11 Vienice Aramon

Trigger Warning: Graphic Torture

_Vienice Aramon_

He had eventually gone quiet by the time they brought him to the dungeon. Vienice had been trying to graciously accept what was going to happen to him for the next few months. Trying to save energy for the screams that would have no doubt be leaving his lips soon. The thought made him shiver.

They brought his shackles to wood and clicked him in, spreading him out in an X shape. A tight one at that. His arms already ached in protest of the uncomfortable position. His legs too, were separated and locked in. He pulled at his restraints with a huff. One of the men who had strapped him in gave out a small chuckle.

"You won't be getting free of those so easily." He said now, sounding almost cocky. "And if you do... well... I don't know what kind of sad saps you killed over in Vangerbore but here in Winters-veil, we don't go down so easily. Especially to an unarmed child."

"If an unarmed child can take out an entire city, including all the guards, what do you think it'll do to you, Merit?" Another guard spoke up, slapping the man across the top of his head.

"He got pulled into here real easy- in fact I heard the guards who picked him up outside of Vangerbore had even less of a struggle with him!" Merit, the guard defended himself.

"It doesn't matter, just do your jobs." A third guard spoke up.

The next thing Vienice knew was that his shirt was being torn from his body by force, only to be discarded on the nasty floor. The dungeon had no windows, and it seemed to be below ground. His last cell had been musty and uncleanly, but this was on a whole other level.

There was a sickly moisture to the cold air, the smell of a dangerous mold following it. The kind of stench that caught in your throat and clung there. No doubt most prisoners died from the exposure than from the torture. The thought was unsettling.

His eyes caught one of the men grabbing a whip. He felt his heart pick up its pace in response, but he kept his face stoic. He did not want to give into fear so easily. He did not want to give into these bloody wenches so easily either. No doubt they would pick him apart like vultures if given the chance.

Vienice watched with dreaded anticipation as the man walked closer with is whip, cracking it in the air for good measure. "How many lashes should we give him boys? One for every person he murdered?" The guard proposed, and there was agreements from the others. He cocked his arm back, readying the blow. "This first one is for my sister, who was a resident of the city!" He growled out before swinging the whip full force at Vienice's chest.

He grit his teeth hard, and took the hit, the sickening slap against his skin ringing in his ears. He grunted with the next swing, the pain momentarily blinding him. Still he would not scream, even as the next blow came. His eyes allowed tears to make their way from his squinting eyelids, but it was no choice of his.

"Why don't you scream? I may take pity and go lighter on you," The guard offered before another slap rang out.

Vienice jerked back every time, sweat dripping off his body despite the cold. He said nothing as the man continued to berate his body with more whippings. His eyes were glued closed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He

could feel the blood seeping down his chest and stomach slowly. It was warm against his cool skin. Pain continued to light up his vision as the lashings continued, each seemingly worse than the last.

He started to gasp out, so close to screams, but desperate to hold them back. He would shake his head and hold his breath, bite his cheek and tongue until they bled, and clench his jaw until it ached, all to hold in his pained screams.

Eventually it seemed this guard got bored, his chest rising and falling quickly. "Boy gave me a work out, he did." He said with a dark chuckle. "Rodric, you're up." He said as he tossed the whip aside.

The more silent of the three men stood to attention, grabbing something from a table in the room. Vienice couldn't tell what it was he grabbed so he kept a watchful eye on the man as he approached. The wood behind Vienice's hand extended out at least a foot, and the man took advantage of this, slamming his hand back against the wood. "Someone hand me a nail." The man huffed out.

Immediately one of the men went to grab what was asked for and this was when Vienice saw what the man before him had grabbed. A hammer. Vienice started to squirm trying to get away, but to no avail. "Stop yer moving," The man croaked to him. Vienice merely spit at him.

The man growled and let go of the boy's hand against the wood. He swung the hammer at the boys head, hitting his across the temple clean and hard. He grunted out in pain, trying to blink past the blinding white spots in his vision as blood slowly started to seep into his left eye.

"Don't kill the boy before we can do our job," One of the men complained.

