Torment_Caulborn 6

by Nicholas Olivo

  The fuckwit doctor adjusted his spectacles and looked me up and down. “Ah,” he said after a moment. “He appears to be carrying an artifact that we had not previously noticed. Gaston, release his left arm.” The big demon complied, and my left arm fell limply to my side. The shithead doctor took my wrist, pulled back what was left of my sleeve, and revealed the chronometer the Tempus had given me. His nose wrinkled in distaste as he regarded it. “Humans toying with time. Despicable.” He pointed at it and inclined his chin at me. “Remove that.”

  “Yeah,” I said, amazed at my luck. “Sure thing.” I brought my hand to the chronometer and spun one of the dials on its face. Time came to a screeching halt around me, and I lurched toward the door —

  —Only to be caught by Gaston. The peckerhead doctor stood in front of me, shaking his head. “I admire your persistence, Corinthos, but we in the Pit are immune to such parlor tricks. Turn the device off.”

  Slouching, I did as requested. Then Gaston took hold of me around the waist, squeezing so tightly that the cake from my eleventh birthday threatened to come back up. The asshat doctor inspected the chronometer, then fumbled at its leather strap for a moment, trying to puzzle out how to take it off.

  “Good luck with that,” I wheezed. “Even I can’t get it off.”

  “I see,” the doctor said. I was so tired now that I couldn’t think of anymore disparaging adjectives to apply to the doctor. I watched as he produced a scalpel from his lab coat and drew it across the leather band of the chronometer. The ultra sharp blade didn’t even mark the band’s surface. “Carthos, could you shape your brand to a simple line, please?” The blue-skinned demon complied, and they tried to burn the chronometer off. While my skin around the band began to blister, the band itself remained pristine.

  The doctor pointed at the band of the chronometer. “Some kind of enchanted leather. Impervious to cutting, tearing, or unwanted removal. Very effective for binding slaves; we use something like it down in the lower circles.”

  “Is that right?” Carthos asked. “Well that’s interesting, Doctor, but how are you going to get it off?”

  “There are less orthodox ways,” he said. And with that, a cleaver appeared in his hand, and he struck down, chopping my arm off at the elbow. I screamed, stars exploding in my vision, and my mind so desperately wanted to black out, but wasn’t allowed to. “Release him,” I heard the doctor say. I collapsed to the floor, cradling my mangled arm. “Gaston, burn the arm and, if the artifact survives the flames, store it in one of the vaults. Carthos, I believe your work here is done. A pleasure to see you, as always. Scathiks, note that amputation was required to relieve the subject of a Chronicler’s chronometer.”

  Even through the pain, it surprised me that the doctor knew the chronometer’s origin. But then I realized it was more than likely some of them had wound up here, too. The cockwaffle doctor took a seat in the chair I’d occupied for a few moments earlier, his fingers tented in front of his face. I wanted to spout off a one-liner, something, anything to be defiant, but between the hole in my soul, my arm, and the burns from Carthos’s iron, I couldn’t even manage an, “Is that all you’ve got?”

  After a time, my arm stopped hurting and the burns on my chest faded to manageable levels of pain. I struggled to a sitting position, stunned at how off balance I felt without my left forearm. I glanced at the stump. It had healed over, a nub of pink flesh where the rest of my arm and hand had been.

  “Now then,” the doctor said. “An interesting side effect of temporal manipulation is that it accelerates one’s own healing. You’ve likely experienced this on numerous occasions, being able to recover from wounds that should have incapacitated or killed you. I did not have Carthos limit this particular gift, because the faster you heal, the more you can be tortured. If Lord Orcus wishes your healing slowed or stifled all together, then so be it, but for now, know that you will heal, and in all likelihood your arm will grow back.”

  As the doctor had been speaking, Gaston returned to the room, having disposed of my limb and chronometer. “Thank you, Gaston,” he said, keeping his attention on me. “One other thing” — he held up a finger at me as if he’d just remembered something — “You will retain your ability to view events from your past. We find that in most circumstances, allowing an individual to remember happy times, knowing that they will never get those back, is quite potent.” He paused, and gave a slight frown. “At this point, I would normally prescribe a punishment for you, tailored to your specific physiological and psychological profiles. However, I have been informed that Lord Orcus has his own plans for you.” He turned to Scathiks, who’d been watching this entire thing with delight. “Scathiks, kindly tell Lord Orcus that Vincent Corinthos is now prepared for the welcoming ceremony.”

