damned_institute | NIGHTSHIFT 28: M31-M40 HALLWAY

Tying Caim's ankles to the foot of the bed went well enough, though Farfarello had to make the bonds a little tighter than he would have liked. Caim would lose feeling in his feet sooner or later, and that was no fun for Farfarello at all. He wanted Caim in pain, not numb. But at least this way, if Caim broke free, he still wouldn't be able to get far, with his feet unfeeling and useless.

But as he moved up to work on Caim's wrists, the bastard managed to get in one good shot. Farfarello felt his broken ribs give way completely, and then one of his lungs was pierced, promptly deflating. Suddenly reduced to half the air he'd been able to get before, Farfarello coughed up a bit of blood, then chuckled ruefully. "Good shot. Bit too late, though."

Sitting down hard on Caim's chest, Farfarello planted one foot on the man's left forearm, pinning it to the bed. This left both of his own hands free to deal with Caim's right. Of course, he had to lean in to do so, which was a really bad position for his damaged lung, but it was that or leave Caim free enough to do more damage. Not much of a choice, really.

[OOC: A couple notes for anyone watching--this has all been approved by Caim-mun, and things are going to get really icky, from here on out.]

His chest creaked and he swore he heard a crack as Farfarello planted himself on already-bruised ribs and the slice from earlier. The foot came down hard on his left arm, and Caim hissed, eye opening as the pain dragged him out of his incoherency.

He wasn't dead yet. He was in pain, but he wasn't dead. The fight was over and he had lost. How? Why? Why hadn't Farfarello killed him? Did he mean to drag it out? That was the only thing he could be doing. He was leaning over now, siezing Caim's right arm even as Caim struggled to lurch up and away, to free himself by upsetting Farfarello even the slightest bit.

If he had known what was bound to come, he would have bitten his tongue off right then.

Much as he would like to be making mocking comments at the moment, Farfarello needed all of his limited air supply to keep his strength up enough to manage the thrashing man beneath him. Caim was quite a bit more heavily muscled than he was, so even with Caim's legs bound it was no easy task to do the same to his wrist.

Not an easy task, but not an impossible one either, and eventually Farfarello managed to wind Caim's right wrist in fabric and bind it firmly to the head of the bed. Three limbs down, one to go, and then Farfarello could rest for a few moments, let his heart rate slow, make things easier on his one working lung.

No. Now Caim could confirm it - death beyond death was going to happen. Still he struggled, trying to get Farfarello off him, even though he was down to one free hand that was brutally held against the bed. And Farfarello was going for that one now, to tie it down.

Caim pulled hard at the bindings, desperate to break them - they weren't even ropes! - and snapped his teeth wildly at Farfarello. He had very little left he could do, tied down like this.

The lack of proper ropes was unfortunate. Farfarello had used up the entire rest of his bedsheet in order to get enough cloth wound around each of Caim's limbs to make up for the relative lack of strength in the individual layers of fabric.

Caim's left arm was, ironically, the toughest of his limbs to get tied up. Caim had the strength of desperation now, and Farfarello was weaker than he'd been before his lung was so rudely collapsed. Fortunately, he had the benefits of position and freedom on his side, and he was eventually able to get Caim's last free limb bound.

Wheezing, blood-tinged spittle staining his lips, Farfarello sat back on Caim's chest, resting. The fight had taken a lot out of him, and he needed to recover a little bit of energy now, while he could. Wouldn't do at all to pass out before he'd had his fun.

When he finally had his pulse down to within 20 bpm of his usual resting rate of 45*, Farfarello found he at last had enough air in his working lung to waste some on speaking. "You put up a damn good fight, you know. One of the toughest I've had against a human like me. I respect that. Not enough to spare you, of course, but I respect it nonetheless."

[* - Athletes and others who do regular, prolonged cardiovascular exercise have a significantly lower resting heart rate than the average person.]

Respect? Caim spat at Farfarello and yanked hard at the bindings around his arms. Every part of him ached, and he could feel the soreness in his wrists and ankles double every time tried to free himself. Whatever Farfarello had done, he had bound him completely without rope. How mere cloth could be so strong ... maybe if he really pulled, he could tear it. Even the slightest rip could be manipulated into a hole, and he might be able to free himself before any fatal blows were landed.

