Chapter II: Torture

Tristan is bound.

          Tristan awoke in a shroud of darkness. He could no longer feel the wound in his shoulder, but chains cut into his wrists and blood trickled down them. He could feel a cold, hard wall against his back. Screaming, he pulled the chains as far as they would go. It was no use. He couldn’t break free. Not after being imprisoned.

          It was too late.

          For a reason beyond his comprehension, he wondered what had become of Sean. Did that monster finish the job he could not? Was there no longer a Sean in existence? Tristan slammed his back against the wall and slid onto the floor. Sean was just a boy, even younger than he was. Had he ever felt a drop of happiness in his short life? If he was gone, what did it matter now?

          Suddenly, a dim light invaded the darkness. Tristan could see Lindsay standing in front of him. The girl just stared at him with vacant eyes. Her chest was bleeding where Sean had stabbed her heart.

          “You could have saved me,” she said sadly. “You killed Sean but what good was that if he already killed me?”

          Tristan stood up to face her and shouted, “Go away! It isn’t you!”

          The girl laughed. “How perceptive of you. How could an innocent girl like me ever go to hell? Of course I’m not her.” Grinning, she flashed hideous fangs and then morphed into the devil. He was wearing his KILL shirt again.

          “I’m beginning to enjoy torturing you, but it gets old fast,” he said. “Why don’t I start making use of you?”

          “Or you could send me to earth and take some advice from that shirt you’re wearing,” Tristan suggested bitterly.

          “Still impudent? Would you like to be whipped in the face?” asked Satan with a sadistic smile.

          “No.”

          “Then pain is your weakness. Let’s see how long you can handle it.” Tristan grimaced as the devil conjured a long whip with several spiked strands.

          Shutting his eyes, he felt a sharp pain and rough metal rip through his face, chest, and abdomen. Using every bit of his strength to keep from screaming, he couldn’t give in.

His breathing grew heavy as he endured the mutilation of his flesh. When blood pooled onto the floor, he lost the strength to stand. His torn body collapsed to the ground and he quickly passed out.

          Letting the whip disintegrate in his hand, Satan smirked, satisfied by his work. He had successfully turned the heavenly angel into a gruesome corpse from a horror movie. However, he had to admit that Tristan won, and he had underestimated his strength. Somehow, he would have to challenge him in a different way, one that would finally defeat him.

 

 

          Sean was nearby in the Dungeon of Isolation. Satan never thought there could be a use for him concerning Tristan. When Sean first arrived in hell, all he wanted was to get rid of the boy, but now he felt like there was a reason to keep him alive.

As he left the chamber and headed toward the dungeon, he wondered why. It was true that Tristan wasn’t able to kill Sean. Did that also mean he couldn’t let him die by any means? There was only one way to find out.

          He entered the dungeon and found Sean huddled in a corner. “Still don’t believe you’re in hell?” he asked him callously.

The boy was unresponsive. He was so afraid, that he couldn’t even look him in the eyes. For hours he had been shut up in total darkness, until Satan came. Now there was a dim lighting with no perceivable source.

          “It seems you know why I’ve come. Otherwise you wouldn’t still be cowering in fear.” Sean’s conscience began to acknowledge his visitor. He had so many questions that remained unanswered, but there was no way this demon would answer all of them.

          Reluctantly, he lifted his head and asked, “What’s going to happen to me?”

          Satan raised his eyebrows in surprise. He hadn’t expected the boy to speak. “Nothing you can look forward to,” he said gruffly, dragging him away by the neck of his shirt. Sean gasped, clawing at the air as if he could hold on to something.

          “No!” he cried out, but even outside the dungeon, not a soul could hear him.

          “Will he ever shut up?” Satan muttered. The constant screaming was starting to grade on his ears. Just to keep his cool, he counted the seconds until he finally dragged him into the Chamber of Torture.

He liked to give his prison cells legitimate names, since they were an important part of his kingdom. As he entered, candles lit up along the walls. He could see Tristan still fallen across the room. The angel appeared less grotesque, meaning his body had taken some time to heal. Before he woke up, Satan would have to set the stage.

 

 

          Tristan’s eyes squinted open. Even while he was unconscious, the pain was excruciating. Now it was finally gone and his body was fully healed. He could see again, better than before. He was in a room dimly lit by candles set in its four walls. Since he was still chained to a wall, he probably hadn’t been moved. When he looked down and saw the pool of red liquid beneath him, he was certain.

          Standing out of his mess, he felt filthy. He wanted to wash off all the dry blood from his skin, hair, and clothes, but there wasn’t any water. Soon enough, that was the last of his concerns.

          As he looked back up at the room, his senses reawakened and he noticed a wooden bench in the center. Sean was tied to his back on it. He appeared to be struggling against the ropes, but he couldn’t move anything except his head. Not far above him, was a crescent-shaped blade swinging slowly in the manner of a pendulum.

Hiss. It sounded like a sword slicing through the air. After watching it intensely for several minutes, Tristan began to think it was slowly moving down… straight for Sean’s abdomen.

