An Axe in the Flames

The Depths of Darkness

He still had the tinge of burned flesh in his nostrils, his flesh. The sickly sweet tang, mixed with the charred burnt fat. It intertwined with the mildew of mossy stone and his excrement, his sweat, and the metallic smell of blood. He had lost track of the days, barely remembering what the feel of sunlight meant to his paling skin. The warmth of the golden rays heating his face, the fresh smell of open air and dirt. He longed to feel and smell anything other than what he did now, his mind and body called out for it. How long had he been in this darkness? Nights bled into days and days bled into nightmares that he no longer knew if they were dreams or hallucinations. He had begun to hear a voice, first like a rare and distant breeze. One that seemed to carry the chill winter air like a leaf caught in the soft drift of a crisp morning. It had called his name, softly and almost imperceptibly, and awoke him from a moment in which he didn't know if he was dreaming about an ancient depth of the world. It was dark but for a faint glowing of purple light emanating from a stone encased in translucent rock. 

His hunger had returned upon his senses awakening, and he felt a tickle along his right shoulder. Another worm had made its way to within reach of his dried and cracking lips. He sucked and slurped the hairy insect into his mouth and savored the crunch and ensuing warmth of its innards covering his mouth. He chewed and relished the liquid of his meal, allowing it to become his sustenance for the moment. They had begun to come more frequently, perhaps to feed on his festering wounds that were created from his shackles rubbing against his wrists and lash marks all over his body. his body had become numb to the unending torture of hanging by his wrists and even begun to adapt by slightly stretching enough for him to rest the balls of his feet on the dank stone below him. He wondered, had his body adapted, or had his ligaments and muscles been torn, and through the ceaseless torture, he had just become numb to it all? 

A distant clanking of metal cleared him of his thoughts, bringing him back into the void of only darkness. Were his torturers back? How long had it been since he had seen Lucan or Vanni, two days? Three days? He had no concept of time in his current world and trying to think of a way to know only clouded his spinning head more. His senses had become something akin to a bat, only being able to sense things through his hearing. He knew the sound was the jangling of keys behind the distant metal door of the dungeon entrance. He didn't know if he was closing his eyes or imagining closing them, to better hear the pattern of the person walking, but he did it to concentrate. Rikart attentively honed in on the keys, he could hear the flipping of them as someone was searching for the correct key and he heard the metal on metal scraping as it entered the lock. Turning with a rusty clank and release, the metal groaning within the unoiled hinges of the dungeon door. A soft light caressed the wet stones of the dungeon hallway, his eyes had been open after all and he knew he would get his answer soon.

He shifted his weight back to his tiptoes so that whoever was visiting wouldn't see that he had found respite from his hanging. The door closed with a soft click and he watched the light dance on the walls of dripping wet white stone. There was a distinct gait to the walk, an audible dragging of one soft leather shoe. This wasn't Lucan or Vanni, but the vile creature known as Elrie. The dungeon master was suited for nothing more than what his occupation was, a child rapist and murderer and a deformed human being that was cruelly birthed from incest. He watched the light grow brighter, squinting his eyes from the pain of something other than pure darkness, it approached waving from side to side as Elrie limped his way down the hall.

"Are you awake, my lovely?" Elrie called from just outside of Rikart's cell.

He wouldn't answer, he couldn't. He hadn't tried to talk since however long ago it was that Lucan had taken his tongue from him. 

"Oh, prisoner." The incestuous monster sang out.

Rikart grunted as loudly as his unused vocal cords would allow him, eliciting a grave noise.