The Masked Demon
They had been worked all day without reprieve - Ivan did not want them to have a moment to rest, he knew what they were capable of. A captured rat was likely to bite the hand of the captor if given half the chance. No, Ivan would want to prevent that, so he worked them twice as hard as he should have, though he cared little for their well-being - his team had won. And so, those who lost had to work, had tor ebuild the place they once called home, a place that Ivan, himself, once called home. They had managed to rebuild a couple of the smaller shops, and had started work on the mayor’s building before the night claimed the land. Like Rocoa, there was no single-inhabitant cells in the dungeon, well, none that were in use. They wanted to cause tension between the people, so, like Rocoa, they let them be in commune. This lead to the formation of Prison Gangs, and this was deadly in the dungeon world. As they were marched in, they all segregated to their personal gangs, or to a place where they could, in theory, be alone and talked amongst themselves. Food would be down soon, they reckoned, they had to feed them right?
Surely enough, the food was brought down by a platoon of Apotheoses soldiers who held no qualms in tossing the food out onto the floor and having them fight for it like rats. They were cruel that way. Soon, they came around the corner to the area that Johic had situated himself. He was grimy, dirt covered his scarred face, which had been hidden under his scraggly, now gray, hair. "Hey this is Abbar’s kid, Ivan has been keeping close tabs on both of them, well that was until Abbar broke down and revealed information to Denelii.”
They had a grand laugh at that, one even walked towards Johic and mocked his dad. “Hey, hey, kid, how does it feel to know your dad is the reason your final line of defense is going to be captured and killed? The proud Abbar, reduced to ratting out those meant to save the world?”
Another round of uproarious laughter. They gave him the food next, tossing it towards him and along the dirty ground. When they turned to walk off, they heard Johic whisper something.
“What did you say?”
One asked, his head turning towards the young man. “Hey, where did you get that mask, punk?”
Johic had held the mask in his hand when he turned around. He was looking down at them, when the men heard him whisper. His head cocked towards them, brown eyes dancing over each of their bodies as he whispered again, “Splitting Strings.”
There was something odd in his voice, something scary, but the guards didn’t pay attention to it, instead choosing to ignore it and attack him. They didn’t make it far, however, as the flickering candlelight alerted them to the presence of numerous, slowly falling, strings.
“Hey, what’s the meaning of this?!”
Johic’s head tilted the other way, and his hands pushed the mask up to his face, the strings seeming to wrapped around his head and attach to one another, securing the apparel. “Die,”
he commanded, the strings that floated down seemed to snap tight and slice towards and through the men at varying angles. It was not enough to kill them, no, he wanted them to die slowly. The strings then moved up and wrapped around their neck, hanging them from the ceiling with impressive strength. “Die,”
he mused again, this time rising from the ground and walking past him. Blood splatter coated him now, and he truly looked like a murderer. Slow methodical steps brought him around to the rest of the prisoners, as two thick ropes snaked towards him and wrapped around either shoulder and his back. The prisoners did not know that the man in the mask was Johic, the marks on his face had obscured that knowledge from them - nay, they thought it was a prisoner simply gone mad.
None approached the newly formed killer, instead they parted for the man, as he made his way towards the dungeon doors. Soon thereafter, they heard a scuffle, and then silence. Johic had vanished into the stronghold’s upper floors.
Ivan was alerted mere moments after and swept towards Johic’s likely location - the room that held his broken father. It took him less than two minutes to reach the room and peer inside - the black room held no light any longer and Ivan did not get the sinking suspicion that another now occupied the room. He pushed open the door anyway, and walked towards Abbar, stopping short four feet. His slow hand slid along one of the trap strings left by Johic, and burned them away. The faint light illuminated the room as each string was slowly burned, it cast a peculiar hue over the body of Abbar. “Your son has been here, yes? Then you know he escaped, I figure you will not tell me where he is headed, though I am sure I already know.”
Ivan reached down and grabbed the man, dragging him throughout the stronghold and down into the dungeons where the bodies of his men hung, and the prisoners crowded.
“This man is the father of the child who escaped! Tonight, he is sentenced to death as the punishment for his son escaping the dungeons. I will make an example! I will not stand for the common man vanishing into the night after killing my men and making an attempt on my life! I will not stand for such insolence!”
