by P. S. Power
"Do you have a thought then Timon? Or are you just enjoying yourself?" She eyed his crotch, her face moving closer to it then, a little kiss on his distended right hip sending agony through his body. "I don't see a reaction yet, maybe you just need some help?"
Her hand moved to his penis, covering it gently, moving in small circles. It didn't do much, since the pain was helping to keep him distracted, so she raised her eyebrows and used her mouth. That worked, unfortunately. In a minute he was hard and in so much pain he could barely feel what she was doing. The Assassin watched him closely and after a few seconds started rocking the winch lever a little, in time with the movements the Countess was making. Each time her mouth came down, a flare of pain moved through him. Then again as pressure was released.
She kept it up long enough that they both had to be getting bored, when his body released, spasming painfully. As if having been waiting for the moment the man turned the lever hard. Timon felt the world go black, rather than seeing it. There was more screaming then, even as his shoulders still didn't slip out of the socket. He also didn't go all the way out.
That he got as close as he did probably had to do with the drugs still in his system. He looked at the Countess and forced a smile, which got her to go still.
"I..." He stared at her, his voice much harsher now than when he'd woken up. "I kind of thought you'd be better than that."
As attempts to be mean went it wasn't very good, but he felt a little rocked and shaken, what with the horrible torture and her forcing herself on him. The only good thing was that as the pain increased, his mind cleared. It didn't do a thing for the discomfort, but he was starting to be able to think again. If he survived long enough he could go into a combat rage and...
Pull himself apart on the chains. No, he needed a better strategy than that. Unless nothing else was left. No matter what he wasn't going to be the bait they wanted, even if he had to kill himself to stop it. As if not wanting to let the momentum drop the Assassin and the Countess did other things to him then. Nothing nearly as bad, for a while at least. He was slapped a lot by the woman, much of that on the groin. She seemed to find it funny when he grunted, even as shooting pains made his stomach cramp up. The Larval did something completely different and pulled out a tiny needle, like the ones that doctors sometimes used, and injected something into his neck.
The Countess stared at the man, looking nearly angry finally.
"To control pain?"
Holding the now empty thing up, showing it had all been used, the Larval smiled again.
"No, to the contrary, this is pure pain. In a few moments it will begin, a burning inside his veins that nothing will slake or mitigate. It is said to be the most painful thing on the planet. Eventually most die from it. I doubt he will, being what he is. Not as long as we give him water regularly. Are you ready Timon? This is going to be very instructive I think."
As it turned out, he wasn't ready for it at all. About five minutes into it he was ready to beg for death it was so horrible. Everything was agony. As if to amuse herself the Countess started stroking and sucking him again, over and over. He didn't sleep, or relax or feel anything except the desire to die. He knew time passed, since they had to take turns watching him. Even Nora grew bored with it after a while, not playing with him anymore at all. Instead she took to telling him about what was going to happen next.
"When he answers his device, we need you to scream. To beg for him to come and save you, but you've stopped doing anything but moaning a little. That will hardly do. So what I'm going to do is take my big sharp knife, and as soon as it's time, I'm going to cut you. Do you know where I'm going to do that?" Her hand played at his groin again, which this time didn't betray him. It hadn't in a while, since it was all associated with pure pain now.
"That's right. I'm not going to be quick either. I'm going to do it slowly, explaining to your brother what it is that I'm doing to you, one little bit at a time. Sawing back and forth until you're no longer a man. I'm not even going to leave your cock. All of it is going to go. Then we'll burn it shut, so that you can never use it again. It will kill you, but slowly, over days, the bad water not able to get out. Doesn't that sound interesting?"
It hurt too much to answer, so he didn't, feeling bored with her anyway. He really doubted that he'd feel it anyway. The Larval hadn't lied at all. It was about the worst pain a body could feel. She repeated herself several times, until the Larval came back. He was slightly more entertaining at least, not trying to threaten him at all.
"You really are a strong one, you know that? I'd let you go if I could, but I need your brother. He'll destroy the world if we don't kill him and us Larval are the only ones that can. I know it isn't fair to drag you into this, but please understand, this isn't about things as small as you and I, this is for the world." He didn't sound all that sane, true, but at least his insanity was fresh and ever changing.
The next time the Countess came she brought her knife with her, sharpened it and then made small cuts on the bottom of his scrotum. There was a flash of pain, which he barely noticed and then the woman ran from the room. He looked down, to see if there was anything left of him. There was, but it did not look good. Flesh hung to the side of his member, blood pouring out. She'd removed about half of what was there, still hanging on, but a pool of blood was forming under him. He thought that was the case at least.
He smiled.
Death was one way out after all. The dead didn't scream and couldn't be hurt, he didn't think. The Larval came back, and assassin or not, he knew how to hold a body together well enough to stop the bleeding.
"Stupid cunt." The man worked quickly as the woman dithered in the background. "We still need him. It's one thing to threaten to unman someone, but if you do it, they'll fight on a level that you can't imagine. Never take away everything. Never make it so that the only answer is death." He finished his work in silence and stood back, glaring. "If I'd known you were a mental defective I would have gone with one of my other options. Tried to take his sister or mother. I would have, if all our data didn't show that this is the one Tor actually likes."
