Chapter 56: Listen

"Keep your word."

The following contains material that may be distressing to some readers.

Trigger Warnings: Torture, force feeding, drugging, physical and verbal abuse.

Reader discretion is advised.

Music

You try to get the agony over with as quickly as possible. Feverishly working and coughing through the sensation of broken glass, you make no effort to moderate your intake.

The world swims by the time you're halfway through the item. It's obviously pumped full of something to dull your senses.

Everything s l o w s.

The pain subsides.

Everything that isn't crawling and dripping dulls.

Several minutes

or seconds​ or hours​ ​ pass.​

The room tilts. You've struggled through the last of the wafer. The red light and candles littering the room haven't diminished. Certainly no time has passed since the succubus lit them.

Have they been static since she lit them?

A punch is thrown several seconds before you register its contact.

Sluggishly leaning into the blow, you slowly look up to your attacker.

That's right. This is still a demon.

Yech is very exceptional, isn't he?

Why did he help her?

"Good. It's working. You can still hear me, can't you?"

Is she just trying to turn me against everyone? Myself? What is this even about? Why am I here?

"You can still understand me?"

"Why...? What? Yes?"

"I heard you were a fucking lightweight. Guess some things don't change. You sure as shit don't. This is good, though. You'll be able to actually listen."

Another block of flesh is pushed at you. The blood is somehow even thicker. "Here's something sexy, Daddy, you'll fucking love it. An anaphrodisiac. Isn't this great? Even I don't want to touch you anymore."

"...what?"

"Eat."

"N-no. You said—"

"I said you're eating whatever I do with the supplies Yech sent you with, and you're keeping your fucking word."

"Y-you... you could just— give it up. You— you don't—"

"Yeah, I sure want to have you beat and humiliate me in my own fucking domain and then not get mine. Fuck off. Are you going to keep your word, or do I have to make you do your job, too?"

I've been trying to contend with a demon.

Am I not doing the right thing?

How could the Gods not look favorably on me for this?

I thought this was my enemy. They are my enemy, aren't they?

What am I doing?

Your fractured shoulder and bent arm are finally being unshackled. "Use both hands if you have to. Even you should be able to concentrate after finishing this. And I do mean all of this. I've literally got all night, Daddy, and you're keeping your fucking hands to yourself for the rest of it. Got it?"

"Remigius, I never—"

"No. No more talking. You're keeping your mouth full and listening for once in your fucking life. I swear— I will force it all down your mutilated fucking throat myself if I have to." The succubus seems to lean in. Her form is horrifically distorted, blurred and moving altogether too slowly and quickly and she's right in front of you. Her words seem clear, but everything else is entirely incoherent. "Don't make me touch you again."

It's easier to swallow more of your promises than it is to digest the implications of the demon's words.

You keep eating.

Remigius stacks the rest of the 'food' next to you, as you feel the pleasure, the relief, the frustration— everything that's been building up over the course of the evening— fading fast. It's replaced with insufferable discomfort. The edges of the room are sharp and blurred. Her red hair sears against the crimson backdrop that makes your dry eyes and throat somehow burn even more intensely.

The fire in your chest and stomach is practically the only heat left in you, by the time you cough through the last of the second ration. You're unbearably full, and need some form of relief from the pressure. Remembering that your hand is unshackled, you try to sit more comfortably. To at least loosen your belt, to lean back, to do something to ease the clawing fear that you'll actually die if you keep going.

Remigius looks to you. "I didn't say you could fucking stop. This one is going to kick up your appetite. I know that you can't feel it— but your body sure as shit will. It'll get easier. Eat. Listen."

You look back, unable to read the expression on her face. Her exposed and hazy flesh at least seems to do nothing for you. "I can't—"

The sound of splitting wood cuts through the comfortable haze that's settled into the corners of your mind. It takes you a long moment to react.