Ivan was enraged, they could see it in the eyes of the oft calm man. All eyes were now on Abbar, who had a slight smile on his face, he was not afraid to meet death head on, such was his way - but he was proud, whole, now that his son had managed to get away. Slowly, his body began to rot, his screams ripped through the dungeon and echoed around, even in the slight murmur. Those who could not look, could only hear the gut-wrenching pains of a man whose body was aging swiftly, and whose intestines were now decorating the floor. Ivan stood, as rigid as a board as the man died in his hand. In fact, he kept his old friend alive for two hours during this ordeal.
There Is No Escape!
(No tables, more medieval)
The room was set, the lights danced in the candlesticks and the men and women permitted to watch this spectacle were all present. Some had, unfortunately, been left to patrol the streets and dungeons to keep any that were now under their control in check. Eclava had been informed in the early hours of the morning that the son of Abbar had escaped into the night, and might be headed towards Rocoa. She was also informed that there may be some of the wanted ‘saviors’ lurking in, or around, Rocoa. Eclava didn’t mind, she was not afraid the man that some had dubbed the String Demon, nay, she welcomed the young man to come to her new abode, she would make his life hell - the Healer, for all his sociopathy, was incapable of making the decisions needed unless angered, or so he demonstrated, he could very well be a stone-cold killer when the time was right. Hopefully, he would not have to show that on her, before she found the secret to immortal life.
As such, he sat on her throne - the broken statue that once belonged to Lloth, and called to attention those around her. In her tight, black leather attire, that was not entirely difficult - in fact, if she had of uncrossed her legs, one could probably have seen straight up the short apparel. “My soldiers, all this work you have been doing has been grand!”
That garnered a cheer. “So today, I have invited you into the Rocoan Hall to witness the festivities of today. My faithful, beautiful love, Sarahix shall be conducting several executions and I have a very special treat for you all.”
There was a hushed murmur along the crowd; they had heard rumors, something to do with the minotaur and Eclava’s inclination towards exhibition rape. This was much sought after, the sexual spectacle not only kept the men in line, but showed they had dominance in this world - more than a few had thought of Eclava being in the woman’s place and being used by some, if not most, of the stronger, more well endowed of the men and beasts. Such thoughts were entirely kept one’s self in fear of being on the wrong end of one of these exhibitions.
Her pupils danced over the crowd before her hand rose and fell with exquisite grace. Sounds of chains proceeded shortly after, as several, perhaps ten or twenty men, women, and various beasts, were led into the Hall. Clothes turned to rags, once smug grins now expressions of sadness. They all knew their time was coming, even the Minotaur. They had been shackled an hour earlier and forced to stand in unison just outside the doors. The cramped space did nothing for their morale, and the eerie darkness compounded their personal feelings on the death they were about to face. Was it going to be swift? Would it be slow? Would they be tortured first? Offered a chance to be forgiven for whatever crimes they had been charged with? They doubted it, the stories of Eclava were plentiful and none much different from the others - she was not merciful, she did not believe in that word, she killed slowly, painfully. And so, when they walked in, they were slightly perplexed at the fact she was sitting on the broken bits of a statue. Scare tactics?
Lined up in the center of the room they listened as Eclava detailed their crimes, many of which were something as minor as going against the Apotheoses - but some, some were much worse. “..And next we have Kayless, a ruthless assassin who was sent to murderer one of our own. To his left, and the attraction you’ve all been invited to witness, we have Mirya and Fairst. Many of you remember Fairst, an experiment of mine, once favored but turned traitor and aligned with this creature, Mirya, to conspire against me. Luckily, Ivan captured them both and sent them back to me. A present, if you will. Tonight, you will see Fairst rape Mirya, viciously, until such time as one of them passes out or dies, personally, I’m hoping for the latter.”
Another uproarious laugh from the crowd, they were rowdy, ready - they did not care about the murderers, nay they wanted to see the sexual content. They were trained to be sick like that.
“Let the festivities begin.”
The charged were ushered off to a back wall. One was released and brought to the center of the room, where he immediately fell to his knees to beg for forgiveness. Eclava did not bat an eye, nor did she move - he thought all was forgiven. He stood and brushed off his ragged clothes and turned to walk away, only to come face to face with Sarahix. Her head swayed left and right, slowly - she was going to hypnotize him. The man started to back away, but was quickly caught with the midway point of the long bodied Naga. He sought to scream, but found his mouth filled with the thick tail of the serpent. Such deepness, such a slow death; the sexual sadist was enjoying this. This type of death was her release. In fact, she yearned for it, so for the next ten or twenty minutes, she choked him to within an inch of his life, and removed her tail, just a bit, so he could breath, before it was forced back down into his mouth. Finally, he died, and Sarahix slid her tail from his mouth slowly - almost savoring feeling something immaterial leaving his still warm body..
