Terrence Mathews, an employee of the Angel Stone hospital starts this story with empathy, and suicidal thoughts. He begins to see hallucinations, going insane slowly. He chats with his friend Adam Clark for a bit while working on a corpse, feeling b...
I'd observe the surrounding room more closely. It was quite darkened, the room being quite spacious from what I could tell. Dust particles and grass littered the floors, for what seemed to be an enclosed area. Possibly a window was open, permitting the outside to leak in. At least I knew of a potential exit, if it ever came to fleeing.
I'd grimace, feeling the chains along my body shaping and shifting, metal moving against skin in a slithery wave. It was repelling and it was... somehow sapping my strength, energy. My demonic core. It did so at an incredibly slow pace, as presumed for novices of this sort. It would take, precisely, around twenty-eight days, three hours, and fifteen minutes. If I hadn't gotten out by that time, I would be absolutely drained. If I'd reach that state, I'd die at the slightest vibration against my skin. These fools would get me to do anything at that point. Maybe that was what they hoped to accomplish, though I sure as hell would make it difficult for them. Fucking lunatics.
The summoners would retreat, leaving one individual behind with the tools. It was a crazed-looking fair-skinned female, her stature of average height. Her glossy, coolish hair with lighter tint's accented her distinguishing characteristics, I couldn't tell much from the cloak she wore both over her face and entire frame though. From the way the attire snugly pressed against her skin, I proposed she was quite slim, just like myself. When she'd glance towards me, from beneath her mask, I could see a light-blue tint, the revelation of her wolf-like predatory pupils. They resembled serrated diamonds in the gloom, mucronate sharp's that revealed her psychotic persona, both her body language and features told so.
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She'd approach with a sadistic smirk, seeming to be sizing myself up, perhaps imagining the being before her crumpled and bleeding.
"Lovely day, isn't it demon?" Her feminine voice was light-toned, softly spoken as if she'd been simply compassionating with a sickly child. I'd suppose she'd been in social services before her work here, obvious due to the way she'd treat others from the example I witnessed myself. All an illusion of course, it was directly exemplary that the individual before me was quite skillful in the art of sadism.
I'd snort, smoke flaring from my demonic nostrils as I'd clench my teeth, revealing the slight trace of my wolf-like canines. The hardened pupils of mine met hers. "Enough with pleasantries, you disgraceful representation of the human race."
At my response, her smirk shifted, fading, or rather transforming into one of pure malicious intent. "Of course! I'm Carmine, and you're Teffy. I suppose we should get acquainted, seeing as we'll be together... often." At the mention of the word 'often' her volume would lower, turning sinister as she'd lean down, familiarizing herself with a stainless-steel cleaver which would brush against the sides of the crumpled bag. Her other palm would position my defenseless self into a succumbing pose, my spine touching the desolate gravel beneath myself, and my stomach faced upwards.
Her hand would reach once more, this time upon my hamstring which laid between my hip extension and knee, her delicate, though threatening touch soothing before the agony. The muscle tensed in response; the glinting knife brought forth... closer.
She began severing the muscle, resulting in the consequentially now lame leg of mine. "I-It's not like I'd... be able to stand any way's you w-wench." I'd retort shakily, blood pooling from the recent wound now, its sticky material coating my reddish skin, the blood noticeably darker than its opposition.
My chained wrist writhed, trembling against the metal as I'd breathe shakily, deeply. I wouldn't allow that disappointment to hear a single groveling sound come from myself.
The biceps femoris, semitendinosus muscle, and the semimembranosus that made up my hamstring muscle would gruesomely tear, stringed pieces of flesh hanging limply from where it'd been damaged.
The painful sting was present, rooting itself into my muscles. My hand felt the urge to grip the place I'd been cut, squeezing it tightly as the torment would only increase. My fingers would flex with urgency, seeking to be brought forth from their spot. My eyelids came down upon my strained, wide-eyed stare, wrinkles bearing my skin as the organ of vision clamped shut.
God. Oh god.
It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts so fucking bad.
I want to tear her to shreds.
Let me.
Let me tear her to shreds.
I want to skin her alive.
I want to squeeze the life out of that smirk of hers as I strangle her.
I want to feel her brain smear across my touch as I pound her head against the wall.
I will.
I will do it.
( I finally used italics more often IM GONNA FIX THIS IN A LIL💀💀 794 words!)