Looking slowly over, you see that the succubus has gripped so tightly onto the edge of the lounge chair that she's splintered a handful of the furniture off. "If you tell me one more time that you can't do something—"

An afterimage of her form moves towards you. Remigius pushes you against the back of the chair. There's no relief. No wave of pleasure or pain, or anything more than the deep pressure against the back of your spine. With one hand she swipes off your belt, and with the other she puts a hand to your throat. It's unbearable.

"Last warning. Listen. And you don't get to fucking know what's in the rest if you don't. I'm not giving you the fucking option to stop, Daddy."

The sensation of seeds in your lungs is making taking any breath utterly impossible.

The moment she releases her hand, you find yourself doubled over, and coughing hard.

Your distress is interrupted by something being shoved into your mouth.

"Yech's too fucking caught up in wallowing to focus on anything that fucking matters." You want to vomit, to cough, to do something to get out what you can only hope is merely poison, but your limbs aren't cooperating. "Idonea's too fucking old to speak straight. You scared the girls so badly they won't even look at you." The hand that isn't around your throat— coaxing down more of the rations— is ensuring that you can't vomit, can't cough, can't do something to get it out. "Beltoro's too fucking crazy to be worth a damn." Breathing is impossible until you take in the entirety of the drugs, the blood, the meat— so you do. "I want to HELP YOU, YOU ASSHOLE—"

Something buzzing in the back of your head keeps any pain at bay, but the suffocation is unbearable. You get down the worst of it, breathe hard, and get enough air in your lungs to plead. "M-Mercy—! Remigius, stop—!"

Remigius instantly backs off of you, pulling away so hard and fast that your head reels. Whatever it was that she's fed you has your nerves on fire. Everything in the room seems to pull and push away from itself with far more speed than necessary. Your body isn't cooperating at all, but you shakily manage to raise a hand to try and push her away.

Your arm touches the thin air, swiping at an after-image of her body.

You double over again, wincing from the pressure, trying to cough up something— anything— but the demon is back on you. "Don't you fucking dare try and touch me. Touch yourself and your gifts but don't you dare touch me again. I tried to give you a fucking chance!"

She must have taken off her shackle at some point. You realize it long after it makes sense to. You can't think, and try to block out the crushing grip around your throat. The thought that you're going to die. The way she's pinning you, forcing more of the excess into you

You want to pray, but no one is listening.

"Have a fucking depressant, Daddy. You seem to like boozing, and I know Yech's probably ruined that for you by now, too. Isn't it a good thing I've got a way with these things? Isn't it a good fucking thing that at least I know your limits?! Better fucking swallow, Daddy. I wouldn't want you to die on me now!"

This is worse than death. I came down here to die— I hoped that the Gods would see fit to not turn from me if I fell in their service— but what am I doing, really? Wandering in the darkness until something tries to put me down?

How can I call myself a man of the Gods when I've never used Their blessings responsibly?

Is this really how I want to serve Them?

"Take another fucking anesthetic! You think you're hot shit for barely feeling what we do to you?! Have you EVER stopped to think that all that pain is a sign to FUCKING STOP?! That maybe you're so desensitized to it because you don't know when to quit?! Maybe if you listened to yourself, your bitches, fucking ANYONE OR ANYTHING AT ALL you'd get some fucking answers!"

Mercy and Flesh granted me reprieve from my pain, didn't they?

Suffocation is an immediate reminder that you've had no respite from your pain in any capacity.

Things have only gotten worse, haven't they?

"Don't you think it's a little fucking telling that the only person you'll listen to— that will listen TO you— is an antisocial demon with a drinking problem?! Don't you fucking think that it's time to wake up, Daddy?!"

It would have been too easy for this to be a terrible Dream.

You would like to wake up. You try to stop thinking. To not focus on how much is being forced into you.