          “This must be Satan’s new idea of torture,” he said to himself. “He wants me to save you, by selling my soul.”

          Sean started screaming, terrified by the menacing hiss of the blade. From his perspective, it appeared to already be upon him.

          “I failed to protect you from yourself,” Tristan continued. “It’s really my fault that you killed Lindsay, so I’m the one that should be punished.”

          The pendulum was only inches away. Sean was already sucking in his stomach and trying not to breathe.

Tristan narrowed his eyes and said, “I know what I must do.”

          Sean was too paralyzed to scream anymore. As the ropes were frayed, he silently begged himself to pass out from fear.

          “Satan!” Tristan shouted as loud as he could. “It is you I serve! Now stop this! How can you torture me if he’s dead!”

There was no answer. Could the devil even hear him? Even if he did, it was his game, and Tristan had no control over it. Beaten, he slid back down into his pool of blood and watched helplessly.

“I’m sorry, Sean,” he whispered.

          With one swing left to finally penetrate Sean’s body, the hissing ceased. Sean saw the blade disintegrate before him. He breathed in again, releasing the tension.

          “You can open your eyes, Tristan,” the devil whispered in his ear. Tristan jumped, looking next to him to see his evil resemblance. Had he been sitting there all along with that same sick smile on his face?

          Then he looked for the pendulum, but it was gone. Sean was okay. Humiliated, he hid his face on his knees. Satan had heard him apologize.

“Heh heh heh, I embarrassed you,” the devil teased. “Why don’t we leave this dreary place? Perhaps that will draw you out of your shell.”

Tristan looked up at him shyly. “Okay.”

Satan grinned, and in the blink of an eye, they were in a completely different environment. It was a room lit by a warm fireplace, the floor covered in royal blue carpet. Tristan, now unchained, was seated next to Satan on a luxurious sofa. Bookshelves and a desk lined the windowless walls.

          “This is the study of my castle, far from the depths of hell where we were before,” Satan explained. “You’ve already been in the courtyard outside, where you landed.”

          “So there is an actual design for this place. It’s not just full of imagination,” Tristan commented.

          For the first time, Satan looked at him pleasantly. “I see you haven’t noticed your appearance yet. I restored you to your previous state.”

          Tristan glanced down at himself. His shirt and jeans were in perfect condition.

          “Now back to business,” said Satan, not expecting a thank you. “I already have a job for you.”

          “Spill it,” Tristan mumbled, staring down at the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

          “I shall, my enthusiastic one. You see, there is a certain soul only you can buy me. She’s too pure to win with riches.”

          His eyes turned back to his master and lit up with interest. “You’re talking about a woman?” he asked.

          “Yes,” answered Satan, soaking in the attention. “Not only will you have to save her from poverty, but you will have to seduce her as well. While you’re on earth I will grant you powers, including ones you used as an angel. That way, you can successfully portray the heavenly angel you were before.”

          “So you want me to lie to her also?” asked Tristan, disgust evident on his face.

          “To start things out smoothly, yes.”

          Tristan sighed, exasperated. “How am I supposed to seduce a woman? As an angel, I’ve never had feelings of the kind, so I don’t understand them.”

          Satan leaned back against the sofa and said, “As a demon, they will come naturally to you, but if you want, I can give you a few tips.”

“Like what?” Tristan asked curiously.

A mischievous grin shot across the devil’s face, before he replied, “When it comes to women, they all want that emotional touch. Fun never equals pleasure. They only care if you express feelings of love in return. Now I am a master at acting those feelings, but I sense you will need to experience them from the heart before you can gain that ability.”   

          “E-mo-tion-al tou-ch?” Tristan pronounced.

          “You know, a romantic hug, a kiss of the lips…anything that closed mind of yours can imagine.”

          Tristan glared at him. He hated feeling so clueless about something that seemed to be common knowledge. It was like being a foreigner in a distant land.

          “Don’t worry about it,” Satan reassured, messing up Tristan’s hair as if he were intentionally trying to make it a wreck. “I know you’ll be fine.”

          Tristan stiffened uncomfortably. “Just because we made a deal doesn’t mean you can treat me like your pet,” he protested.

          “Oh I wouldn’t say I’m treating you. Your hair looked better than mine, so I made it worse.”

          “Maybe you should have left it in its previous state.”

          “But then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of messing it up again.”

          Sickened by the devil’s selfishness, Tristan threw off his hand and headed to the door.

          “It’s impossible for you to open that door, you know,” Satan remarked. In spite, Tristan tried to force it open, but after many attempts, he utterly failed.

          “What if you make it a gateway to earth?” he asked desperately. “Then will you let me through? I promise to begin my task.”

          Satan smirked cleverly. “It would be my pleasure. I will open it for you.”

          He walked to the door and turned the knob to pull it open, while Tristan scoffed at the simplicity of it.

          On the other side appeared a young woman, kneeling in front of an altar. She couldn’t see them, for they faced her back. She was in a church lined with Gothic, stained-glass windows.

          “Approach her carefully whilst she prays,” said Satan, “and remember to fix your hair first.” He shoved him lightly forward, and stayed behind as the door closed shut.