16 Vienice Aramon

Warning: Graphic torture and other things violent related

_Viencie Aramon_

Viencie had no sense of time here in the dungeon, since there was no windows or any sort of way to tell if it was night or day. Not even the guards were consistent in their visits or a timinging to go off of. He was less delusional about things now that they had fed him some, and given him water to drink. He didn't eat much, only if the pain in his stomach was unbearable. The food here was a mysterious slop, but he did not dare ask the guards what it was. They liked to hurt him every time he opened his mouth.

They had also let him off the wooden X, but that had been a challenge. They had to remove the nails from his fingers, which had been unbearably painful, seeming as his wounds had started to heal around them. He hadn't known how long he had been up there, but surely it had been longer than a week. His pinky fingers had been plucked from the nails for fun, and the guards had merely laughed at his screams.

How could someone be so cruel? He wondered. Did they have dungeon's in Vangerbore? If so, had he killed men like these? He hoped so. Anyone this cruel deserved death more so than him. At least he was mortified that he had hurt people, these men treated it like sport.

When he had been let down from the wood, his muscles had burned and ached terribly, it almost hurt now, to be on his knees, unable to stand on his broken ankles; which by now his feet were missing toes. He remembered crying silent sobs, tears of agony as his voice was weak now, unable to be very loud after weeks of screaming. At least, what felt like weeks.

Surely it had been weeks- if not a month by now. He was visited by priests and practitioners of all sorts, too many to count or name. They came ages apart and he could only guess that they came once a day, if not more- he wasn't sure. But when these people came, they had chanted things, poured things on him, cut him, and many other things. Nothing happened that they had wanted, and you could see the frustration coming off of them.

These kinds of visits made him remember the first man who had visited. The only man who had said he was not of the devil. That should have been the only reason nothing was happening here- there was no devil to be expelled from him. However, this did not stop the educated men from filtering in- as if mainly to take a look at the butchered boy. Sometimes when their spells and incantations did not work, they would request a vile of his blood, or a lock of his hair among other things. The guards always let them.

One man had asked for his finger, and the guards were more than pleased to let him have it, cutting one right off for him. By this time, Vienice's screams were mostly just long intense whispers- as if his voice had left him. Sometimes the boy wondered if he could still talk- but he did not try. Nor did he answer any questions from anyone anymore- even if it meant being hit for it.

There was a day when the guards came in talking with each other. It was with their banter that the boy heard about the man who had left with one of his fingers. According to them, the shaman of some kind had been incredibly upset to find that his finger had rapidly decayed right before his eyes as soon as he had left. It had turned into what everyone had thought to be ash. The thought was preposterous, but Vienice did not have the will inside him to believe it, nor think it of a lie. Anything spoken now was little more than words. Buzzes in the air that he could hardly make sense out of.

Strangeness seemed to follow him, and what with him not dying, everything mysterious meant so much less.

Besides, it was hard to focus on anything other than blinding, constant pain. How many days had it been now, that he had been allowed down from his restraints? Vienice had not stood, only moved a few feet, slowly crawling to a wall to support himself up. The process took hours as it hurt to inch his way there. The boy had sat against that wall for as long as the guards would let him, his eyes often closed but never sleeping.

He supposed it was more of a meditation, he had been doing for hours on end. Things would only worsen if he slept. He did not want the dreams that disoriented- he had pain and starvation doing that to him already. The meditation was likely the only thing keeping him sane, as it calmed his mind, and allowed him to escape the pain- if only for a moment.

He found a sort of peace, in the uneven routine of strange visitors, torture, and meditation. He tried to accept that this was his place, and that the three months sentenced to him, would never end. Of course he wanted it all to end, but he could not see it doing such a thing. This all felt dauntingly final. Just a nightmare to accept.

It was now, that he laid out, sprawled across the floor, hours after being beat by the guards as his daily punishment. They kept that side of things fresh. Nothing was ever the same- grotesquely creative these monsters could be. From the first day, they had gone hard on him, and never did they let up when they visited. He was sure dozens of his bones were broken, and he wasn't sure he could feel his face.

He laid there on the floor, not bothering to pull himself back over to the wall. Ignoring the fact that he was missing a finger, the rest of his fingers were broken and mangled, not to mention one of his arms was dislocated and the other broken in what he felt like was two spots. Everything hurt- everything had been hurting for a long time now. It was with this engulfing pain that he was able to acclimate, if only slightly. The long lasting pain did not seem as bad as it once had- but when he moved it worsened, and when he was touched at all it worsened tenfold- a whole body throb that sent his head spinning.

"I want to die," He whispered, out loud one day, his voice only an airy wisp of what it used to be. "Why,?" The whispered again, in an even smaller sound. He could say no more but the thoughts were there. 'Kill me. Kill me and let me stay dead.'

He felt a voice in him, one that was not his own, say a silent 'No.' without question.

He did not bring his own questions into the matter, assuming he was only delusional. He felt his body go cold, and he felt incredibly faint. He wondered if this was what it was like to be truly tired. The kind of tired only sleep could cure. But he did not want to sleep, not if it meant the dreams coming to him. Still, he could not help his fluttering eyelids, and it felt like he was slipping away. Slipping turned to falling, and falling turned to bliss as everything faded away from him. A true peace fell over him now, a comforting one that took away all his pain and caressed him with sweet releaf.

_____

    His eyes shot open, and he sucked in a large breath of air, breathing heavily now. It felt like he had been running a marathon and had not stopped to catch his breath. He glanced around quickly at his surroundings. He was in the same place now, unfortunately for him, but four familiar faces crowded around him. The faces of his torturers... and the first visitor who had come to see him. The priest- or practitioner- whatever it was that he took as a profession. All of them looked shocked.

