Ravaged

Chapter 1

The world is centered around sensation.

The sound of screaming--some odd but familiar mixture of pleasure and pain.

The smells of blood and metal and rotting flesh.

The taste of metal in his mouth from his split lip.

The sight of dark walls and random glimpses of objects obviously meant to be frightening--whips, chains, blades, implements of torture.

The feel of the shackles around his wrists, cool and smooth and incredibly annoying.

This world... it's familiar. So familiar that it almost feels like home.

Which is almost more annoying than the shackles. Almost.

The most annoying thing, Feng thinks, is the slump in his own shoulders and the way he keeps his feet close to the ground, trudging, stumbling as if he's dizzy from the beating they gave him when they caught him sneaking around outside the cavern entrance.

'Sneaking'. Feng almost smirks at the memory.

If he'd been making any more noise, he might've woken the dead. And they think he was sneaking.

The guards themselves are amusing, with their sneers and rough shoves and the way they keep tripping him up to make him crash against the hard rock walls or fall down a few of the hewn stone steps they've been descending.

It's even more amusing that they're trying to get him lost--walking in circles, going up one set of stairs and then down another, backtracking through corridors they've already been through as if they think he's too stupid to recognize it.

He's almost grateful. Thanks to their idiocy, he now knows this large, cavernous mansion very well.

Mansion isn't quite the right word.

It's more like a lair.

But lairs are interesting and fun and generally belong to awesome people. The same cannot be said of Cruciatus, the owner of this particular lair. The man Feng has come to study--or kill, conversely.

It depends on how things go. Feng might end up doing both.

When the guards finally tire of dragging him uselessly around the lair, they finally descend an unfamiliar staircase, going deeper into the bowels of the mountain. The scent of blood is stronger here, mixed with unwashed flesh, urine, and other vile things.

Filth.

Feng hates filth.

He's going to kill Rohan.

It would be one thing if he was getting paid to do this, but no. No, this is practically a charity case. Stupid Rohan.

Feng would've enjoyed crushing him if the kid had just removed the shackles. But no, he couldn't do that, either.

He had to go and be difficult.

So here Feng is.

In a dungeon, it appears. A dungeon belonging to a sadist who might even rival Feng in his taste for blood and pain.

Well, that is yet to be seen.

If nothing else, Cruciatus might prove interesting. Causing Feng actual pain isn't an easy thing to do. Even when something hurts, Feng can handle it. In fact, Feng has never found a limit to the amount of pain he can handle.

Not even when Zin takes a blade to him.

Which is funny, considering that Zin is the Major God of Pain back home. It makes the poor beastie so upset when he can't get Feng to scream.