That boy ... that boy would come back. Wasn't this his room? Maybe not. Maybe he was waiting for Farfarello somewhere. If it took long enough, maybe he would come back, find out what was happening, end this before it reached the inevitable conclusion ... or at least, Caim thought bitterly, still trying to wrench himself free, he would know what kind of a monster he was supposedly standing by.

"Stubborn." Farfarello smiled--though it was still lopsided with his cheekbone broken--obviously pleased by Caim's stubbornness. The ones who gave up too quickly were dull.

Still, Farfarello knew couldn't rest for too long or he'd risk running out of night time before he was finished. That would suck, to have to fight Caim all over again tomorrow.

Sighing a little, Farfarello urged his stiffening, slowing body into motion, inching up Caim's supine form to resettle closer to the man's bound right hand. The only body part within reach of Caim's teeth, in this position, was the outside of Farfarello's thigh, which could take a tolerable amount of damage without costing him anything vital.

"This may hurt a little," Farfarello purred, as he slowly bent Caim's pinkie finger backwards, putting on gradually more pressure until finally, bone snapped and tendons tore. "You're obviously used to using a weapon. I wonder what kind you like best? Something with both reach and brute force, I bet. Hard to hold something like that without fingers, though." His tone of voice remained casual the entire time, as he broke the fingers of Caim's right hand, one after the other, leaving only the thumb functional.

He'd never tortured a true mute before. The lack of screaming was convenient, but a little disappointing. Farfarello liked the screaming.

Caim locked his jaw at Farfarello's words, still struggling even as the man started moving again. A brief rest before turning to torture, was it? He could only wonder what this demon had in store for him.

"This may hurt a little."

Crack.

Caim shut his eye and wrenched his whole body with the sudden sharp pain. It wasn't that bad (yet), but this would be no torture he'd expected; hell, he'd expected to die a bloody mess on the ground before a thousand enemy soldiers, not in some tiny room with a psychopathic demon crouched on his chest snapping his fingers. When the second finger broke, he bucked hard once, trying to upset Farfarello's balance; the third gave a similar reaction. At the fourth, Caim finally opened his mouth, lashing out in an attempt to bite Farfarello somewhere where it would hurt and failing miserably.

His hand was wracked with pain, but he still managed to keep himself in check. Caim struggled against the hands with his thumb and wrist, trying to at least make it difficult.

Farfarello chuckled softly, feeling his broken ribs grinding with the movement of his diaphragm. Licking one of Caim's broken fingers from base to tip, he murmured affectionately, "You're so cute. You still think you can win." He felt Caim's teeth graze his thigh, but was unconcerned. The blood loss wouldn't be enough to kill him, even on top of the rest of the blood he was losing from previous wounds.

Though it was the long way around, Farfarello slid back down to Caim's torso before switching over to his prisoner's other side and moving back up to reach his left hand. It was a drain on his energy, to have to move that much, but it was a lot better than exposing rather more vulnerable bits of his body to Caim's snapping teeth.

"Now this is really a lot easier to do with a pair of pliers, but we work with what we have, right?" Choosing the box-cutter over the filleting knife, for now, Farfarello slowly worked the corner of the blade under the fingernail of Caim's left thumb, prying it away from the nail bed one bloody, excruciating millimetre at a time.

Caim thrashed and bit, trying to catch something of Farfarello when the man moved, but he couldn't get far enough forward or to the sides. The sensation of that tongue running along his broken finger lingered, and he longed to shake it off, but there was something much more urgent that suddenly made its way into his mind.

Sharp pain - almost searing - under his left thumb's nail. The bastard was prying off his fingernail.

Broken fingers were one thing; this was something else. Caim thrashed and ground his teeth together, desperately trying to jerk his fingers into a fist and get them away from the knife blade. Damn it! If this was how he was going to end - bit by bit, inch by inch, taking eternities to get there - then he should just end it himself now ... !!

