Never Surrender..? (The Pain, and Its Uses)
#4 of Never Surrender!
Never surrender..?
The black Rat stumbled through the door, his back to the light. Back in his element, lugging a thick binder at his side, he made his way down through the halls he had come to know as his home. Some areas, as he passed them, grew quiet at his approach; others, the inhabitants of which knew him better, got louder. As soon as he spotted Ireline, he waited until the Keeper of Woe slinked up to him. "Ah, finally Nightshade, the Lord of Pain graces these halls with his return. Have you accumulated any new information during your absence, or is that big binder full of wasted paper?" Nightshade dropped his binder at the Stoat's feet. "No one else could have wasted that much of my time and gotten away with it. I need to relax now. Any recommendations?" The Stoat snapped hir fingers: hir stout Horse knelt down, picked up the binder, and resumed his place behind his Owner. "Indeed. A Feline; Aetroziythun, in fact. Very set in his ways, though he's provided a very interesting time. Right this way, if you would..." Shi opened a door silently, and pointed inside: a Cat was sitting on a high stool, wearing nothing but a rope around his wrists and a black hood, laced with the scent of a female Lapine. Deprived of all his senses, he had no idea where the floor was, or what was on it. Though reaching down with a toe would have proven the floor to be solid stone, he still sat motionlessly, imprisoned within his own mind. "Gallowtail did an impressive job," the Stoat whispered to the Rat. "Had she tried this a few days earlier, he would have already been up and flinging himself at random walls. Now that we've taught him some fear, you would be perfect to show him how to use it. Just... try to keep this one's body reasonably intact. I know how you are around blood, Nightshade." "Hmm... Just get him ready. I'll be in my chambers, with Matriel. Anything else I should know?" "Yes," Ireline replied. "The Lioness has become more disruptive than usual, and had been confined to your chambers until your return. I shall give you adequate time to prepare and inform her. Twenty minutes, perhaps?" Nightshade made a twitching motion with his paw, as if trying to grab something that wasn't there. As he was assessing the situation, his habitual scowl broke out on his face. "Make it thirty." ---- He couldn't hear, he couldn't see, he couldn't feel where the floor was, his mouth felt dry, and they even made it so he could only smell some sort of cloying cologne that made him think of Rabbits. He'd have leapt off that stool long ago, if it weren't for his certainty that it would only make things worse for him somehow. All he could do was think to himself, which seemed like a torture in itself: he tried to envision escape or revenge plans, but couldn't get himself past his confrontation with Ireline; he tried to remember all the great things about his life before he ended up there, but found it harder and harder to recall anything he wanted to experience again. He'd bragged about killing reflexively, he hadn't even saved the world once, and his only major romantic interest grew up to be Gallowtail, the Lady of the Collar, the Horse who'd had him seduced with her floozy of a Rabbit. Oh, when he got out he would grab that Lapine whore and make her- he'd grab hold of her- he suddenly realized he'd been using anger and violence to take his mind off of her. It didn't work for him (though he was certain it used to), and he was sure it went against his belief system... Did it even matter? They'd said it was useless, and so far, it was. He'd have given up long ago, were it not for that last remnant of determined indignation, telling him he could win so long as he nev- The hood was torn from his head, bathing him in a harsh, ubiquitous light. He shut his eyes in pain for a while, and was pulled from his stool and out of the room. When he opened his eyes, the door slammed shut behind him; he couldn't even get to see where he had been imprisoned for who-knew-how-long. "Bad news for you, slave boy," a lugubrious voice whispered behind him, "Your behaviour has attracted the attention of yet another Torturer." He turned to see the Stoat face to face, and took a backhanded blow across the cheek. "I've told you before not to look at me," shi chided. "If you keep this up for your new Torturer, you might not even survive intact." "What?" The Feline felt a rush of fear make his fur stand on end: they'd said they weren't going to kill him, so he'd still be able to make an escape... "Oh, he has his own measures," the Keeper snickered, "some of which I think you're ready for. However, he doesn't have the sense