No Way Out

Broken

There was little Ravus could do once his limbs and torso were pinned to the chair like they were. He'd fallen straight into the duke's trap with no form of escape with his pendant taken from him. At first he resisted the thug's grip on his head, but once the grip tightened, crushing its weight against his jaw, he was forced to cease resistance. The duke's sickening laughter filled the room, and the nobleman's mouth was stuffed, silencing him. He groaned, the pressure on his jaw as it pried his mouth open ached terribly, and his hands tightened into fists. Then, his head was held up, and secured to watch the nightmare that came next. One would think to close their eyes at this point, and Ravus definitely tried. However, upon doing so, he was delivered visions of the duke's own visual perspective, giving him an even closer view. There was no escaping it.

His heart sank deep in his chest as the duke revealed loud and clear who had delivered the most pain to the slave that dreadful night. He didn't want the slave to know. He instinctively tried to speak out, but the only sounds that made their way passed the gag were muffled moans and grunts. That act itself resulted in a harsh kick in the shin from one of the thugs, something the duke harshly criticized. They needed to avoid causing any more physical damage to the nobleman than what the ropes would give him due to straining against him. The only option was for Ravus to watch silently. Dread spread through every part of his body as the duke's icy glare pierced through him, and the grin that followed would haunt the nobleman for the rest of his life. A grin that told him everything without a single word or demonstration. The gag was pulled from the slave's mouth, and crumpled to the floor beneath, tossed aside for the slave's voice to reach out as loud as it could possibly be. Then came the assault. The first lash reverberated through the entire room, slicing through the still air around them. He could hear the whoosh and crack of the whip as it struck like lightning, forcing every single pained groan and gasp from the slave's throat. It entered the nobleman's ears, drawing forth the memory from the previous night. He shut his eyes, only to find himself in the duke's perspective. A pool of blood spread beneath the slave, dripping from his open wounds after each shattering lash. The nobleman forced his eyes open, and the same nightmare repeated itself. He couldn't run. He couldn't turn away. He could scream, or tug. Every single sound was heard, every single action was absorbed into his memory.

Never was one whipping session enough. The cane delivered yet more pain as the slave's body trembled beneath its authority. The air was filled to the brim with the sound of the slave's cries, which was absolute bliss to the duke, who sought them out more and more. Then came the sobs. Over and over, the slave cried, and the result brought him even more strikes. Blood stained the floor, and the thin silk covering his body, which was being shredded by each lash and strike. There wasn't an ounce of untouched flesh left below the neck, which was squeezed tight by the collar. The screams grew louder as the duck found pleasure in striking the slave's sensitive parts, tearing at the skin. The mist prevented the slave from numbing himself to the pain. Each and every touch was felt with as much clarity as the last. The wax hit the slave's open wounds, stinging at the bright red, tender flash. The nobleman's soul was being chipped away at with each cry of agony that echoed in his ears. He wanted to shut it out. He wanted it to stop. His nails dug into his palms as his fists tightened, the only bit of movement that he was allowed. His mind began to shut down yet again, clouded by a shroud of darkness that gradually consumed his very being. Somehow the duke had found out, and now he was punishing both of them by beating the absolute shit out of someone who was already so small, and torn up beneath a monstrous power. The treatment dragged on for what felt like an eternity. The slave was constantly repositioned, and each repositioning led to a new form of torture. The duke used all of it, and when the nobleman thought it couldn't possibly get any worse, the slave let out a piercing scream. His leg was limp, and bent at a terribly unnatural angle, and at that point, the nobleman truly had shut down. His blank gaze continued to absorb everything, but his mind had receded as the duke ravaged the slave's insides. The flesh that tore up inside, and the blood that came with it. The results of the duke's satisfaction that blended with the crimson pools beneath. The image, even brighter than before, seared itself into the nobleman's memory.

What remained was a heap of a thing, barely breathing, and wracked with the most intense pain imaginable. A thing that had once been the son of someone, and once had a name to be called. A thing that no longer mattered to the world as it was. A thing beating, and broken into a shell made for pleasure, and sick, twisted satisfaction. To be beaten, and violated, and broken, and torn apart. The duke's words cut through the nobleman like a sharpened sword. He had caused this. His selfish sense of justice had created that lump of pain on the ground. The gag was pulled away, but the nobleman was silent. His vision was clouded. The scene felt so distant, so hazy. Something else began to form within him. The flame of hatred. Hatred towards the world that allowed such acts to be committed. An intense hatred towards the duke, and every other who took sickening pleasure out of watching a living being get crushed beneath their feet repeatedly. A living being whose right to die was stripped clean from him so that he was drowned in a cycle of torture, and merciless rape. That was the slave's fate. The nobleman had brought him this pain. He was not free from it. He contributed in every way to the slave's suffering. The night he chose himself, and his duty, over a living being. The night the slave was delivered the results of the nobleman's one sided desire to "help" him. What had he been thinking? He was such a fool. A complete, and utter fool.

Ravus was returned his pendant with its chain snapped. Not a word left his lips as the nobleman boarded the carriage. Not even after the carriage door shut, leaving him alone, by himself for the first time that night. Everything felt distant to him, yet the screams continued to resound in his thoughts. They wrapped around every single corner of his mind, digging their thorns into it. When he returned to the palace, he responded minimally to the people who greeted him, acting as if he were a robot on auto pilot. It wasn't until he was finally alone in his room did the human collapse against the door, and covered his face with his hand, biting his lip to fight it back. His heart ached. His eyes stung, yet he was crushed by the fact that the slave's pain was infinitely greater. What had he thought he would accomplish? What did he expect to happen? Wisteria's warning cut through him. She knew the duke better than anyone in the palace. She warned him that the duke was not one to be trifled with. She was right. Yet the plan was already in motion. How could the nobleman face the slave now? He knew everything. That Ravus had been the one to deliver the harshest lashes that one night, and that he was the one responsible for all of the slave's suffering just moments earlier. Tiny trails of blood trickled down his lip as a clear droplet followed close behind.

The screams continued into the night. His mind forced him into a state of exhausted unconsciousness where the the crying and crack of the whip repeated themselves over and over. He was bound yet again to that damned chair, and a gag stuffed into his mouth, prying it wide open. The duke's icy violet eyes pierced the darkness, glaring at him with murderous intent. The slave was yet again at his feet, paralyzed by pain, and barely able to breathe. The rope burns were indistinguishable from the long lashes, and the deep claw marks, and bright red flesh along his rear. His most sensitive part was torn up and limp just like the rest of the slave's body. His hair fell over his blindfold, a mix of blood, and the duke's satisfaction drenching what was probably once a beautiful head of hair. The nobleman awoke on his side on the bed. The memories continued to haunt him even then as he simply laid there, immobile. He didn't even process what time of day it was, or that he had work to do, or that people were waiting for him. He didn't process anything at all, and when he finally did rise, his movements were purely robotic.