"Do our job?" the man repeated. "This kid survived a beheading! This is the easiest job we've ever gotten. We don't gotta worry about him dyin!"

The others made sounds of agreement and the man in front of Vienice was given the nails he had asked for. He held up one to Vienice's thumb, the boy too out of it from the hit of his head to notice what was going on.

He did notice however, the raw pain he felt from the rusty nail being hit into his thumb once, twice, and then a third time from the hammer. This he screamed out at, shaking his head and throwing it back in a fit. He shook at his restraints, screaming. The man before him made no remarks.

He lined up the boys index finger now, and Vienice panicked. "Please, please don't!" he cried to the man, but his pleas fell on deaf ears as the man hit with his hammer again. Vienice cried out again, shaking. "Please!" his voice cracked mid-yell. "Please, no more!" When the man moved onto his middle finger, it only took him once to hit the thing all the way in. He was getting more brutal with the swings of his hammer.

The next finger, he missed and nicked another nail, but he had been swinging so hard, he knocked the nail crooked. This earned an agonized scream from Vienice. Blood dripped down from his hand, slipping down his arm and torso.

"Are you gonna nail every bloody finger of his?" One of the men complained.

"Aye. And when I'm done with his other hand, I'm gonna break his ankles and nail his toes to the beam too." The man explained his plan, making a horse-voiced Vienice groan and shiver.

"Is that necessary?" Vienice croaked out to the man, blinking through his pain.

"This is not a day at a spa," The man said, hitting him in the gut with the blunt handle of his hammer. Vienice gasped out and could have curled up Into a ball at that moment.

"Oi, I wanted to cut one of his fingers off,"

"Then do it and pluck it off the nail like fruit."

There was a chuckle from one of the men, "Fruit, aye? We should make him eat it!"

"Merit, that is just wrong,"

"Oh shut up, this is bloody torture."

______

    Vienice didn't know how long it had been since they stopped. How long had they left him there? What day was it? It had already felt like years. He would have cried now if he had the tears to do so. He was already dehydrated, but now that he had sweat and cried the remaining moisture from his body, he was truly feeling the effects.

His eyes were red and dry, his throat raw and scratchy. Not to mention his head throbbed so hard it nearly felt like it was going to fall right off. Screaming muscles begged to be stretched, burning like fire. The blood from his fingers and chest had long since dried and itched like crazy.

The man had held true to his words, nailing all of his fingers too the wood, and had sickly broken his ankles to bend his feet down at an unnatural angle in order to nail his toes to the wood. WHat they had not done yet, was make him eat his own fingers, but compared to the other things they had done to him, it would come to no surprise.

Had this been the first day? He had three more months... they had done so much in only a couple of hours. How many hours was in three months? His

head was in no condition to do the math. In fact, he wasn't sure he would come out of this sane. The torture was more intense than any he had ever heard about. Perhaps one or two of the things that had happened to him would have happened to someone but to this extent?

They had been excited, he realized. Men sick enough to become excited at the prospects that they could do whatever they wanted without consequence. It was people like them that deserved to die. Not the people he killed back at home. Not that he was in any condition to bring judgement down on anyone. He had filled plenty of souls with terror before taking the life from them.

This was a fitting punishment, wasn't it? A small crack of a smile fell upon his chapped lips. His head hung low, dangling in front of his chest as he let himself hang limp from his restraints. People were so fickle, himself included. He had wished for a punishment greater than death or an eternity imprisoned. He had gotten his wish but now he didn't want it. You never liked the things you desperately wished for, he had learned this lesson twice now.

The first time he had learned this lesson was after he destroyed Vangerbore. Everyone there had always been cruel to him. He had wanted all of them to disappear. He supposed he had gotten that wish. And of course, like now, he wished he hadn't wanted that as much as he had.

Vienice faded in and out of consciousness, only waking to the screams of other prisoners in cells he couldn't see. He could feel the cold around him, but that had never bothered him before. He supposed now, he really was of the devil. What kind of person couldn't freeze to death? Now that he thought about it, he had never really been cold before. Never had frostbite or anything of the like. He now understood the curious stares he received in public for wearing so thin layers in the winter time.

