Chapter 159 - A Flayed Soul

Zeke’s eyes fluttered open, but all he saw was blackness. However, unlike the comforting embrace of nothingness that he’d experienced before being reborn, he got the feeling that the pervasive darkness hid something far more sinister in nature. More, it was a three-dimensional space, with a distinct floor – which was covered in some sort of liquid – and a jagged ceiling that reminded him of the obsidian caves that had housed the demons.

As awareness overwhelmed the aftermath of his unconsciousness, Zeke was beset by a few more realizations. First, the place seemed endless, going on for what looked like infinity. Second, he was suspended from the ceiling, hanging from a pair of thick chains that were coated in runes whose structure he couldn’t even begin to fathom. And finally, he wasn’t alone. Someone stood nearby, just at the edge of his periphery and mired in shadow.

“Where am I?” he croaked, his throat parched and his voice scratchy. “Who are you? Where’s Abby?”

The shadow-clad figure stepped forward, and it almost looked like she’d stepped into a spotlight. Despite there being no real illumination, Zeke could see her clearly. And what he saw was enough to accelerate his heartbeat a thousand times over.

“I do love this part,” said the woman. She was clad in writhing shadows that mimicked a floor-length dress, though it was low-cut enough to reveal her generous cleavage. The rest of it clung to a curvy figure that would’ve been perfectly at home on the cover of a magazine. Except that her skin was a deep, dark red that bordered on maroon. She stepped forward and, with a lazy caress, ran a taloned finger down Zeke’s bare chest.

Pain unlike anything Zeke had ever experienced erupted inside of him. Though the woman didn’t rake him with her claws, his skin split apart. But Zeke was used to that kind of pain. What he wasn’t accustomed to was the agony that seemed rooted in his very soul. If he’d been more lucid, he might have recognized it as something similar to what he’d experienced at the hands of the warlock, but exponentially worse. It felt as if his very identity was under assault, being stripped away, piece by piece, and it lasted well after the woman withdrew.

She watched him with curious excitement and undeniable pleasure as he writhed in agony, unmoving until an eternity later when he finally recovered from the torturous pain. It clung to him, though, unforgotten, as if even the mere memory was more painful than anything else he’d ever experienced.

After a few more moments, Zeke recovered his wits enough to notice the other oddities about his torturer. Her face – aside from the fangs he saw through her parted lips – was human enough and agonizingly beautiful. And not in a girl-next-door kind of way. Rather, it was a sultry, lustful beauty that made even looking at her seem wickedly decadent. She was lust incarnate.

It was almost enough to make Zeke miss the horns jutting from her forehead. Dainty and curved upward, she was the very picture of a succubus. Which, given that Zeke had just fought against a horde of demons, seemed imminently plausible.

“So delicious, getting a fresh one to play with,” she said with a shudder. “And one that has some tolerance, too. It will be fun, stripping you down. I wonder – what will you become? An arch-demon, perhaps? Let’s find out.”

She stepped forward, her beautiful, golden eyes glittering with mingled desire and anticipation.

“Wait – what’s going on?!” Zeke half-shouted, struggling against his chains. He might as well have been trying to move a mountain, for all the good it did. More, though, he felt weaker than he had since being reborn. It was almost as if he was still on Earth. Panicked, he tried to bring up his status, but he was rewarded only with a sharp spike of pain lancing through his mind.

The demoness, if that was what she really was, let out a girlish giggle of pure delight, saying, “Silly boy – the Great Deceiver has no influence here.”

“Great Deceiver?” Zeke murmured.

“You call it the Framework,” she said, twirling away like a ballerina. The liquid that covered the ground splashed slightly, but not like water. It was too thick for that. The movement also revealed that the demoness’s feet were clawed, just like her hands. In addition, her legs seemed to have been coated in fine, black scales. She cut her twirl off with a bout of laughter, saying, “Silly name, really. Implying that there’s some great plan to it all. The only thing the Great Deceiver wants is conflict. It feeds on it.”

“It does?” Zeke asked, trying to keep the demoness talking. Perhaps if he delayed long enough, he could figure a way out. Or maybe it was the lingering memory of the agony; he would do anything to avoid experiencing that pain again.

Suddenly, she rushed forward, stopping only when her face was only inches from Zeke’s. Then, out of nowhere, she licked his cheek, dragging a line of tingling pleasure across his skin. His heartrate rose, and his breathing quickened.

“There’s more where that came from if you’re a good boy,” she whispered. “That’s the key. Pleasure. Satisfaction. You’ve been trained from the very beginning to do just what the Great Deceiver wants you to do.  You kill a few monsters, and you’re rewarded with power and pleasure. So, you kill more. And more. Always seeking that same high. You never even realize it, either. You are its plaything.”

“But not you?” Zeke asked, still panting from the wave of pleasure she’d given him.

“Of course not,” she said. “The Ruler is far more honest. Brutal, but honest.”

“Ruler?” asked Zeke.

