John and Open
John was tied up in shackles to the slab. He had lost count of how many days or hours had passed since he woke up here. At least by Earth standards. He had a series of cuts on his body, his shirt torn open. He was.. still bleeding from a few of the wounds. Most that were made, they were instantly cauterized by fire. There were burn scars along his shoulder, left leg, abdomen, and left side of the face. And there it was. That red-hot poker, with the gleaming coals. Tongs with coals. A knife or two was also red with heat. Perhaps he should have done more to conceal his fear and weakness to fire and heat. But this demon might have found out anyway. He sort of blamed himself for this, he really should have taken more precautions.
He also probably should have escaped on his own. But he couldn't, in good conscience, just leave everyone else here to suffer at the hands of this madman. And there were others here, of that he was very certain. He could feel the minds in this lace, the torment, fears, anger.. almost like all of them at once and by now he had trouble telling them apart as they seemed to mix together in his perception. He usually could control that. But when he was tortured as well, he couldn't manage it. And he couldn't break his bonds. He couldn't phase through them, could not become as a transparent shade. Not when he was like this. Especially not with those coals nearby, where he could still feel the intense heat with them as close to him as they were.
And now he heard even more brain activity, very awake, and very much active in this place. Certainly not the victims. It was a greater jumbled mess all mixing together as one, warping his perception. There was determination, resolve. A bit of controlled anger. Exorcisms, traps, a bit of latin. He tried to focus and separate the thoughts intruding into him, but it was no avail. His gaping wound from the stomach certainly didn't help either, and that hot smoking coals and poker certainly wasn't going to simmer down anytime soon...