emotional agony that he put his prisoners through seemed to arouse him more deeply than the beatings that he administered.
A sudden wave of nausea and shame overtook him, and he found himself lashing out at his four-legged cell-mates. He seized the small body that had begun to creep up his leg and hurled the squealing creature across the tiny room. It bounced off the slime-covered wall and fell limply to the floor.
Instead of the wild pleasure that he was sure his master felt from hurting living things, all he felt was an even worse feeling of sadness and anger. It crashed over him, and he began to sob uncontrollably.
The result of his violent shaking was like a punch in the stomach. He doubled over, holding his sides as he retched up what little food was in his body. Falling back against the stone, the last thing he thought was that maybe he really was dying, and how that might not be such a terrible thing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Atar..." He woke as soon as the sound, soft as a breath on a gentle breeze, touched his ears.
Was that voice really real, or had it been just another miserable reminder of his once-happy past that had resurfaced? It must have been his imagination, he dismissed wearily. After all, no one else was kept down here--- with the exception of the bodies and rats--- especially a creature with such a lovely voice.
He began to drift again when he heard it a second time. "Atar..." A girl's voice, slightly cracked with extreme emotion, but nonetheless beautiful.
His eye fluttered open, and he instantly had to shield it. A soft white glow pierced his unprepared eye and shattered his brain with one blow. He heard a groan escape his dry lips, then a gasp from somewhere close by.
"Is someone there?"
No, he realized, this was most definitely not a dream. Not only was there light in the normally unpenetrated walls, but also a strangely familiar sweet, earthy smell lingering all about him. There was someone else trapped in this living hell.
"I heard you! If there is anyone else down here, answer me!" Her shrill voice, saturated with panic, cleaved into his skull. His head began to throb. He felt the lump in the dense clump of matted hair on his head, and vaguely remembered hitting it as he fell back after he killed the rat.
To keep the girl from yelling again, he forced himself to answer her fearful pleas. "I'm here," he croaked. His voice had gone unused for... days?... weeks?... months? He didn't know.
"What?"
He winced as her high pitch stung his sensitive ears and head. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "I'm here." He had been louder, but the statement was cracked and raspy.
"Where?"
He crawled over to the barred door of his cell and stuck his arm out. "Look around," he ordered in the same broken murmur. He squinted as the harsh light grew brighter, then there she was.
A pale young woman, looking to be no more than twenty peered out of her cell, which happened to be the one directly beside his own. A weak smile broke out on her face, one of relief, he supposed. Once his eye had adjusted to the light, he managed to make out some facial features more clearly. She had wide, sparkling blue eyes set in a creamy complexion marred only by a faint bruise and a small cut over her right eye. He could see that under the veil of long brown hair her ears curved up into a delicate point. That explained the glow that seemed to radiate from her body. She was an Elf.
He felt a trace of a smile playing upon his cracked lips. Being near something so lovely was like a cold drink quenching a parched throat. It was something that he had, without knowing it, been missing badly.
"I thought I was beginning to go mad when I heard you. I did not think anyone else merited enough hate from them to be locked down here."
Before he could respond, they were interrupted by the sound of metal scraping against stone. The grating screech sent him scrambling back against the darkest corner of his cell. The familiar sound of boots scuffing, slowly coming closer and closer until he could see a light flickering against the opposite wall.
Five figures stopped in front of the barred door of her newfound friend's cage. Melime could see before they even got to hers that they were Guryn's men. Disgust welled up inside of her. She had noted how quickly he moved to get away from the door when their presence was made known. What exactly had they done to him that made him hide in the dark like a beaten dog?
"Those two. Get them out. No, no, you three get her. Lord Guryn said he won't be a problem," the smallest man ordered the other four about.
What did he mean by "he won't be a problem"? Melime wondered. And where were they being taken out to? Would she be separated from this friend as well? What was going on?