of humour I do: you'll only get one chance with him, and sometimes, not even that." "W-wait... Where is Gallowtail? Can't I at least ask her-" "No matter what you'd ask her, her answer would be no," the Keeper interrupted. "She has other engagements, and in any case, she got bored with you quickly. The last thing she told me about you was, 'I have made him curse, grovel, and sob, in that order; now it's up to Nightshade to make him scream.' Had you not asked so many questions, she might have taken a further interest in you." "B-but she... I- Argh..." He still had so much he wanted to ask or know about, but nobody would tell him. They had just sparked his curiosity about so many more things, then refused to enlighten him. At first, it was frustrating, but now he'd just stopped caring. Occasionally, some quiet introspective voice would whisper, "That's their idea, working." "Ah, I'm glad you're learning," Ireline told him, "but you mustn't keep Nightshade waiting. He has sent his slave to guide you to his chambers... Come, Matriel!" A Lioness stepped forward, in a light nightgown, blindfolded. Her ears, nose, and lower lip all held gleaming pieces of metal upon them. The expression on her face was one where, if he could see her eyes, he'd be sure that it would look at him as if he was some kind of inferior. "Matriel, this," shi grabbed his paw and pulled him toward her, "is that new slave I've told you about. Take him to your chambers, and wait for your Master. He is-" "Oh, I know the routine," Matriel interrupted, "so you don't have to repeat it with every new slave and prisoner. And besides," she added, "even he makes me call him, 'my Lord' at times." She started to walk off with him, but Ireline fumed out, "Nobody interrupts me, no matter whose slave you are! You've just incurred a whole night's worth of punishment for your hubris." Matriel merely smiled under her blindfold, and walked off. "True," she laughed behind her, "but you won't get to see Master perform it!" He was nearly speechless as she led him on, seemingly unfettered by the blindfold. "H-h-how could you do that?" he stammered in surprise. "What, deny a Torturer something? It's simple and obvious: I am owned by the cruellest Torturer on the whole continent, and he gets to decide what happens to me. What's more, that Dunstan of hirs won't even go near me." "Hmm... So this Nightshade has a compassionate side for you, does he?" Matriel began to laugh, accompanied by the soft sound of tinkling metal as her head shook: "Of course not! Besides, I'd rather be held in awe than envy. The real power in being a slave is who your Owner is." Her last statement confused and worried him. He moved in silence as she brought him into another personal room, mentally stuck on the idea that one could be a slave, owned by someone with a reputation for cruelty, at that, and still have a desire to boss around others... Unless they had planned to trick him again... Once again his frightened, confused brain ran for cover under what regular thought patterns it had left: The Trinity, he thought to himself; That means there's three of them... If I can just outwit or escape the last one, then I can leave this place behind and- and I'll... I've left everyone I'd ever known behind, I won't get far without anything, even clothes, and I'll have to go through a foreign city that enslaves Cats anyway... I've got to get away! He suddenly became aware that the Lioness had removed her blindfold, and was looking him up and down. "Uh," he gulped, "Shouldn't you have that on?" "Shouldn't you mind your own business?" she snapped, tossing the blindfold to him as an afterthought. "I just disobeyed my Master there, so you don't have anything to worry about! It's just my little way to welcome you into Master's presence." "Enter." "After you, Cat boy." He gulped at the sound of that voice: though a single word, it conveyed the undertones he'd only heard in the rare psychotic killer or cult leader; the kind who wouldn't give speeches or take captives, but would guiltlessly kill off minions who had pledged loyalty to them for no other reason than they could. The way that one word was said was enough to make him balk, but the Lioness opened the door and ushered him in. The room they went into looked different from the other rooms the Trinity used: instead of being full of stylized equipment or bound slaves, this room was nearly bare. There were a few chains on the walls, a wardrobe, a rack for holding... tools, a couple of sleeping cushions, and a writing desk. The big, black Rat who was writing as they came in turned to look at them, a tooth-bearing smile on his face. The Rat wasn't overweight or beefy, just big: he just