Yeah, I'm still not going to update this fast, but I'm keeping this story running. Things are now going to get really gory. If you value sanity, turn away.

Chapter 3: Nightmare

The cave's endless twists, turns and gradient changes were just as confusing to Flare as what was circulating through his mind, from the various, unanswered questions to his growing paranoia, anxiety and rapidly escalating loss of direction and the horrendous, menacing voices that were only itching to taunt his subconsciousness even more.
"Some world this turned out to be." He muttered, staring at his shadows as it flickered along the cave wall, illuminated by his summoned fire that could not break the pressing black that was the darkness he was forging through.
At long last, after seemingly endless hours of walking, the cave opened up into a massive chamber, the room at least a mile in diameter and the ceiling so high it couldn't even be seen before darkness enveloped. In the center of the room lay a glistening lake, it's shape filled with a water of indescribable purity. Flare eyes couldn't be drawn away from the lake, of which the perfectly aquamarine liquid seemed to glow and cast rippling light across the chamber. He went towards the edge of the lake and delicately dipped his bloodied and cut hands, wincing as the his fire and the water clashed and feuded elemantally, before plunging his face into the cool, refreshing and crystal-clear liquid. His mind seemed to clear and relax as the soothing water trickled down his skin, steaming due to his high body temperature. Without his mind at war, he realized that he was on the verge of collapse, drained entirely of his energy.
"I think I can rest, for now." Flare told himself. He laid on the ground; a patch of black, soft sand near the lake, and slowly let his eyes close. The instant his eyelids shut, he was asleep. However, his sleep was not a pleasant one.

You might want to stop reading until the next bold line. Trust me, if you value your sanity.

Flare opened his eyes. He wasn't awake, that much he knew, but he could somehow see, though not much could be seen in his blurry surroundings, a surrounding of gray that didn't form into any identifiable shape.. He looked down at himself and noticed that his body was transparent, only a outline that glowed white, while his skin and helmet was more translucent in his respectable colors of pale yellow and red.
"Where am I?" He asked, voice echoing. "Am I dreaming?"
A drop of crimson liquid settled on his nose. Soon, his entire vision became distorted, the gray emptiness warping itself into crimson colors as the world started to take a shape. Flare knew the crimson was blood, but he couldn't understand why.
"Please, stop..." A weak voice, female and barely audible, faintly echoed in his mind. It sounded desperate and pained. Flare wanted to help, but he couldn't see where the voice was coming from.
He blinked rapidly, and his surroundings came into vision. He gasped, shocked.
In front of him, three figures stood over a rough, wooden table, their forms hidden behind dark robes of black, as they hissed with a psychotic pleasure over whatever was lying in front of them. Flare could glimpse a dark, flowing trail of blood as it dripped of the edges of the table in generous streams of constant liquid, splashing against the ground of silvery rocks that jutted from the ground, coated with the blood of whatever had fallen victim to the three figures.
"Yesssss... let her suffer..." One of them hissed, clearly indulging in his grotesque activity. Flare squinted, trying to make out what was on the table. When he could see what was laying on table, he fought down the urge to gag and regretted his efforts.
A woman, about mid-20's, lay on the table. She may have been beautiful once, with her platinum blond hair and her sapphire blue eyes, but she had looked like she had been subjected to serious torture. Her flesh had been charred, bright red to black along her body, her eyes were bloodshot and streaming with tears, and the further down her body he looked, the worse her torture looked. Her arms and chest had been deeply cut, staining her blue robes in disturbing shades of crimson, her lower body torn and twisted like the world's bloodiest rag doll, and her only sounds were silent whimpers as pure agony took ahold of her.
Flare wanted desperately to lunge forward and help the girl, of whom he could not recognize, but he felt tethered by some strange force, leaving him as an unwilling spectator to the gruesome scenes in front of him.
One of the three figures, whose only distinguishing feature was his knife-like teeth that stuck out of his coal-colored hood, brought out a huge blade, one long and wide like a butcher's knife, it's wickedly curved edges long rusted and bloodstained, raised it into the air, and brought it down. Flare winced and openly retched as he saw the horrible weapon cut through blade and bone, soon followed by the strangled wail of a dying animal. Flare knew it was the girl, and he fought down the urge to break into tears as his uselessness. But even with his eyes shut, he could still view the table and it's new slaughter.
The girl had been chopped from the left thigh down, the remainder of the leg now lay on the ground at the feet of one of the figures. Her body now trailed to a collection of useless, floppy mass of bloody muscle and ragged skin. No bone could be seen, just the collection of stringy, bloodied meat.
The girl's face was weak, pale and streamed with tears that could not be held back, her sobs punctured by pained hiccups as she wept openly into the merciless and non-existent faces of her torturers.
"Stupid girl." One of them hissed over the sobs. Her drew a serrated knife from his sleeve and stabbed in through her heart, ending her life instantly as her life essence seeped from her open wounds. "I would have thought that a princess would have been able to withstand a little pain."
"You were proven wrong then, brother." Another seethed. "But fear not, the army is taking care of the others who would not die easily. Their deaths shall be gruesome, more painful than hers, and we will eventually get through to the main spoil, the son of the fire."
Flare could see one of the forms turn into his direction, and he understood instantly that it was no coincidence. The figure tore off his hood and unveiled his face. Flare nearly lost his sanity, like the face could dig into his mind.
Horrible, red, bloodshot eyes.
A sharp beak carved with razor sharp teeth.
Mottled, blood-streaked hair tucked under a rusted, red helmet.
"We look forward to meeting you, son of fire." He hissed.
Then the world shot up in flames.

You may read again, but you were warned. But I'm pretty sure you could figure out the victim.

Flare awoke with a terrified scream, his body drenched in his own sweat and shuddering violently. The remnants of his scream echoed around the cavern chamber, becoming fainter and fainter, just like his thoughts. He openly threw up, his whole body racked and weakened. His mind had become a schizophrenic array of conflicting thoughts, unable to process any of them as his nightmare lanced through it. His eyes teared as he curled up onto himself, feeling weak and helpless as the memories of his dream flashed as violent as they had been. He could feel himself weakening, something pressuring him, like his sanity was beginning to crack.
"This can't be happening." He whispered to himself. But only few things could be understood in his mind.
His family was alive.
And they would stop at nothing to kill him.

End of C3.

I'll admit, it wasn't my best of work, but I think I covered whatever was needed. The gore was actually inspired by Koopanovic, who can write amazingly descriptive passages about that type of stuff.