  “Welcoming ceremony?” I asked.

  “Oh yes. Everything we’ve done here is to ensure you’re ready for it. But I’ll let Lord Orcus explain it to you. I’d hate to steal his thunder, and despite my best efforts, you’ve gone and bled all over my examination room. I do detest messes. Gaston, take him back to the waiting room.” The demonic orderly grabbed me by the back of the neck and bodily hurled me through the door, where I crashed into one of the chairs in the waiting room. The door to the exam room slammed shut and then vanished into the wall. I managed to crawl up into the chair and leaned my head back against the wall. My link with the kobolds was completely severed; I couldn’t feel them or touch their hearts. I looked down at my chest, expecting to see a miniature black hole in my sternum, but all I saw were the brandings blocking my other powers.

  Part of me wanted to cry, part of me wanted to rage around the room, throw the chair, kick, scream, something. Another part, the part that had been mutilated, just wanted to die. I’d lost so many people lately: the Urisk, Kristin, Commander Courageous, Galahad, Megan, and now the kobolds. I’d learned a long time ago that life wasn’t fair, but this had pushed me to my breaking point. I’d like to say that I calmly detached myself from the situation and looked at it objectively. The truth was that it took me a few minutes to get my emotions under control. Hate, rage, regret, self-pity, it all whirled around my head like a cyclone. When I finally finished wiping away the tears, I took a breath. I needed to figure a way out of this. There were still people out there who needed me. And people that I wasn’t ready to leave behind. Petra’s face sprang to the front of my mind. I was going home to her. I wasn’t going to rot in the Pit because of that bullshit promise. The first step to getting back to her was to see just how complete the severing of my powers had been.

  I started out by trying to create a portal, and it felt like I’d plunged my body into a vat of acid. I fell from the chair onto the floor, my teeth grinding against the pain. I panted there until the agony subsided and pulled myself back up into the chair. Once I felt up for it, I staggered over to the door and tried to Open it. This time, it felt like a sword had been driven through my midsection. I collapsed again, eyes screwed shut, not wanting to give anyone who might be watching the satisfaction of hearing me cry out. Another eternity passed while the pain subsided. Okay, no portals, no Opening. I ran my hand over my face, then slid it down my left arm, holding my stump.

  Think, dammit, think.

  Wait. Could I use tachyon to turn back the clock? Without the chronometer, my powers wouldn’t be inhibited. Carthos did a thorough job, but these demons kept reacting like temporal manipulation wasn’t something they saw everyday, so maybe he hadn’t blocked my time powers fully.

  He had. I’d just finished projectile vomiting when a voice came from behind me.

  “How ya feeling, kid?”

  I glared up at Orcus, who was smiling at me from a few feet away. “I’d give you a double-middle finger right now, but I’m down a hand,” I growled. “So I’ll settle for giving you one middle finger twice.”

  Orcus sighed and shook his head as I ge
stured at him. “Mature, kid, real mature. You know, you keep thinking I’m the bad guy here, but you did this to yourself. You knew what it was to make a promise, you knew the ramifications, and you did it anyway.” He spread his hands. “I don’t make the rules, kid. I just see they’re enforced. You’re going to have all eternity to come to grips with that, but for now, we need to get you ready.”

  “For this welcome ceremony I keep hearing about?”

  “Exactly. You’ve been introduced to the citizens of the Pit. That’s part one. Then you get prepped for part two. See, your followers don’t know that you’re gone yet. Your priests and anyone you’ve bequeathed power to might sense that something is off, but they won’t understand what. And the rest of your congregation is completely oblivious to what’s happened to you. So now, we take you to the welcome ceremony. There’s a bit of theater first, and then you and I will contact your followers together and let them know what’s happened to you. You’ll get to say a final goodbye to them, and then you’ll be sealed off from their prayers forever, but you’ll still feel what they feel for a time. Mostly, you’ll feel their fear and pain and suffering, because honestly, what else do a people feel when they find out their god is effectively dead to them?”