They discussed the merits of different kinds of torture for a long while, as he tried not to writhe overly. If he were a better builder, he could have freed himself, he thought. A cutter or explosive weapon in the right place might do it. If he were in less pain, he could have tried. Or even gone into a rage. His mind just wouldn't let him. He struggled to just try not to think then. It was impossible, but the only thing he had left. He was going to die. But first he had one thing that needed to be done.
Timon had to protect his brother.
There wasn't a lot that he could do that way, and it might not be needed at all given that it had been days already. The only kindness was that the pain was finally starting to recede. It wasn't a sudden thing, and he wasn't certain it was real at first, but as he stopped thinking, and finally did a decent job of it, his sense of things slowly moved away from him. It was still there, but distant now. Maybe the drug was wearing off. Maybe it was just the focus he finally managed.
They made a mistake, after some time. It was a simple enough thing really. The Larval needed to sleep, like anyone else and the Countess got hungry and went for a meal. It was decently clear that no one was coming for him, and that his brother, as she liked to put it, just didn't love him as much as they thought.
It wasn't a huge thing that he'd managed, not really. It was just a simple cutter. One that was about eight inches long. Not a huge weapon or anything. It had taken him... A very long time, lying as he was, still bound. He'd linked it to the cuff of his right wrist, so that when activated it could reach the chain. That was all. From there he could cut the others. Provided he could move enough. He didn't hurt anymore, his mind feeling slow and dead in its total focus. They'd made a mistake, leaving him too long like that.
With a single thought he had the first chain free, the invisible line of movement that caused things on the smallest level of
being to go two directions, directly away from a center line, working without any resistance at all. Even through the trance he'd been living in it hurt, the sudden release of pressure. It meant he was truly damaged, no doubt. He moved anyway, since it didn't matter if he lived through it, he just had to finish his plan. It really wasn't about surviving after all. It hadn't been since he'd taken the first sip of Nora's poisoned wine, most likely.
The second chain rattled a little as it fell, cut well away from his wrist. Otherwise he risked cutting it off. That wouldn't do at all. Not before he finished everything. The next part would be harder, he realized. He couldn't sit up. Not even rolling to one side first, his legs unmoving now. Timon had to cut those lines too. Then he could die. That was his only goal, to be free before he went. A simple thing that gave him hope.
He turned the cutter off, since doing otherwise would mean dying too soon. It took a very long time for him to manage anything like a seated position. It wasn't the pain, he was past that for the moment. No, it was just the fact that he could barely move at all. By rocking to his right side and pushing with his arms as hard as he could he slipped around until he was upright. There was no way for him to reach the chains though. They were just too far away. It was clear he just couldn't do it.
Not by taking the metal links off. His legs, those were much closer. A cutter didn't even hurt at all. He smiled and got ready to make an awkward slice at the knees when the Countess came back, a sandwich in her right hand. She froze in the door.
"What?" Running at him she grabbed his right arm, which was a mistake, since the cutter blade separated her right hand from her wrist with a thought. Blood splashed on him as she screamed. Then, with a lazy wave he got her head to split in half. It silenced her instantly. The top of her head slid off at an angle, as she fell to the floor. There wasn't much time left he realized, since the Larval was running in, a weapon in his hand. He'd die free. It was all he had.
Tim made the cuts, his body not moving even as the blood started to pour out. It wouldn't take long. It was done. Timon wasn't in chains anymore. As a bonus the Larval ran right up to him, his face shocked when he realized what had happened.
"You... cut off your own legs?"
Another man spoke then, very calmly.
"Looks like it. It's hard to keep someone a prisoner if they're truly committed to leaving a place."
The voice from behind him was a surprise. He'd really thought they were all alone in the place. There was a sudden movement in the air as the Larval tried to spin, showing Tim his back. It was a clumsy move on his part, but he swung at the man's back making a single cut across his spine. It didn't take him down, or stop him from moving, since he wasn't a human, being made to take more damage than that.
It did seem to distract the man long enough for Count Lairdgren to move in and finish the Assassin, in a way that Tim couldn't see at all.
Then, blessedly, Timon Baker died.
Or should have. Instead he woke to even more pain, a silent agony as every cell of his body tried to heal at once, undoing more damage than should have been possible. He didn't scream. After everything he doubted that he could anymore, that was a thing he'd locked away so hard it just didn't come now. Instead he opened his eyes, seeing that the leg chains had been removed and that he both had toes and could wiggle them, if feebly. It took a long time to heal and several bodies came in to the space, most of them being people he didn't know at all, dressed in green outfits and carrying strange weapons as well as magical ones.
"Can you move?" This came from a hard looking woman wearing an unusual helmet, her eyes covered, showing only the lower part of her face. It made her look pretty unusual. Lights blinked on the left hand side, two amber in color and one blue.
Timon didn't bother answering, standing instead, his weight almost making him go to the ground. He had a healing amulet on, sitting around his neck. The bandages on his groin were still there.