The robed man gave him an inquisitive look after a moment, his shock fading a lot quicker than the guard's. "Your heart had stopped for several days, you should be dead. In fact, they brought me here to confirm. I had been doing just that but here you are- a defiant little devil." The man said with what looked to nearly be a smirk crossing his face.

    "Devil?" he repeated, slight surprise came after his word as he realized that his throat did not hurt as it once had. However, his voice was still rendered quieter than it once was.

    "Ahh yes, a figure of speech. Despite what they say, the devil they fear is not real."

    "If you cannot expel the devil from him, which you are claiming is not real, then you have no use here. Your only use expired when he opened his eyes once more." A guard barked out, but the robed man payed no mind.

    "You were dead, I could have sworn- any man whose heart does not beat for several days is a dead man. It seems you have slipped from the finality once again." He told Vienice now.

    Vienice blinked, wanting nothing more to go back to that dark place where he didn't have to think or feel. The comfort it gave him was gone and his injuries crumpled on to him once more, overwhelming. Yet somehow despite the mass displeasure, he did not have to moan or scream about it.

    "I have never met a man who escaped death twice. Tell me, do you remember who you are? Have you died more than twice?"

    Vienice stared at the strange man who was taking this much better than he himself was. In fact, the robed individual seemed rather excited about this. "I am..." He frowned, but stopped at the increased pain in his face. "Vienice." he concluded in a small voice.

    "And my second question?"

    Vienice was quiet for a moment longer. His head was still a mess and everything was still coming back to him now. Had he died more than twice? What was the first time again? The memory was vague. A beheading. "I do not know," he managed to answer.

    "Oi, we need you to leave." A guard spoke up.

    The man sighed wistfully and stood, giving Vienice a pitying look. "As you wish, but I will return after I ask the crown to end this. Let him have the fire, and when that is over with, and he still breaths- which he will- I will have him."

    "Yea yea, good job convincing the king. That is like talking to stone." Another guard spoke this time.

    The man gave a knowing smile to the three of them before he silently left the room, leaving them all weary with what it was that this man knew.

    The guards shared looks with each other in silence before their eyes came to rest on Vienice. "You two lift him by his arms, today we are pulling teeth. Perhaps an eye if I feel particularly joyful." Two did as the speaker said and he turned and picked up a tool from a table outside the room. When he returned he approached a wincing Vienice.

    The pain alone from being held up by his injured arms was blinding, but he still did not scream anymore. "Open yer mouth, boy." The one with the tool instructed him. Vienice did not say anything, nor did he open his mouth like instructed. "Open!" The man instructed him, hitting him across the face with his plier-like tool.

    Vience felt dread pool through his entire body like a flood. He was so terribly tired of all of this. So terribly fed up. His restful momentary death broke the feeling of melancholy peace he had developed and it was as if his horror was returning to him. "I cannot," He said quietly, keeping his head angled down.

    One of the men grabbed him by his red hair and ripped his head backwards so that he was forced to look up. The man with the tool hit him across the face and grabbed him by the jaw, trying to force his mouth open. It felt now like something was ripping its way through his chest, trying to escape in his panic. "No!" He shouted, but it only sounded like a weak thing. He writhed painfully in the grip of the other men, whining and thrashing.

    The men held him steady and the one holding him by the mouth pulled his lips apart, attempting to shove gloved fingers into his mouth. On instinct, Vienice bit down hard, causing the man to yell out in pain and hit him across the head with the tool again, making blood pour steadily down the side of his head from the repeated bashes.

    There were too many stimuli now, the mans yell, the grunting of the other men, the pain in his arms, his hair, the side of his head, and his legs as he thrashed. The feeling of immense anger and dread ripping its way from inside him- literally tearing through him- practically shredding the muscles in his chest- his neck- his stomach- his entirety.

    A loud scream left him now, the loudest he had been in a long time. He was losing control of himself, overwhelmed to the brink. The brink of what? It scared him- terrified him to no end but he could not stop this force that was unlike anything that he had experienced before.

    One of the men had to let go in order to cover his ears, and that was when Vienice twisted, and he twisted hard, out of the grasp of the other man, turning to reach at him with mangled hands. These hands did not grip well but it was enough to bring the man down to his knees in surprise. It was as if Vienice forgot the pain as he launched himself at the man, growling like an animal as he bit into the man's neck with a hunger he had forgotten he had. The man let out his own scream as the other two watched in horror at the sight of Vienice ripping the man's neck to shreds, swallowing down the flesh and meat of it like a starved dog gone feral.

    The man dropped to the ground, and now a sharp-eyed Vienice raised himself to his feet on shattered ankles that did not look to bother him. One of the two remaining men took a step back but the other one stepped forward, yelling out curses as he unsheathed his sword and brought it to Vienice quickly, the force of fear driving it.

    Vience caught it with his hand, not at all seeming to mind the way it bit deep into the flesh, cutting it nearly in half but only stopping half way through the bone. Perhaps the cut would have been a clean one, going all the way through, if the man on the other end of the sword had not been in such a panic. Viencie had no human reaction to it, using his leverage on the sword to rip it from the mans grasp, and flinging it to the side awkwardly. The fling required two shakes of his hand, as the sword had been quite stuck.

    The man had then turned to run- to get away, but Vienice had flinged at the man again, screaming out with violent purple eyes that shined in the dim room. He launched himself too quickly for any human to manage and tackled the man to the floor, again going for the throat. The final man, the third one with the plier-like tool in his hand, was frozen in shock and fear as Vienice looked up at him. Surely this truly was a devil. A demon of some kind. He turned to run out the door but the robed man stood there, with a dauntingly kind smile.

    The man gently closed the door in the guards face, and locked it, screams echoing through the dungeon, like nothing ever heard there before.