  Orcus chuckled. “There was one fella, though, came through here about 5000 B.C., who told his followers to have a massive drunken orgy. He figured that if he felt what his followers did, he wanted to get sloshed out of his mind. Well, to everyone’s surprise, that worked. He was three sheets to the wind for a few nights, lived it up real good. And when it was done, we made sure his hangover was one worthy of the old epic tales. It’s still going on today, in fact.

  “Ah, but listen to me going on,” Orcus said as he checked his pocket watch. “We have work to do. Let’s go.” He put a hand on my shoulder, and in a puff of brimstone-scented smoke, we vanished from the waiting room and appeared in what looked like a football stadium. We stood on a rocky expanse, surrounded by rows and rows of bleachers, all packed with red – and blue – and green-skinned demons. I spun in a circle, taking all of it in. There were some demons moving through the rows, selling drinks and food. Higher up, there were some enclosed boxes, no doubt reserved for the more prestigious demons. An enormous Jumbo-Tron screen, stretching at least a hundred and thirty feet across, showed Orcus and me in hi-def for the demons in the nosebleed seats.

  “You’re quite the spectacle, kid,” Orcus said. “The people down here haven’t had a fallen god, half-breed or otherwise, in so long that you’re a novelty. The bigwigs like Hades aren’t interested in you. They’ve got more important matters at hand, but you are the biggest thing these regular demons have seen in centuries. Look there.” He pointed at a vendor who was moving through the bleachers, selling T-shirts with my face on the front. “You might not be able to read what it says at this distance,” Orcus said. “It says, ‘I Was There When Corinthos Broke.’”

  “Classy,” I muttered. “Do I get a cut of the royalties for those shirts?”

  Orcus smiled at me. “That’s good, keep your sense of humor for as long as you can, kid. Too many people down here lose theirs.” A series of tones played from a speaker system. “Ah, we’re ready to begin.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” a Monday Night Football-style announcer’s voice said. “Welcome to the breaking of Vincent Corinthos.” The crowd cheered for a moment, and when it died down, the announcer continued. “Today we have the special privilege of watching a god fall. For all of you, this is a day that will live in your memories forever, something you will be telling your offspring about for generations to come. To commence the ceremony, please welcome Lord Orcus.”

  The crowd went nuts, and Orcus beamed out at them. After basking in their applause for a moment, he put up his hands for silence. The crowd went quiet so quickly it was as if someone had pressed a mute button on them. “Thank you, thank you. Today, we witness the breaking of a god who broke a promise. In a few minutes, we will contact his followers and let him speak his final message to them. But first, the ceremonial combat.” The crowd roared.

  “Whoa, hold up. Combat?” I asked, grabbing Orcus’s arm.

  Orcus merely smiled and removed my hand from his sleeve. “For those of you who are new to this sort of ceremony,” he said to the crowd, “when we sever a god from his followers, it’s important that those followers see the god bloodied and broken, see that their god has utterly and truly fallen and failed. And the best way to convey that is through simple and brutal combat. Announcer,” — he looked up at one of the boxes — “tell them who Vincent is fighting.”

  “Why, today,” the announcer’s voice boomed, “Vincent’s opponent is none other than GUALTANO.” The crowd went absolutely crazy. A moment later, a gate at the far end of the field opened, and a demon that looked like the Incredible Hulk on steroids thundered onto the field. His body was covered in red scales, and bony protrusions extended past his knuckles by about two feet. On the Jumbo-Tron, a photo of Gualtano was displayed, along with his career stats. My opponent had slaughtered over ten thousand souls in his time, and had been MVP in the 2015 Wrath Bowl, whatever that was. He raised one massive fist to acknowledge the crowd as he walked toward us, his swaggering gait reminding me of so many condescending bastards I’d fought in my life. He stopped a few feet from Orcus and me, and leaned in to the god of oaths.