seemed to feel bigger than he was. It was hard to tell where his shining black outfit ended and his glossy black fur began, but he instantly knew that he was facing Nightshade, the Lord of Pain. Don't give in like you did with Gallowtail! his familiar inner voice warned; He's the last of the three; after him, there's nothing new they can do to you! He remembered a taste of that inner strength which served him well until he came here, but a different, crude voice whispered to him, But why'd you want to escape? They care for you here! They give you all the punishment you could want and more! He stared at himself in shock, wondering where that new voice came from. He felt around his body, until his fingers settled on his collar. It kept his body bound at all times, and it was even starting to do things to his min- Wow, old habits die hard, don't they? Just call me your libido, and would it hurt you to listen to me for a change? Oh, it scoffed sarcastically, I guess it will; but that's really what you want, isn't it? He stopped his internal dialogue when he realized the Rat had said something. He blinked himself back into reality: the Lioness was smiling, while the Rat was frowning. "See, Master," Matriel smirked, "he doesn't listen to you now, and he didn't listen to me when I told him not to take the blindfold off! I'll still be here for you after you've finished with him, you can tru-Aagh!!" Nightshade gave a tug on one of the Lioness' earrings and tossed her to the floor. "I've heard about you," he sneered. "I'm glad they hadn't shattered you fully before you came to me. Ireline prefers to deal with your type hirself." He looked the Rat straight in the eye and guessed, "Strong-willed? Pure of heart?" He only got a single laugh in return. "Delusional. I hear one word out of line and you lose your meal for the day. Understand?" He merely smiled in the face of the empty threat, and said, in conversational tones, "Hmm, I always thought that 'night-shade' translated into another language as 'beautiful woman'. I guess-" The Rat kicked him so hard he doubled over, then slammed a fist down on his back. As the Cat collapsed to the floor, Nightshade spat. Then he said, "Don't look me in the eye, don't speak out of turn, and end everything you say to me with, 'my Lord.' If I have other business, I'll leave you with Matriel: when I return, she'll make up things you might have done, which I'll punish you for. You've been terrified by Ireline and locked up by Gallowtail, but you don't know what pain is yet." Wincing from the pain and tired from both irregular sleeping and less food than he was used to, he still tried to leap to his feet; Nightshade grabbed him by the neck and shoved him into the back wall. The Cat managed to whisper out a hoarse, "I'm not afraid of you," and looked defiantly into the Rat's gaze: his stare stopped when he realized it was returned by the chilling glint of madness. "Good," the Rat breathed. "Everyone else I know already is." He bared his long, sharp fangs, and leapt forward. A sudden, piercing pain stung through him, accompanied by a warm, wet sensation on his arm. The Rat had spilled his blood, but while everything Aetroziythun in cried out for vengeance, something else, something new just cried out. Torturers aren't allowed to kill or draw blood, but this one had, and could probably even get away with it. The Torturer threw him to the ground, but he still glared at his turned back and smiled defiantly, despite the taste of his own blood on his lips. "You'll never get aw-" "Matriel?" The Lord of Pain managed to bark the question, causing the Lioness to leap up and grab the Cat's arms, pushing a foot down on his back. "It's so cute when they don't know when to stop," she taunted. "You've already lost your meal, slave boy, so why not shut your worthless mouth?" Even though all the remaining pride in his body urged him to defy them, he shut it. He knew that acting out against either of them would cause a reprisal, though they constantly kept provoking him. Matriel always called him "slut", and made sure never to be fully clothed around him, but would slash out at him if they got near enough. Nightshade always stayed silent and never punished Matriel when he was around, which only made her act more boldly. If he even made a snide comment, the Rat would kick him to the ground, strike him with a whip or paddle, or even yank out some of his fur. With no way to keep track of how long he was held there, and nothing to do but follow Nightshade around and perform all manner of pointless tasks, he gradually slid into an apathetic daze, not caring when his next meal would be, what Matriel called him, or even his thoughts of home.
