Dark Galaxy, 10 billion light-years from Earth
Noriko Null knows pain all too well. The moment before losing consciousness at the hands of Baal, she expected she would wake up to the worst imaginable nightmare.
Much to her amazement, however, she awakes on a comfy bed not unlike one she remembers from her childhood. However there are no windows; the only source of light is a neon on the ceiling.
She’s not been physically harmed, even though the situation is far from ideal from her point of view: she’s naked, without anything in sight to cover herself with, and her right hand is handcuffed to the bedpost.
<Enjoying the show, you sick bastard?> she asks, crossing her legs and using her left arm to at least cover her breasts. There’s no one around.
The TV in front of the bed turns itself on; she didn’t even notice it was there.
It’s showing a report from the Olympian News Network about the coronation of Athena, with the host then mentioning the funeral for Hebe and the hunt for anyone who ever associated with Null.
<Come on, is this the best you can do? Fake news? Really?>
<Oh, it is real. I did not have to engineer your nightmare becoming reality: it did on its own.>
The voice comes from the cloaked figure who just emerged from the shadows, a skeleton held together by a swarm of flies.
<You should be thanking me for appreciating this poetry. I was tempted to give substance to your nightmare about giving birth to a monster with your mother’s face.> Baal tells her.
<Go ahead if you want. I survived worse than what you could ever imagine.> Noriko boasts, her silver eyes shining while she tries to come up with a way to free herself.
If Baal had eyes in the empty sockets of his skull, they would be rolling right now.
<They all say so.>
Waving his skeletal hands, Baal conjures up a jagged knife. As he fidgets with it, while black flies are crawling over the blade, he comments wistfully:
<Sometimes I envy mortals. In the old days, I could entertain myself with simple things… four or five billion years ago, vivisecting someone while keeping them conscious the entire time would have kept me joyful for days. But show your victims their own organs a few thousands of times, and the novelty wears off. Instead, I’m going to do something that hurts you on a more personal level.>
At his command, Noriko’s body stops responding to her will. It positions itself so that she has a clear view of the television. She can no longer look away: even trying to blink is now impossible.
She has no choice but to keep looking at the screen, which is now showing a montage of Athenian soldiers being deployed across various Earth cities.
To make matters worse, Baal has forced her to spread her legs and is gently moving the knife across her body; not enough to cut her, but enough to feel the coldness of the metal and send shivers down her spine.
<Forced to watch your life’s work being destroyed from within, knowing that there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. You will never move again and you will watch your failure forever: I made it so you will never die in this room. You will feel hunger and thirst, but you won’t die. And when the universe has forgotten all about you, I will simply roll back the images and make you look at your failures all over again. Forever. Now that is entertainment.> Baal congratulates himself.
Noriko would give him a piece of her mind if only she was still able to speak, but the bright light emanating from her silver eyes is clear enough.
<Well, it would be for a decade or two, but I have crushed my number of mortal spirits. The slow drip eventually gets tedious and the pain tastes more diluted: it is much better to have a single dose of unadulterated pain. So I am giving you a choice, Slayer of Gods.> Baal continues, placing the knife in Noriko’s left hand. And much to her surprise, she can close it into a fist.
<I offer you a deal. I can execute the traitorous Athena and her followers, returning your Galaxy to its previous state. And I will do so on one condition: you must kill yourself. You now have control over your left arm again: what do you say?> he asks.
In response, the moment Noriko has control over her arm again, she throws the knife right into Baal’s face. It lodges itself inside his eye socket, something he finds amusing.
<I expected nothing less from you. But my offer is sincere: you will agonize over this decision, and once your spirit does break, I will remember the pain of your surrender for all eternity.> Baal explains, placing the knife in Noriko’s hand again.
<Almost forgot: don’t try cutting through the handcuff or the bedpost, I made them both as indestructible as the knife. And don’t bother trying to disable your brain’s pain receptors: I am preventing you from doing so. You should stop focusing that intriguing mind of yours into something more productive than scheming to outsmart me… like accepting your doom.>
The primordial god disappears by stepping into his own shadow, leaving behind a woman who is physically unable to look away from the worst-case scenario she’d ever imagined.
Ekron, 20.000 light-years from the core of the Dark Galaxy
The air is so filled with a fine mist of Ichor that it’s difficult to breathe in this poorly lit stone dungeon, even with the three lungs of a Demon.
It’s even worse for Torn: the inverted cross to which he’s been crucified has metal spikes that pierce through his back, and a plethora of Ichor spears have been thrown into his torso.
They just barely missed all of his three hearts, but they are close enough to hurt immensely.
Especially when the Demon woman who threw these weapons at him is making it a point to twisting them once they’ve penetrated his organs.
<I can’t believe a weakling like you is Reaper’s son.> she taunts him, making one of the spears grow spines that twist around one of his kidneys.
Torn tries not to scream, but even a Demon has limits. Especially since this place is too far from Hell and too saturated with Ichor to allow him access to the Blood.
<What… do you know… about my father?> he manages to ask, working through the pain.
<He’s a visionary. A mentor to all Ekronians who wish to overthrow Baal and take the Galaxy that is rightfully ours.> she proselytizes.
<Same… goal… we should… work together…> Torn tries to argue, but it’s hard to make his case when the response is whipping his testicles.