Farfarello watched Caim's face intently as he pried up the first nail. This was always a good test, and a wake-up call for his victim. That, or the acid, but he didn't have access to acid, here. He knew that look in Caim's eye, too. Desperation, terror, and resolve. "Ready to give up so quickly? What if you get a chance to escape later? Or are you just a coward after all?" Not that he couldn't keep Caim alive anyway--he had done this before, after all. You know, once or twice.

Smirking, Farfarello tore the fingernail he'd been working on completely off, and tossed it aside, before moving on to the index finger.

Coward?! Caim bucked again, but his body wasn't used to this specific kind of abuse and was wearing down. His lungs were bruised at this point, and the gouge just under his ribs was still slowly oozing blood. All these wounds were going to make him light-headed soon, no matter how often the pain brought him back.

I am no coward! -- Aaghk ...

His thumb convulsed with the pain of his fingernail being torn out. As Farfarello moved onto the next finger, Caim tried to bury his fingers in his palm, but it hurt too badly because of the gouge in his palm where the knife had gone through. Gods, would all these little inconveniences really lead to something so painful?!

Farfarello was beyond worn down, completely exhausted by the effort of keeping his battered body functional, but it didn't matter so much in his position--he wasn't doing anything strenuous, really, as long as he stuck to the more subtle tortures in his repertoire. Anyway, Schuldig would come back and yell at him if he lost track of time and let himself get too close to death.

Each of Caim's remaining fingernails was given the same slow, careful attention until the last one, the pinkie nail, was torn free and thrown aside. The ends of the fingers on Caim's left hand looked like so much raw meat, and blood was oozing from the wounds slowly. "Hey, Caim. I'll give you a choice. Which would you rather lose first, your useless flap of tongue, or an ear?"

Although his hand was screaming with pain and he was gasping for breath in an attempt to keep himself sane (relatively speaking), Caim almost forgot everything when Farfarello spoke again. The insult behind those words (whether it was there or not - he read too deeply into such simple statements sometimes) enraged him despite the pain and despite the helplessness of his situation.

He snapped at Farfarello, jaws closing over a foot away from the demon bastard's face, but still tried to rip him apart. You dare call me useless! It was a sacrifice, and one I was willing to make! You could NEVER have come close, you hellborn bastard!

Farfarello had sacrificed an eye for much less, really. It came of not giving a damn what happened to him. "Oh ho. Sensitive about the tongue, hmm? I think I'll save it for last, then."

That said, Farfarello snaked a hand in to grab Caim's hair, leaning down onto the man with all his weight, which would have to substitute for strength, given the circumstances. The last thing he needed was for Caim to bite his fingers off while he was working on the tough cartilege of his ear. Neither of the knives he had were ideal for the purpose, but he needed to save the filleting knife for more delicate things. Box cutter it was.

For this kind of work, Farfarello tended to wish he had three hands. Sawing through cartilege without being able to grip and brace the outside of the shell of the ear with his other hand made for a much messier line than he liked. It looked sloppy. Oh, well.

His head mostly stilled, Caim tried to lash out again now that Farfarello was closer, but the sudden presence of the knife near his face momentarily stopped him. Blades this close to him had never dont such a thing before, but before, he'd been armed as well; even when he'd been momentarily unarmed, at the mercy of some enemy soldier, he at least had armor and free limbs to fight back with.

Everything was rushing down into hell, and he could do nothing to stop it.

The sudden sawing of the small blade at his ear was enough to drag Caim out of his internal panicked plans. He tried to howl with pain, because by the Gods did it hurt! No, it wasn't his other eye, but each part of his body was still a part of him, something he could not afford to lose. And yet here he was.

It was a good thing that the box cutter had never been a spectacular sort of blade to begin with--it would have been a real shame to ruin a beautifully made knife on this kind of work. The box cutter was holding up fairly well, though--dulling a bit on the thin, flexible cartilege, but showing no signs of snapping. Finally, the ear was completely severed, and Farfarello threw it in the general direction of the discarded fingernails. "I'm told things sound very strange, with the outer ear gone. Distorted, directionless."

Moving back down Caim's body, Farfarello stopped and sat on Caim's hips this time. The sexual connotations didn't even occur to him--he wasn't interested in that right now, at all. What he was interested in was slicing off Caim's damaged shirt, to get at the terribly fragile skin beneath.

