Crimson's Prophecy

Torture sessions

He was hobbling while a slim, tall man dragged him from one room to the next. Here he was at a place which he would refer to as a prison if he could see it - although no one at the huge building called it that; there were cells on the right and left side of a narrow hallway. It was darker here than in any other place of the Kathrenian universe. You could look three feet in any direction and wouldn't see a thing until your eyes got used to the darkness again - only at the beginning of the hallway had hung a small light bulb.

If Crimson still had had his vision, he would have seen the bony arms of the man and his silhouette. "You'll go to Gyrthon," the tall man said. "He'll take care of you in the best of all possible ways here - which is one of the worst ways you can imagine." He probably smirked. Crimson could feel that his voice sounded like he wore joy on his lips, anyway, as the man opened the door. "Hey, Gyrthon! This one's for you. His name's Crim."

"It's Crimson," the young man corrected.

The other who had towed him through the hallway looked at him. His staring eyes weren't visible to Crimson, but the man's gaze still was uncomfortable. "Gyrthon will add something to your pain meter for that. Have fun!"

He left him to this other man called Gyrthon who seemingly was the guy in the room who looked like he'd drank way too much beer in his life, not to say his stomach was big and wide. That's what Crimson would have seen because of the small amount of light that came from some windows covered with grids. He had short hair.

"My pain meter gets higher the less you tell and the more truth I can find in your little amount of words. That's how easy my rules are. If you don't know something, tell me immediately so that I can stop before you feel the pain you didn't deserve to feel. After all, we respect human's rights."

Crimson needed all his self-composure - and that's what he took -, but all he wanted in this very moment was to laugh out really loud because of those few words Gyrthon had spoken with a ton of seriousness too much in his voice.

"We don't want to waste our valuable time here, so let's get started," the older man said. "Why did you come to this world?"

It was again something Gyrthon said which Crimson hadn't expected. He had no problems to answer - no problems to avoid pain for now. "I came to it because I was dragged here by creatures. They made me fa-"

Gyrthon nodded. "Thank you, that's all I need to know. When were you born, Crim?"

He didn't dare to mention how people actually called him. "I was born in 3066 B.C. In the South side of the Province."

"Ah, the good old Province," Gyrthon commented before simply going on with his question catalog. "Where do you originate from?"

"Excuse me?"

"Thanks for that answer. You must be from planet earth on the Other side, with the Watery Way and all that, you know what I'm talking about." Gyrthon paused. "That's not what I had expected, but it's also no reason to set your pain meter up. How did you join the Cult?"

"I wouldn't say I joined it. I was born into it because my parents..."

"Alright, thanks. Now there's only one more question before we get serious here..."

Crimson had hoped for it. He had hoped for it so much not to hear what Gyrthon had just said. It reminded him of Gerald who once had done something similar to him and then had taken his whip to create the scars which graced Crimson's forehead for years now.

"Which creatures were in the heads of your parents? All I'm asking for is names."

Crimson shook his head. "I don't know." His voice was so dry as if he already knew what to expect. "Is there a way how I could have..."