Three of the Men unlocked the gate to her cell. Melime, too caught up in her thoughts, did not fight as they grabbed her by her bare upper arms, their fingers snaking around her soft flesh, digging in roughly. Her hands were shackled behind her back, and she was dragged to her feet.
"Get moving!" the largest of the three ordered, giving her a hard shove in the back. She moved forward numbly, still lost in her own world. She followed the three figures in front of her, her eyes catching on the one that stumbled about, falling every now and then, only to be kicked or hit by a gloved fist.
How could they do this? she thought miserably. Even to their own race they are cruel and unfeeling. What had this man, nay perhaps this *boy* done to them?
A sudden ray of light pierced the inky blackness of the dungeon, and they began to climb a stairway. Dread knotted in Melime's stomach. She had a feelingthat she knew where they were going. To see Guryn...
Sure enough, at the top of the stairs, they went through the door that she remembered from her first day in this slow hell. It led into the grand hall, the place where Guryn, the self-proclaimed king, "entertained" as he put it. Melime shivered. What that had meant, she knew not and did not want to know, for the Man had said it with that evil glint shining in his eye.
She was pushed through the doorway and onto her knees in front of the throne that Guryn had most likely stolen from another much greater man and king. It took a moment for Melime's eyes to adjust to the harsh light in the room, but when it had, she really wished she had been stricken blind.
In front of her, Guryn sat, a mockery of a ruler, tapping his fingers idly on the arms of the chair. "Ah, so Melime..."
"Guryn..." she growled back.
He tsk-tsked and uncrossed his legs. Then that sick smile played over his lips, and he rose to his feet. "Have you met my other playmate, Melime?" He held out his hand, and Melime heard a soft whimper from behind her. She turned slowly.
Lying on his side not far behind her was a young man. He was curled into a fetal position and shaking. Dried blood and dirt covered his entire body, and his hair hung down in matted clumps. Not a shred of clothing still clung to him, so Melime could see that he was dangerously thin. His wrists that guarded his face from their vicious stares and blows were rubbed raw, along with his ankles.
A snap of Guryn's fingers, and the Men dragged the poor wretch into a kneeling position as she was in. Fingers wound into his hair and yanked his head back, cracking his neck. Melime was afraid that they'd killed him, until she saw his one unblackened eye open slowly. It flicked to her, and she saw all the pain and misery that he felt bearing down into her soul.
She let her eyes travel down his freshly exposed body, taking in every bruise and cut. She could see that several of his ribs had been broken; one was pushing against the skin at his right side, threatening to break through. And then...
"You bastard..."
TBC...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Who is this mysterious stranger? I'm horrible, I know! Gosh, I almost hate myself for being so mean to poor Melime and her new little buddy. Don't worry, though, it shall all be okay soon.
And now, for my reviewers!
~Radiion~ Back evil imposter! Away with you! *hiss* Heh-heh... I feel so bad whenever I finish writing this stuff. So mean to everyone, I am! Tsk- tsk, bad Pyshcie...
~hunter goddess~ And here's the sad-psycho story, updated for you!
~middleman~ I can't tell you how much I enjoy hearing reviews like yours. I think I actually blushed the first time I read it... Wait, I'm supposed to be crazy... I'm not supposed to feel anything! Ah well... I'm working on the next chapter right now actually, so I hope it will be up soon.
~PrincessEvenstar~ My motto is "Violence is good." Heh-heh. I hope you enjoyed this last chapter too. Rat violence...
~Mellaquiimm~ Aaahhh, retardedness is awesome. Glad you're enjoying it. Very violent though. I think I have torture-tendencies or something... Therapist would tell me to think of happy things like the fluffy bunnies... Going to happy place now... ^_^
~orlandobsessed~ Hee-hee, pass the Elf around! Yes! Oh, but you must hand him back over when you are finished. I kind of want/need him back y'know. *winkie* Glad you like. Come back now, ya hear!
Okay, well thank you everybody! You know how much I loves yas! Gonna go to the happy bunny place now. Gaylord, give them their candy!
~*PsychoPoet*~