She smiled, revealing a much better look at her fangs, before saying, “Oh, you’ll find out. Yes. Oh, yes you will.”

Zeke was going to respond, but a second later, he felt her claws digging into his chest. Only a few minutes before, he had experienced what he thought was the pinnacle of pain. However, it soon became apparent that his sights were set far too low. A scream exploded from between his lips as his soul was ripped to shreds in an instant, only to reform a second later. And then, the process repeated. Over and over again until time had no meaning. Nothing did, save the torment itself.

Everyone thinks that they could hold up under torture, perhaps gritting their teeth and spitting in the face of their tormentor. Maybe they might even get a sarcastic quip in, like happens so often in movies. The reality, though, is that everyone breaks. No one endures it stoically. Real torture is horrible and messy and undignified.

And what Zeke experienced far exceeded anything possible on Earth. The pain was physical, but it was also spiritual and mental as well. A thousand different types of agony – from burning to broken bones and everything in between – occurred in the space of a moment before cycling back up again. Over and over until Zeke knew nothing except torment. Whatever he was – whoever he was – was slowly stripped away, leaving nothing but a shell behind.

It might have lasted a minute. It could have been an eternity. Time became as alien a concept as individuality, and the constant torture began to remold him into the sort of being that could survive under such terrifying circumstances. Memories faded into mere wisps of thoughts – moments captured in time – that were soon blown away into an abyss that swallowed everything unrelated to pure survival.

Then, suddenly, the world of pain ended.

“You are a tough one, aren’t you?” cooed the demoness as Zeke’s identity began to reassert itself. She ran a hand along his cheek, dragging her fingers through his tears. Ecstasy bloomed on her face as she brought the finger to her mouth, tasting his suffering with an eager tongue. “Such a short life, but so much delectable pain. It gives me the chills.”

“W-why…”

She giggled again, saying, “How else do you think demons are made, silly boy? Once, I was right where you are now, living through an eternity of pain. It took a long time to rip my humanity away. Eons, from what I’ve been told. That’s the difference between a strong demon and a weak one. It –”

Suddenly, the tattoo on Zeke’s chest began to glow. The demon reacted quickly, backpedaling on her clawed feet. She glared at the ceiling, screaming, “No! You can’t have him! He’s mine! The rules –”

Once again, she was interrupted as a white light descended from the sky, illuminating the entire space. In his muddled state, Zeke could only blankly stare ahead, barely noticing that, with the banishment of the darkness, the room’s nature was revealed. The walls looked like black marble, and the architecture was a mockery of Earth’s grand churches. Murals that looked like they had been painted by Renaissance masters and depicting horned demons torturing humans decorated the vaulted ceilings.

And then there was the blood. The entire floor had been coated in the stuff, and it wasn’t difficult to see where it had come from. Hundreds, if not thousands, of men and women were in cylindrical, iron cages, which hung suspended from the ceiling. The bars of the cages had been twisted into fanciful glyphs, but, for once, Zeke paid no attention to the runecraft. Instead, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the people in those cages. Most had been disemboweled, and all had clearly been tortured. Missing bits and pieces, they sported a vast collection of wounds. There were so many, but there weren’t enough to account for the inches-deep pool of blood that coated the entire floor. Instead, it wasn’t hard to imagine that they were only the latest batch. Worst of all, though they were insensate – or at least Zeke hoped they were – though they clearly weren’t dead, despite their grievous wounds.

The blood upon the floor began to bubble, and a few seconds later, a mound of earth pushed its way into existence, making an island amidst a red sea. A moment after that, a man clawed his way out of the dirt. Or at least, Zeke thought it was a man.

The size – he was only about four feet tall, with broad shoulders and, aside from his height, the build of a powerlifter – was the first indication, but it was soon eclipsed by the fact that the man’s long hair and bushy beard were made of leaves and vines. Even his dark, brown skin looked like it had the texture of bark, and small sprigs of vegetation sprouted from his shoulders and at various places along his arms. If Zeke had to categorize him, he would have called him a dwarf – the sort depicted in fantasy books and movies– but somehow crossed with a tree. He held a gnarled staff that was taller than he was, with a bulbous head that looked like it was carved into the shape of a spiraling seashell. He wore a pair of calf-length, cloth pants that looked like they’d been torn, rather than hemmed, and a white shirt that had seen better days. It was ripped and torn, and, in places, was more brown than white. His feet were entirely bare.

But more than his size, curious appearance, or torn clothes, Zeke was more concerned with the man’s aura, which billowed out from him with undeniable power. The only time he’d felt anything at all like it was when he’d met the tree goddess, Aja. The difference was that Aja had clearly held no ill will, and she’d been holding most of her power at bay. This man – or dwarf – was different, and to Zeke, he felt like an angry force of nature. Supporting that was the scowl on the man’s face.

“Arkandris,” he growled, staring at the demoness, who was doing everything she could to keep her back straight under the pressure. “You have gone too far. This one is mine.”

