Chapter 5: Torture

Unable to process information through his splintered and distorted field of thought, Flare was barely able to register the fact that the claustrophobic, jagged and dark cavern was far behind.
He pressed his fingers against his eyes, groaning incoherently. His body felt sore and his head felt groggy, his emotions confused and schpinctered.
"Where...am I?" He muttered, hardly registering that he was leaning against something rough and wooden, with wet and warm splotches tracing around his fingers.
Flare's senses went paramount, alarmed.
Warm and wet.
The familiar scent.
The nightmares that rushed through his head.
Flare jerked his hands backwards and pulled up to his eyes. Scarlet streaks of liquid lapped over his pale skin. It kept all of his nerves to not scream.
Blood had become too familiar to him.
What he had been slanting against was a stake, stabbed through the moist soil between a horrifying, gritty tehterweight; a cold, rotten limbs with bone jutting through the dead skin, the flesh being harvested by worms and secreting a foul yellow pus.
Flare turned away and retched violently, his own stomach mutinying and emptying it's contents onto the surface of soil, a puddle of blood and vomit that kept growing.
The field encompassing him was no better. In every visible direction, body parts, both inner and outer, were strewn across like litter, blood and gore spilled across the plain carelessly, creating the scene of a nightmare.
Flare kneeled, his knees sinking into the soft earth, and openly wept. He hated his life. He hated being trapped in a nightmare that seemed to follow him without giving him any respite.
"Leave me alone!" He shouted, more at himself than his surroundings. "Why can't I just live normally?! Why do I have to be in this nightmare?!" He let loose another death cry, then collapsed, no longer able to fight. Everything had been futile.
Life was just a nightmare that refused to release him.
A bloody and miserable waste of a life.
Flare passed out, weak from what had happened, as if just the malevolent sights had had an effect on his weakening mind.

Not that sleep offered any respite.

This time, it was even more abhorrent. Now he was the torture victim, one being torn apart by the insane members of his own kind. He was strapped to a wall, the back grooved in a certain shape to accompany his shell, his arms and legs shackled and kept apart, hanging him in a star shape. But when he looked down, agony surged through him an unabated speed. His stomach had been flayed open, his internal parts and skeleton exposed, glistening with the life fluids that were dripping out in a crimson stream. Every few seconds, a demonic figure would materialize out of nothingness and withdraw some weapon of torture, either a knife, axe or sickle, stab it into his exposed organs, jerking is body in abhorrent pain, slicing upwards viciously, causing his body to scream in agony, and a piece of his insides was torn out, nerves and blood spraying everywhere as the glistening organs and muscle were torn out, blood and pus dripping horribly to the ground. Sometimes, the same demonic being would lift it to his mouth, tearing apart the piece with his mouth, chewing it inside his mouth while grinning devilishly at his victim, before swallowing his meat.
Flare wept was nothing more than the slab of meat for the sick enjoyment of some inhuman beasts.

The same person in question suddenly snapped awake, screaming in a strangled tone, sweating and shivering feverishly. His mind was turning on itself, whatever had been hidden in it's recesses was slowly leaking out, twisting his mind and thoughts into rage. Flare could feel it. He could feel his inner insanity clutching his brain, waiting for the moment in which it would consume it's meal.
The Fire Brother sobbed, burying his face in the blood-sodden earth.
With defeat, he realized he was going to be consumed, sooner than later. But he knew he still needed to fight it down, for as long as had to find out who this army was, before they claimed anymore lives.
"For others." He whispered weakly. "I'm a lost cause, but there's still hope for the rest."

End of Chapter 5.

Since I haven't got much going for this story, so I don't think anyone would mind if I turn this Fic into an experimental one, just to work on my skills. So don't expect chapters longer than this.

Also, I hope I was gritty and bloody enough, because lately I have had no ability to feel sick from gore. It's all those damn grimdark fics Koopanovic has me read these days.