< spike > (thebigbad) wrote in parabolical, @ 2008-05-31 16:44:00 |
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Entry tags: | dawn summers, lucifer morningstar, spike |
Who: Spike, Dawn, and Lucifer.
What: Dawn gets into her unstable dimension hopping state again and she ends up visiting Spike's soul in hell.
When: Time really isn't an important factor in hell, is it?
Where: Some hell dimension.
Rating: Probably won't be a pretty scene. They're in hell. Come on. Be real.
It was funny, the way that poets and writers had the ability to specifically get into the details of a place that they'd never been. Fire and brimstone. Pain. All of it. Sometimes it was different, but there was still the important factor which revolved around the simple fact that, yes, mortal authors knew quite a bit about hell. Had they interrogated demons? Had they made deals with devils for a glimpse inside of the very pit in which a majority of mankind feared? It was something worth questioning and with all of the time that Spike had spent holed up in the dark, he couldn't help but think about it. Surprisingly enough. He still had the ability to think. Sometimes it was difficult, what with the constant pain squirming it's way through his body, but he managed it. Somehow.
There were multiple hell dimensions. Some were worse off than others, and considering everything that Spike was responsible for, he didn't really have much of a choice when it came to the brutality of his own sentence. He was to be tortured for all of eternity. It was a funny thing really. He had hoped that what with all of the good he had tried to do back on earth that he'd be given a second chance. That maybe he wouldn't have to return to hell when he died. Spike had been wrong. Terribly so.
The chains that bound him to the wall dug into his flesh. The links buried themselves into his skin, digging their way out to the other side and then wrapping themselves around his arms in such a way that it seemed near impossible to rid him of them unless one were to chop his arms of entirely. But that would have been useless because the very same chains that had been stabbing through his arms were also buried into his waist and even more so through his legs. It was nearly impossible for him to move and the pain that followed every single time that he attempted to do so was agonizing. Blood was everywhere. Dripping from the chains that had run through him, splattered onto the walls behind him, and pooling down on the floor below. It seemed as though he would never truly be bled dry. Unlimited blood. The blood of the souls that he had killed, perhaps. Spike wasn't exactly sure on the details. It seemed poetically just though, didn't it?
Head resting back against the wall, his blue eyes ticked off toward the closed door at opposite end of the room. Give it an hour or so and a demon with a hood would wander into the room. Then, as Spike's gaze slowly ticked off toward the wall of bloodied torture devices, he would remove one of those items and advance on Spike without a single word. And then there would be more pain.
Gasping in pain, Spike straightened himself up and slowly lowered his head so that he could look over at the still form to his left. Two people occupied this very room. The first was Spike. The second happened to be a mugger of sorts, one that had also gone vampire in his time. Sometimes they chatted, but it was only to pass the time away. And to keep themselves sane. Their conversation could never truly be noted as friendly, but it was conversation all the same. What with the demon that tortured them never speaking a word, it was good to have someone break the silence. Even if it was mostly filled with rude banter.
Releasing a stifled cry, Spike dropped down to the floor in a resting position. The chains tightened inside and around him and the pain worsened at an incredible rate. But he didn't care. He needed to rest.