If they wanted him to freeze down here, they would have no luck. A defiant part of him liked that, was proud of it.

The next time he came to, it was his chamber doors opening to those three men, but this time they were accompanied by someone else. The man wore a long robe, one perfect for this weather. It was fashionable too, so it seemed he had money. Of course the boy wondered why he was here.

The mysterious man lifted his hood, surprise being the first features to grace his face. He approached Vienice without hesitation and began inspecting the boys wounds. "He is certainly doing well for this much damage," was the first thing he said as he lifted Vienice's head to inspect his neck and the scar that lined it.

"The little shit hardly bleeds too," One of the men pointed out.

The robed man hummed and put a finger to Vienice's neck, and waited.

"What are you-" Vienice tried to ask, but cringed at his horse voice. It was too painful to speak. His screaming had likely done a greater number on his throat than the dehydration had.

"Checking your pulse," The man replied simply, looking focused. After a moment he pulled away. "The average heart rate for someone your size is seventy to one hundred. Your heart rate is not even that of an adult. I counted only ten in a minute."

"Ten in a minute?" A man repeated incredulously.

"It would explain why he doesn't bleed much." The man explained as he looked to the damage done to the boy, coming to stare at one of his mutilated hands without sympathy. "How long ago was this done?"

"Four days."

"And how long has it been since this boy was last tortured?"

    "The same, he was delusional on some occasions so we decided to wait. We've three months to play with him some more."

The robed man hummed and looked down at Vienice's ankles. He crouched down and started to feel them up with his hands. The boy cried out in pain, his raspy voice filling the room. "My apologies," The man said to him before standing up. "His ankles are completely shattered, he will never walk again."

"His head got cut off but he still got up to get it," One of the men pointed out.

"So they say," The man hummed.

"I saw it, I did. That boy is of the devil for sure. All the better we shatter his bones.

The robed man scoffed. "There is no devil."

"We were told you were a priest not a medicine practitioner."

He raised a brow. "I am indeed both things, but more. I specialize in more than just gods and medicine. Call me a practitioner of the world if you must."

"You sure sound proud of yourself."

The robed man chuckled. "You would be too." Was his answer as he reached to Vienice's head and lifted his hair to take a closer look at his ears. He hummed at the sight of the pointed things. "Lift your head, boy."

Vienice slowly did as he was told, cringing at the pain that stabbed his whole spine. The man reached for his mouth and opened it, inspecting it. "Interesting... slightly pointed teeth..." He held the boy's jaw and inspected the violet eyes that fluttered around the room as if he was not sure where he was. "Boy," He said now.

Vienice's wondering eyes came down to meet the robed mans, but it was as if he was staring right through the man, not really recognizing anyone standing before him. "How many times was he hit in the head?"

The three men looked between each other for a moment before looking at the robed man and shrugging. "Quite a few," One answered.

The robed man sighed. "You may have given him brain damage." He said in a bored tone. "Boy, tell me your name."

"V... Vienice." He mumbled out.

"And your family name?"

    "Aramon..."

"And can you tell me why you are here right now?"

The poor boy's brows raised and a look of deathly sorrow crossed him. "I hurt people," He whispered.

"How many?"

"So many," He said with his face scrunching up as if he was going to cry, but no tears came to accompany his trembling lips. "So many you could not count them all," he whispered in his own horror.

"And how long do you have to pay for this?"

"Forever."

The robed man looked back at the three guards now, his face showing no emotions. "Well his is not physically damaged inside his head, but he may mentally be, not that this is a surprise."

    "You were brought here to expel the devil from him, not diagnose his mental capabilities."

The robed man scoffed. "There is no devil, only the gods. The nameless ones. The gods that gift you dreams, give you life, and take you in death."

"Then what do you suppose he is?"

"Something of value to me. He will not die here. Nor will he die in that silly little fire your king wants him to burn at. I will take him from there. For now, carry on as you must." The man said as he walked to the exit.

"You are leaving? You haven't done anything!"

"There is nothing for me to do but wait. And get the boy some food and water, won't you? He'll eat you if you don't."

"What?" There was no response as the man left.