  “Lord Orcus,” he said in a voice that was like rocks crashing against one another, “this is an honor. I have never broken a god before.”

  “Thought you’d like to add that to your résumé, Gualtano,” Orcus said as he shook the demon’s hand. “Just don’t break the kid’s jaw, he needs to be able to speak.” He turned back to me. “Think about what you want to say to your followers, kid. I’ll be back when the fight’s done.” With that, he vanished in a puff of smoke.

  “Gualtano,” the announcer called, “are you ready?” Gualtano nodded, and the crowd erupted in a fresh burst of applause. The announcer did not ask if I was ready, probably because he knew I wasn’t and likely never would be. “Then begin!”

  The fight, if you could call it that, was over in just a few seconds, but lasted a lifetime. I had no powers, no weapons, and was missing one of my hands. Gualtano, on the other hand, was nearly twice my size, outweighed me by half a ton, and appeared to be made of muscle and bone blades. His first punch shattered my ribs; his second ruptured my kidneys. After the third hit, I was vomiting blood. As I lay on my stomach, and honestly, I didn’t remember falling to the ground, that’s how fast this was happening, Gualtano drove a massive, bone-encrusted fist into the small of my back, shattering my spine. I screamed. So did the crowd, but for very different reasons. Asshole demons.

  “And the breaking is complete,” the announcer called to thunderous applause. I coughed up some more blood and looked at Gualtano, who was striding around me in a circle, his arms raised to the crowd. The announcer continued, “How the mighty have fallen! This is a record, folks. Gualtano has executed the fastest god-breaking in history. Today will be one for the record books!”

  Orcus appeared at my side, squatting down next to me. He gave me a quick once over, then stood up and shook Gualtano’s hand again. “Quick, efficient, brutal,” he whispered. “You’re a true professional.” Gualtano bowed to Orcus and left the arena, basking in the adoration of the crowd.

  “And now, for the second stage of the ceremony, we return to Lord Orcus,” the announcer called.

  “Thank you,” Orcus said, producing his spectacles and perching them on his nose as he took a sheet of rolled parchment from an inside jacket pocket. He cleared his throat and read, “Vincent Corinthos, you, as a god, have failed to keep a promise. Your powers have been stripped from you, and you have been broken in ritualistic combat. Now you will be severed from your followers, once and for all.” He knelt down beside me and placed a hand on my head. Something wormed its way through my
mind, snapping out, and suddenly, I was inside all of the kobolds’ heads at once, seeing everything they saw. This should have been disorienting, but I’d done this once before, when I’d helped the kobolds fight off Carmilla’s forces.

  “Followers of Vincent Corinthos,” Orcus’s voice intoned, and every one of the kobolds jumped, their reptilian features distorting in confusion. “Your god has failed to keep a promise, and this failure has damned him to Tartarus for all eternity. He will no longer protect you or answer your prayers. He will no longer bless you or provide for you. He is to be forgotten, and shall suffer for all eternity in the Pit for his crimes. See him now, see how he was broken.” A highlight film of the fight I’d just had with Gualtano played through the kobolds’ minds, and mirrored for the audience on the Jumbo-Tron. I could feel their shock and disbelief. It was strongest from Kleep and Jeal. To them, it was an outright refusal to accept what they were seeing.

  “Before he is exiled from you for all time, he will speak to you one last time.” Orcus nudged me. “Make it good, kid.”

  I struggled to take a breath, trying to think of what to say. And then I remembered something Orcus said earlier, and I jumped on it. “Drink some Astral,” I said. “All of you. As much as is safe.”

  Orcus waited a moment, and when it was clear that I wasn’t saying anything else, he frowned at me and severed the connection to the kobolds. “Really, kid? That’s it? You want them to get drunk like that guy I told you about earlier?” He shook his head in disgust. The crowd booed at me. The words Fallen God appeared on the Jumbo-Tron, over a close-up of my bloodied face. Another stat block appeared. “Worst farewell speech in five thousand years.” Orcus was still shaking his head. “Honestly, I expected more from you. Ah, well.” He got to his feet and walked away. “Scathiks,” I heard him call. “Take him to his chambers.”