Catch the Thunder

The Bowels of Hell

Warning: Contains violence, blood, and torture.

I did some fun things with the audio, included (dun-dun-duuuuuun) sound effects! More than just me slapping my thigh or accidentally breaking glass.

Audio: http://chirb.it/yFPIf5

***

Laxus plodded down a dark staircase with a bare light bulb flickering overhead. Each step groaned under his weight as he descended the treacherous stairs to a basement.

'Like entering the bowels of Hell,' he thought to himself, focused on a steel door at the bottom of the murky, creaking shaft.

He passed through the thick door and sealed it shut. Then slowly, eyes adjusting to the dimness, he looked across the hellhole, glaring in disgust.

"Did you have sweet dreams ... son?"

He hated this man, hated him with every fiber of his being. Laxus was thankful for one thing. He looked nothing like his father. It was not like looking in a mirror and dreading that this was what he would be in thirty years. This man with black hair, dark eyes, and mocha-colored skin ... Laxus would never look like him. He would never act like him, either. Ever!

That is, except in this moment, when he hurt his own flesh and blood.

Ivan Dreyar still had a scab on his lip and flakes of blood on the corner of his mouth from the struggle to capture him yesterday. Despite that, he stood defiantly, chained to a wall with cuffs around his wrists and ankles keeping him spread. He had urinated himself in the night, but that bit of humiliation did not lessen the defiance in his face.

"Did you call up that little boyfriend of yours this morning?" Ivan asked mockingly. "Did you say sweet things and wish him a good day at work before heading down here ... to dirty your hands with blood? I still can't believe it, though," he said with sardonic amusement. "Somehow, fate mocked me and gave me a son who's a fag."

Laxus punched him in the gut, making Ivan double over as far as his bonds allowed.

"You have no right to say who I should love," Laxus sneered. "You showed me no love at all."

Ivan tried to straighten up, although he still cringed from the hit. Still, he grinned vilely. "I wonder what lies you're feeding him. What did you tell him you're doing? A business trip, maybe?" He scoffed and wondered, "What sort of business would an idiot son like you do, anyway? I wonder what he'll think of you once he realizes his lover lied. He'll probably hate you. He'll never want you in his ass again."

Laxus backhanded him, making the corner of Ivan's mouth reopen and bleed. "Shut the fuck up. You don't know Freed. He'll probably cry, but he's good at forgiving. Besides," Laxus muttered, "he'll never know. I don't plan on telling him a thing."

"Oh?" Ivan asked in a mocking tone. He spit out a stream of blood. "How long did you say you'd be gone? A few days? A few months? You probably want to kill me, and I confess, I'm totally at your mercy. I can't break free. Believe me, I tried." He wiggled his hands, with blood streaking down the arms where he had struggled so hard against the metal cuffs, he sliced up his wrists. "You could have killed me yesterday, but you didn't. You're going to drag this out. I know I would!" he said with a cruel smirk. "You're not that much different from me after all."

Laxus aimed his knee up into Ivan's torso, breaking a few ribs. The man screamed and cursed in pain, but he still glared defiantly.

"So, how long do I put up with it?" he grunted through the agony. "What'd you tell your fag lover? Three days? A week? How long are you going to make him suffer just so you can indulge that sadistic side you inherited?"