Another couple of people were killed, in fact, half were murdered in similar fashion. Slow. Methodical. Sarahix got the same satisfaction each time. It was now time for her to take a break, and so, she curled up before Eclava and rested her head in the Drow’s lap. Mirya and Fairst were ushered forth slowly. Eclava never took her eyes off Mirya, she was preparing for this; she waited, she yearned, and ultimately, she would get. “Go now, Fairst - either you do it and have a chance to survive, or you don’t and you both die.”
The woman said. That’s when it happened - that’s when Mirya struck. She launched towards the Drow Bitch with powerful legs and soared through the air. But she did not go far- something hopped on her back and pierced her shoulders with two metal blades.
The man was deceptively strong and brought the minotaur down, full force, to the ground and the exhibition started. Without warning, the man was inside the minotaur. Such hollering and yelling, such screams, such sick smacks of flesh and flesh, and laughter had never before been heard in Rocoa. With each passing moment, they only grew louder - even Fairst seemed to have snapped - he was taking the minotaur with all intention of keeping his own life. He did everything, jerked her head back, slapped her, choked her, even pulled her up so Eclava could see the agony the minotaur was going through - at one point, a blade slid out and danced slightly across her neck. Fairst was enjoying this, one could see how much more dominant he was becoming through this ordeal - how much more savage. She fought - but it was to no avail, the man’s strength kept her pinned to the floor and each movement only amounted her to bucking against her rapist; when her face was pressed to the ground, her tears could be seen forming beneath her. A guttural yell ripped through his lips as more of the metallic blades curved from his back and cocooned Mirya. Blood could be seen seeping through small splits in the metal. This would have displeased Eclava, but she could still see the look on the woman’s face. A slow smirk crossed the lips of Eclava, as the screams of Mirya died to, first a whimper, and then silence. Fairst finished a minute or so later - the entire ordeal had encompassed fifteen minutes. The blades slowly curved back into Fairst’s back, taking with them a dose of radiation that had caused Mirya to collapse.
He rose and ejected the blades from her shoulders. He took two minutes to sratch into her back, the word “Mine.“ Another man moved to her side, and ran his fingers over the words, magic pouring from the tip and searing the word into her back - this ordeal took an additional five minutes, but was as painful as having a jagged knife gouging into one’s back. Now naked, he walked towards Eclava, and bowed before her, licking the blood from his blades. “She is still alive - but will now carry my seed.”
His breath was heavy and his blood started to leave his lower region - he was now back at the side of his… master, like a perfect lap dog.
Fananatu had witnessed this, as he stood with the ones he had helped enter Rocoa - he had not expected it to be so brutal, nor for one of their own to turn back to his side. Such things were not expected, but did not interfere with his plans. He held his arm out to keep them from rushing forward. “Not yet.”
Kayless was brought up next - Sarahix had chosen to lop his head off with her favored weapon - a whip. She circled the man, occasionally looking at Mirya who had been drug back to the wall. That Minotaur had attacked her mistress, her death would come shortly. With full attention back on Kayless, Sarahix started to sway - and with the decent amount of space betwixt the two, she slung her whip. But alas, something stopped it before it caught the man in the back. Sarahix looked around viciously, tugging at the whip as the light caught the glisten of the string that had stopped it.
That’s when things went down.
Johic landed in the middle of the room, “Silk Trap - Vicious Lines of Death,”
he called from behind the mask he now wore - none would recognize him, not the ones that were with him initially, if they didn’t hear him. A web of strings danced and ripped through the metal of the shackles, and even knocked some of the Apotheoses off their feet. Eclava, however, did not move - she didn’t have too. Johic hadn’t gone for her, despite both knowing he was there. Now embroiled with Sarahix, he would surely meet his end or retreat - either way, Eclava was safe and this man would lose. She watched as he avoided a strike, but was systematically getting closer to Sarahix whom had not moved.
Johic was slammed against the back wall, Sarahix having knocked him back with her tail. The rest of the hall was in disarray, it was now or never.
“Now, now, where will you go?”