<Shut up, you worthless Blood worshipper! You’re not setting foot out of this dungeon before you’ve proven you as much punishment as a pure-blooded Ekronite!>
<Is that it?> Torn taunts her.
He spits blood, as the woman summons a scimitar in her hand.
<Take your best shot.> he invites her, looking defiantly at death in the face.
Somewhere else in the realm of nightmares
The fight with Zeus is happening at a level beyond the understanding of mortals, and it’s taking more out of Baal than he’s willing to admit. He’s still able to appear in multiple places at once, of course, but since the two are nearly equal in power he has to pay at least some attention.
It’s a small price: should any of his victims feel enough pain, he will instantly be aware of it.
When one of his metaphysical blows staggers Zeus long enough, Baal decides to check on his most valuable prize. It might have been less than an hour since he saw Noriko Null, but Athena has been incredibly clear in their arrangement: under no circumstances should he ever underestimate her.
He already wonders if he should bring Athena here to show how simply it was to break the will of her former protégé, after he takes form in her prison.
For the first time since… even he can’t remember when… Baal is so shocked that his jaw drops.
Noriko Null is not in her room.
Or rather, most of her is not there: over the bed, on top of copious amounts of blood, lies her severed right hand.
Somehow with its muscles still rigid enough to give him the middle finger.
<How did she… without control of her own… without her pain reaching me!?> Baal incoherently rambles, angered and impressed in equal measures.
Ekron, minutes earlier
Torn has lost too much blood to physically break out of his restraints; he’s too weak and too inexperienced in the use of Ichor to create weapons of his own, much less to restrain his torturer’s own blade.
As she readies to swing her sword at him, he doubts he will survive this ordeal for long.
His thoughts are for his wife and daughters. Until something screams into his soul:
“TORN!!!”
That voice rekindles his force of will, and every fiber of his being screams in pain to absorb enough Ichor from the air to generate a hexagon portal right behind the Demon woman.
She turns in utter surprise: she doesn’t even see the dagger being thrown at her, not even when it hits her right between the eyes and flies into her skull.
A human stumbles through the portal and falls; she groans, both because of the toxic air and because she’s still bleeding profusely.
<Null?> Torn calls out, too exhausted to even be sure of that.
<Gimme a sec.> she says, letting out a cough. She pulls the knife out of the demon’s head and uses it to cut through the restraints on Torn’s wrists and ankles, allowing him to detach himself from his cross. It’s not an easy thing to do when she’s just using one hand, but it’s no walk in the park for him either.
The spears on his bare chest have disappeared, but the wounds are still there. Even a Demon’s body needs some time to recover from injuries of this level.
Still, it’s easier for him than for a human, and a naked Noriko Null is no longer able to stand after losing too much blood. She’s able to call out:
<Bandages.>
Torn recovers his own clothes from floor, using the knife she brought with her to cut one of the sleeves into a makeshift tourniquet.
It’s enough to at least slow down the conspicuous bleeding caused by her cutting off her own hand.
<Your hand.> he points out.
<Not the first I’ve lost. I’ll grow a new one once we get back. Sorry it ruined your trench coat.>
<Duster.> he corrects her.
<Can you do something about the air here? It’s like smoking ten packs of cigarettes per minute.>
Torn concentrates enough to coalesce enough Ichor into a single weapon; there’s enough to create a broadsword, which he keeps right next to him.
<Thank you. Be honest: I look like s#it, don’t I?>
<No, you do not look like you soiled yourself. How did you manage to contact me?> Torn asks, taking care to cover Noriko’s body with the rest of his duster.
<Long story.> she replies.
<I need time before I can create another portal. It does not appear like we are leaving soon.>
<Fine. I couldn’t shut down my pain receptors, but Baal didn’t know I could redirect the pain to someone else. The same way I rewired my neural pathways to bypass his control over my body. Heck I didn’t know I could do either of those things until I tried! So I didn’t feel any pain while I was cutting my own hand, and he couldn’t sense me doing it. I knew this Galaxy is filled with Ichor, and that Ichor responds positively to pain… once I was free, I channeled all the pain into a call for you. The link through the Blood that we share seems to work through Ichor as well.>
<You said you redirected the pain to “someone else”?> Torn asks, raising an eyebrow.
<The last alternate personality I’ve left: Void. I’m kind of disappointed I couldn’t do this to Abyss, but hey, small victories.>
<Small indeed. We don’t know where our allies are, we are surrounded by a hostile Galaxy and a Primordial God, and you are in no condition to fight.>
<Believe me, Torn, I have never been more ready to fight in my life.> Noriko replies.
<You might need to prove it sooner than later.> Torn tells her, taking the Ichor broadsword in his hands as multiple hexagon portals appear in the dungeon.
Half a dozen Ekronian guards, armed with various kinds of Ichor weapons, rapidly surround them.
<In the name of Ekron, you are sentenced to death!> their squad leader shouts.
Torn gets into a fighting stance. Noriko Null, covered by a leather duster way too big for her size that is already soaked in her blood, slowly gets back on her feet.
Her legs are weak. She’s seconds away from collapsing out of blood loss. She’s unarmed.
<Before we start… does anyone want to surrender?> she asks.
Then the Demons suddenly feel her soul. It’s like living your whole life in darkness and then staring into the Sun for the first time.
<I warned you. I’ve had a really, REALLY bad day.>
The sight of her silver eyes makes these seasoned demonic warriors suddenly shake in fear.
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