Hell on Earth (Boyxboy)

Chapter 20: Memories

"Fuck you, bitch." I'm so fuck...

"You will sorely regret your disobedience, pig. The offer no longer stands. Tell me where Joseph is, and maybe I won't end you."

With that, a burning pain overtook Aziz, flooding through his veins and making him scream out.

And so it began.

***

Memphos got up from the bed, wiping the blood off his knife with a velvet rag. He didn't bother to put his clothes on, but rather walked around in only a pair of dark boxers. The demon moved through the room, cleaning up various objects and even picking up his clothing (something that his servants could've easily done). He didn't bother, though, to clean off the copious amounts of blood spatter and smeared upon himself.

He wanted Luvart to see all the blood... And lack of clothing. The thought of his reaction, the way the demon would squirm, made Memphos smirk.

Aziz watched him, though he could barely see him... the afrit's eyes were blurry with tears and swelling.

The pain was unreal. Everything hurt, ached, burned. His body was tied, though even if he wasn't bound, Aziz knew he wouldn't be able to move. Memphos had made sure of that. The sickening crunch of bone after bone, mixed with the nauseating laughter of the demon king, still echoed in the afrit's mind.

Everything burned. But at least he had stopped. A couple times Aziz had thought the torture would end, the sweet solace of unconsciousness sweeping in, only to find himself brought back from the brink by a sickening snap of Menphos' fingers.

Now Memphos was walking around, his red hair disheveled from the activities, drinking a cup of tea. When did he get tea? Aziz knew he was in such a pathetic state to not even question the lapse in time. Memphos looked up from the paper he was holding, a smirk on his lips, and made eye contact with Aziz.

Shit... was all he could say before Memphos snapped his fingers and the oxygen, and room, began to dim.

But at least the pain would end.

***

Aziz smirked, the blood staining his extended razor teeth. The whole room smelt of blood, and death, and pain.

It gave the afrit a high like no other. Not sex, not drugs, not even consuming souls could compare to the thrill of the kill- of torture.

The form of a woman, in her early 30s, barely moved at his feet. She wimpered, unable to make coherent words through her broken jaw and smashed teeth. A few feet away, her dead husband lay, his organs spewed about and half eaten.

Flies were already beginning to buzz about the shredded corpse.

The afrit smirked down, his smile growing as he could feel, could taste her fear and pain.... Just as he had felt her husband's, not an hour ago.

It was glorious.

The afrit's pupils dilated as he grabbed the young woman, dragging her up the stairs, a blood stain left on the pink carpet of the couple's living room, snail-trailing behind them.

She was in a night gown- once white but now soaked in blood and torn.

Another wimper escaped from the woman's ruined face as Aziz roughly pulled her up the stairs. He wanted to kill the woman in private.. A seperate death from her husband.

There was something that appealed to Aziz, something strangely enjoyable, that urged him to kill seperately. It was more pleasurable to murder and rip and shred in a clean room. Almost zenful and tranquil. Killing multiple people in one place... It would get cluttered and rushed.