It was true - what Farfarello said, that was. While part of the voice came through properly, likely through the undamaged ear, half of it was unusual and wrong. Caim shifted his head to the side, trying to block the damaged ear from any more pain or sound. Farfarello shifted down on him (and the connotations didn't occur to Caim, either; he had zero desire, zero interest, and was worried about his death right now more than anything else).

Caim's chest heaved as he tried to keep his breathing normal. He was light-headed now, or at least getting there, thanks to all the blood loss. What was the bastard's plan now ... ?

At long last, Farfarello pulled out Lecter's filleting knife. "Do you know what this knife is designed to do? It's meant to separate skin," Farfarello touched the very tip of the knife to Caim's belly, "from meat." The knife slid through the layers of Caim's skin smoothly, performing its function perfectly. "Damn, Lecter has good taste in knives. Of course, if he was here he'd be more interested in rendering you into flank steaks and rump roasts. I just enjoy this."

Caim tried to still his breaths as the knife sliced through his skin, a sharp pain that was nothing compared to the throbbing in his head and hands. He could see the blood welling up even as his vision spotted and wavered. Skin from meat? Surely this man didn't intend to ... no. No, he said it himself.

Then he ... Caim struggled to find Farfarello's intentions. Why? What was he going to do, rend him apart? Rip out his internal organs? What?!

Skinning a live person, even a bound one, was a delicate sort of operation. A slip of the hand could cut too deep, scoring the muscle or worse. Farfarello had considerable experience with this particular art, however, so he was able to very, very carefully expose the muscles of Caim's abdomen, the bloody mess of skin coming away in one contiguous sheet. That was the hardest part, really--any idiot could cut off little bits of skin, but keeping it from tearing apart was much, much trickier.

"Almost the end now." The degree of blood loss Caim was suffering now would cause him to pass out fairly soon--no one lasted very long, when it came to being skinned.

He was --

NO!

AS the layers of skin came away, Caim's mouth opened as he tried to howl with pain again, the sensation of being skinned too much for him to bear. He wasn't some animal to be hunted and killed, rent apart for someone's use or sick enjoyment! Caim tried to break himself free even as pain wracked his body, the blood spilling down over his sides and staining the sheets bright red.

No! NO! I won't die like this! Not here, not now, not at this demon's hand!

"The funny thing about people is, we pretend like we're different, special. Blessed. But inside?" Farfarello lightly brushed his fingers over the wet, red planes of Caim's abs. "Just meat."

"That six pack you no doubt worked hard to sculpt? It's just a paired muscle, transected by bands of connective tissue. Rendered into its parts, it really doesn't mean anything." Farfarello put down the filleting knife and switched back to the box cutter, not wanting to waste the fine blade on anything he didn't need its precision for. Touching the tip of the box cutter blade to the exposed flesh just below Caim's solar plexus, Farfarello smiled. "And under here, well, guts look the same in every mammal, really, except for size."

The loss of blood, the exhaustion, and the pain were all becoming too much. Even as he continued to try and struggle, weakly, desperate for one last chance to drag himself out of the room and find someone to help him, damn it all, Caim could see the edges of his vision fading. His fingers were going numb, dulling the broken sensation; his feet were likewise.

It wouldn't be much longer now, something in the back of his head murmured even as his jaw opened to try and snarl for air, for fighting, for blood, for help. Soon he was going to pass out, and after that ...

I can't die yet! I can't die before finding her ... before getting out of here ...

It felt like forever since Farfarello had seen that look, that despairing look of realisation that men got when they were close to death. It was pure bliss, to see it again.

Farfarello's smile turned dreamy, the look in his eye one of ecstasy as he began to make what would be nearly the final cut.

With great delicacy and care, Farfarello drew his blade down the line of connective tissue separating the two sides of Caim's rectus abdominis, exposing just a hint of the vitals that lay beneath. "Have you eaten today, Caim? This could get extra messy, if you have."

With no further warning, Farfarello plunged a hand into the bleeding slit in Caim's muscle wall, viciously grabbing a slimy length of intestine and pulling it through, looking at it thoughtfully once it was out into the open air. "See? Meat, like any other."

NIGHTSHIFT 28: M31-M40 HALLWAY

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