"My gear." He mumbled it as he walked, looking around for it. True it hadn't been in the room at all as far as he knew, the whole time. He just didn't know where else to look for it. His Austran compact was there, and so was the communications device, the single name glowing at the top.
A man he didn't know looked inside the drawer of the low table they were sitting on and started pulling things out. It seemed to all be there, except his shield. That one he found at the back of the wooden thing, stuck on a large splinter. He put that on first and just activated it, wanting to be safe before anything else. Then he had to turn it off to get his clothing on.
There seemed to be fourteen people with the Count and they all moved as a single unit, making hand gestures to communicate, as well as using strange simple words. Timon wasn't up to running, but put on his Not-flyer and managed to keep up, even going up the stairs. Once outside he fought his Fast Craft free and set it up, making sure it didn't have any seats in it. They took up room and he had too many people.
The Count nodded, but moved into the pilot's position without asking, gesturing for him to take the other front one. The rest of the people sat on the floor, huddled close together. For a long time no one spoke, which was fine, since he was still healing. There was one final flare of pain from his groin, which he hoped meant that was healed and would work again. He shuddered as he remembered the flayed chunk of flesh, gushing blood. He tried to close his eyes to block it out, but the image didn't leave, only getting stronger in the dark. After a bit he let his mind go blank again.
After a bit there was a growl from the back, a woman that he thought might be the one with covered eyes.
"We should fucking kill this whole county, bunch of fucking traitors." A few others seemed to agree with her.
The man next to him just flew the craft with total concentration, ignoring what they said, his jaw clenched.
It surprised him, but Timon found himself speaking anyway.
"No. It was the Countess. Nora Alan. Her and one Larval, trying to draw my brother out. It didn't work, which I could have told them before they started. The people here didn't know about it. I don't think so." There was something about the servants being sent away. It was a little hazy. The promise to cut him until he was smooth was still there, but that... Not so much.
"I... how long?" It felt like weeks, maybe longer. The answer from Count Lairdgren surprised him. For one thing he'd been almost certain the man wasn't going to speak at all.
"Three days. When she didn't hear from you Duchess Keene contacted Richard and informed him he was instructed to send the army. He's actually moving it, by the way. It was just taking too long, so we came to see if you might need a hand."
Timon nodded, "thank you all then. Three days? It felt like longer."
No one asked him to recount the experience, so he didn't just not thinking at all, until the craft set down next to a grass covered hill. It was small for that, until he looked over and saw that it had a door.
"My house." The Count waited for the rest of the people to climb out, then spoke softly. "I know that this has been a very horrible experience for you. If... when you need to talk about it, I'm here to listen. No one gets to be as old as I have without some very bad things happening to them. You're welcome to stay here for as long as you need."
Timon grunted and then forced a smile.
"What's a little torture, horrible pain medicine and rape, right? At least it wasn't the Larval doing it. So much for a romantic first time though. Didn't even bring in roses or candles. Did feed me dinner first, so there's that. Poisoned. Well, drugged. Something tailored to me? I didn't use my detector, but I was told it wouldn't have worked anyway." He was starving, which the talk of food made very central to him.
"Looks like we won't need the military yet. Can I beg some food? Then I need to get back to the Capital and check in with everyone. After that I have to go to Vagus and Austra. I'll sleep before that, if I can."
He waited for the man to tell him it was alright to be weak and cry, but he didn't have tears in h
im anymore. No doubt he would later, but for now he had other things to do. Like fighting a war with whoever the heir to Alan was. That part was a relief, since it turned out that the woman didn't have anyone close. It would go to an extended cousin that wasn't overly friendly with her at all.
"Good. I have other things to do. Like killing Count Rodriguez." Not that he could do it right then. The one thing that being held against his will had showed him was that he was too unskilled still. "I need to learn to fight. Weapons and unarmed. Building too. Making that cutter would have been a lot more helpful if I could have done it the first day, instead of the third." The pain injection hadn't helped, but his doing it showed that it was possible. If he had to do it again at that moment, it would be finished faster.
From now on he wasn't going to be as lazy as he had been. To that end he forced his mind to go silent, which meant he didn't talk as the Count led him into his strange looking house. There was a heavy vegetable stew delivered by the woman that had worn the visor.
"I'm Brenda. Roughly your cousin, more or less." She handed him a wooden spoon to eat it with and some bread that was a little too chewy. He ate mechanically, remembering to thank her by rote after that.
"Alright, I'm off then. Palace first." It wasn't where he was going, but Lairdgren would figure that out soon enough. After all, Tim had to have information too, and the King, while not a horrible person, didn't care to give him any. Not really. Dean Hardgrove however might be a little more forthcoming.
Especially if he was wearing a truth amulet at the time and...
The man couldn't be forced, or likely bribed into talking. No, that wasn't a good plan at all. The King was in the same mold, plus heavily guarded. There was no one that would tell him anything, was there.
Except possibly Tor. Or, maybe Trice, if he could find her.
He didn't say goodbye, going outside and climbing into his vehicle, wincing when he realized he'd forgotten to take it with him. It made sense that he'd be absent minded for a while, it just couldn't be allowed.