The demoness glared at the newcomer, hissing, “The precepts say –”

“Damn the precepts!” the dwarf bellowed, banging the butt of his staff on the earth. The entire room shook, and a couple of the cages fell to the blood-soaked floor.  “He bears my mark! Therefore, he is mine!”

For a second, the demoness cowered before the dwarf’s might, but soon found her courage. With a growl, she rushed toward the tree dwarf, brandishing her claws. As she did so, her shadowy dress unfurled into a pair of wings that stretched out to a span of dozens of feet. She leapt into the air, and with a flap of her wings, took to the sky.

Or that was her intention. The reality of what actually happened was much different, though.

A sapling burst from the floor, scattering blood in every direction. Arcandris tried to evade, but she was too slow. A moment later, it speared through her naked body, and an instant after that, she exploded into black gore as the sapling grew into a tree, its branches becoming spears as they tore through her body. When it was done, the tree stood tall and proud, its canopy brushing against the horrible murals on the ceiling. And even though it was incredibly gory, with the demoness’s parts dangling from its branches, when Zeke looked at it, he felt an overwhelming sense of calm that went a long way to soothing his soul.

The dwarf turned his attention to Zeke, but his aura dropped to nothing as the patch of dirt rose above the lake of blood, drifting toward where he hung from his chains. Then, the dwarf said, “Sorry it took so long. I had to save your friends, first. Well, mostly Pudge. Bonding that bear was the best thing you’ve ever done. But the others were right there, so I decided to snag them, too.”

“W-what? Who are you?” Zeke asked.

“Surely, you haven’t forgotten me so soon? It’s only been a few years,” the dwarf said, frowning. Then, almost as if he’d suddenly remembered something, he raised a thick, dirt-covered finger, saying, “Ah, right. Forgot that I looked a lot different last time we met. I think I looked like an actor from your world, didn’t I? That sometimes helps people adjust.”

“O-oberon?” Zeke asked as Oberon gestured at the chains. They disintegrated into dust, and Zeke fell. Thankfully, he landed on Oberon’s patch of dirt. He rose, rubbing his wrists. “Is that really you?”

A grin split the dwarf’s face. “You got it! The real me, too. Not some illusion,” he said, sounding all too cheerful, considering their location.

Zeke’s eyes flicked toward the people in the cages, and he said, “We’ve got to help them…”

“No can do,” Oberon said. “There are rules here. I’m pushing it just by being in this realm, much less on this low of a plane. The world’s barely holding together as it is. I can’t go rescuing the Damned while I’m down here. The only reason I’m allowed to get you is because you’re one of mine.”

“I…I don’t understand,” Zeke said.

“Didn’t expect that you would,” said Oberon. “The gist of it is that if I go around rescuing the Damned, then some arch-demon – probably that asshole Balthazar – would be free to raid the mortal realm. And I’d be sanctioned by the Framework. So would he, though. Maybe a decent trade, all things considered, but I’m not ready to take that leap. My point is that I can only do so much, and we don’t have a lot of time.”

“Time for what? And you said my friends are safe?” Zeke asked. His mind was whirling. He had seen the bodies. Their sightless eyes. Their unmoving forms. “T-they…they were dead.”

“Only mostly dead,” the dwarf said, holding up a single finger. When Zeke didn’t react, he let out a sigh of frustration. “Oh, come on. You claim to be a fan, but you don’t recognize that reference?”

“What? Oh. Sorry,” Zeke muttered. “I’m a little…uh…I’m a little distracted.”

“To be expected,” Oberon acknowledged. “Having your soul flayed is a terrible experience, and you got it worse than most. In fact…about that, you might notice some changes when you get back.”

“What? What changes?” Zeke asked.

“I can’t be certain – the Framework is blocked in this place – but I think…well, just remember, it’s not a bad thing unless you let it be a bad thing,” Oberon said. “That’s really all I can tell you right now without being sanctioned.”

“Oh. Okay, I guess,” was Zeke’s response. He wanted to ask more, but he knew he wouldn’t get anything else out of the dwarf. “You didn’t answer my question, though. Are my friends safe?”

Oberon shook his head. “Safe is such a relative term,” he stated. “They’re alive, for now. That was all I could do for them. But when you get back, you’re going to have to act quickly if you want them to stay that way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can’t say any more than that,” Oberon stated. “But before I send you back, let me give you a piece of advice. Stop trying to be what other people want you to be. And quit making decisions based on fear. Find who – and what – you are. Look at the core of who you are, both good and bad, and just be that. Otherwise, you’re going to have a muddled path.”

“What does that even mean? Can you stop being so cryptic?” Zeke asked.

“You’re not a protector,” Oberon stated. “You’re a warrior. A juggernaut. You’re an avenger. Lean into that.”

“But –”

“Or don’t!” Oberon interrupted, throwing up his hands and grinning. “Your path is up to you. Just some friendly advice. Now, hold your breath and clench up. This is going to feel weird.”

“W-what –”

Before he could finish, Zeke was swallowed by the dirt and once again enveloped in darkness.