The demon's words bring you back to the present moment with crushing clarity. It's the only thing that is clear. "ONE LEFT! I saved the best for last. It's a fucking trip, Daddy. You still with me?! Go ahead and fucking swallow, you slut, I know you love it—"

I'm still here, aren't I? This is still real. Mercy, I can't really feel much of anything. I don't want to feel anything. Maybe I could die here. It wouldn't be so bad. Celegwen and Ofelia would never have to know what happened here. I wouldn't have to explain. No confessions, no tears, no Vengeance—

"Don't go choking on me now! We've still got time to play. At least a few more hours! I want to see how well Yech's fucked you over. Don't go thinking you can use Idonea's little toy after everything you've done. Not after this. You've got your work cut out for you, Daddy!"

Didn't Celegwen try to warn me? Why have I ignored her and Ofelia for so long? Why have I never made time for them? Why have I never pushed them, or anyone, for that matter? I don't even know them, and I've risked everything for them. They aren't here. No one is coming. I'm never going to see Ray again. I'm never going to see the sun.

Why am I like this?

What's wrong with me?

Why do I keep trying?

"You and I are going to have a little heart-to-heart. That's right, go on. Keep swallowing. I know it doesn't hurt much now, but it sure as shit will later. You're going to go back to your fucking friends and have to deal with everything you've done, won't you? Isn't that what you do best? Apologize, and make excuses, and try to clean up your fucking mess?!"

No. I don't do anything well at all. We talk in circles. I learn nothing. I'm a failure.

The pressure within your abdomen is so overwhelming that every part of you wants to retch. You're fairly certain if you have to eat anything else, you'll die. You must be trying to say something— to put up a fight— to do anything to protest, but Remigius actually throws aside the last of her patience. The food goes with it.

She leans back, waving a hand over your face. Nausea threatens to undo you. You're entirely aware that you can't even track the movement.

A hand covers your mouth, plugs your nose, and cuts off your supply of oxygen once again. Your nausea is replaced by panic as Remigius leans even closer. "You fucking sicken me. You're honest, Dick, you're fucking honest alright. You've shown me plain as day that you're a preacher, a gambler, a glutton, a masochist, a killer— AND YET NEVER— NOT EVEN ONCE— have you actually shown me what I NEED! I wanted you to be everything that you were supposed to and you're a fucking loser, Dick. You're fucking pathetic. You're weak and can't resist the very first fucking temptation that crosses your path! You're choking on it, Daddy! You're drowning! You're edging on your fucking sin!"

I need air. Mercy, I need to breathe. I can't get her off of me.

"You can't turn into a demon because you're already something far worse, Daddy. You're so eager to ignore everyone— to just keep moving— to never once stop and question what you're doing. You won't talk. You won't listen. You'll turn a blind eye to everyone trying to help you and be totally content to have them use you. You'll label me, you'll kill my friends, you'll do what you think is right and push and push and PUSH everyone away and think nothing will ever fucking give?!"

She takes her hands off from your face. Your lungs and chest are burning so intensely that it almost rivals the pain in your stomach. You're gasping for air, grasping for release, to push her away, to try and get some space— but the demon is still on top of you. She seems to have finally ran out of food to force into you, but she's still pushing her hatred. Shoving her spite into your skull.

You can only see red. Something in the last of the rations is taking the world out from under you.

"You don't deserve Idonea's gift. You don't deserve to have me. You don't deserve a Catalyst, or a blessing, or even a curse. You're going to get what you deserve. So let's take a fucking trip together, Daddy. " Remigius sounds like she's crying. She may have been this entire time. It's very hard to say— you're struggling to breathe, to get her off of you, to escape.

You're being pulled to your feet. You can scarcely move. Every step is new breed of agony. You can't even clutch at your sides, vomit, or fight to not immediately collapse.

A demon keeps you standing.

"Let's see if you're the one worth saving."

She practically drags you out from the room, kicks open the door, and shoves you into the red light of her domain. The sound of rioting echoes in the distance.

"Didn't you know that's what this is all about?"