"How's the reward?" Nighshade smirked. The Feline made a vague attempt to squirm, and tried harder to avert his eyes from the scene before him. "What'll happen to me?" he asked. "You're not ready to leave here," the Lord spat down at him; "no one will want you. Besides, I can't even get you off my paws." He stepped over the pair of males and looked the bound Cat up and down, leering at his fading bodily reaction. "But my Lord," one of the males whined, "he was ignoring us the whole time! He didn't even try to enjoy it!" He stroked his mate over and gave him a quick, flirtatious kiss. "All I wanted was to hear him mewl out," his mate pleaded. "C'mon, Lord, make him mewl." "Anything to say? Any challenge or insult?" Nightshade asked. "Wh-what am I supposed to learn from you?" he growled through his teeth. Nightshade snorted and bit through the ropes, shoving the hopeless Cat down in front of them. "Make him do as you'd like," he scorned; "But make sure he questions his sanity afterwards." As he left, the frustrated Cat tried to beg some sort of compassion out of the Rat, but was drowned out by the laughing of the two males: "Oh, we'll make you question more than just your sanity," they laughed at his pathetic, lessening struggles.
Matriel was just where he'd left her: trussed up on her cushion, with a hood over her head. Nightshade tried his best to sneak into the room quietly, but he had never really gotten the hang of preventing his presence from being known. Still, his slave was silent and motionless, at least for now. Nightshade gave a sigh and reached over to touch her, to kiss her, to- He stopped to restrain himself, as he had learned to, and walked over to his desk, struggling with his straps and buckles as he moved. He wriggled his way to his desk, and snatched up his letter opener: it was there, as sharp, clean, and most importantly, unused as it ever was. "But Master," Matriel had asked, "why do you keep such a thing around when you never need to use it?" The question was what had landed her in her current predicament. The Lord of Pain turned to glance at his slave, cut off of all her senses save one, spreadeagled on her cushion, completely at his mercy, and allowed himself one gentle sigh. Such a beautiful body, which housed such a sharp tongue, such a contemptible mind. They asked him why he never bothered to teach her some manners, but he never gave a response... Nightshade laughed at himself, realizing he was slipping back into his old internal poetics, and ran his tongue along the blade. His normally rigid self-control slipping in the face of his constant temptation, he strode toward Matriel, knife in hand, and began to touch her: first with one paw, then with the flat of the knife. She shuddered a little, but made no other motion or sound. As the Rat pushed himself forward, he could feel his passions flare up within him, but he paid them no heed. He felt his slave's fur against his, as she felt the cold metal tip run through her short fur, cutting nothing. Nightshade had no need to be on edge; after all, he was in complete control. The slightest downwards pressure would end his slave's life, but there was still so much more he could do to her... His breaths were drawn deeper, faster, while his Lioness obediently stayed as motionless as possible. The day he'd overheard her complaining about the unattractiveness of Rodents preceded the night he'd had her formally enslaved. He felt his knife paw rise, but didn't need to watch himself. The most arrogant Lioness anyone had ever known had been given the power to talk back to slaves, Torturers, and anyone else she wanted to; only he could keep her in check, so long as he kept himself so. What made her all the more impertinent was the fact that she didn't deserve her position, and she knew it. Irredeemable? Nobody was: Nightshade himself was living proof! ...But she didn't deserve it. As he felt himself tense up, his knife paw plunged downward.
Nightshade, the male third of the Trinity, stretched out luxuriantly, and held his letter opener up to inspect it. He casually tossed it in the direction of his desk, as usual, and watched the single follicle of Leoine fur it carried to fall to the ground. He allowed himself one more gentle sigh, then stood up, bit through the ropes that held his slave, and pulled the hood off her head. "Th-thank you, Master," Matriel stuttered, visibly shaken by what she had felt during her silent sensations, "I'm hap-" "Shut up, slave," Nightshade scowled. "You've been resting long enough. Tell Ireline or Gallowtail that I will finish with the Aetroziythun Cat by the end of the week. I'll gather him up again while you're away." She opened her mouth to form an, "As you wish, Master," but stopped when her Master bared his teeth; she just fell to her knees, got up again, and hurried out of the room. Nightshade watched his slave leave, and turned back to his desk: the knife had landed awkwardly, and had partially ripped through a few pages he had recently written on. With a different sigh, he removed the knife, straightened his papers, and began to plan out the rest of the week for one potentially profitable Feline. Ends the Fourth