01-26-2017, 03:17 PM
The architects of hell must have never heard of wood or plastic. Almost everything was constructed with equal parts of flesh, bone, and metal. And Deblin’s prison was no exception. A dank series of cells buried in the basement of the main building. Each cell looked like the inside of a car crash after a head-on collision with a dairy cow. Shafts of bone and metal with cords of thick muscle stretched tight formed the bars. Inside the dark cells various monstrosities and horrors shuffled about, some screaming, some hiding, and others watching. Metal covered with flakes of sharp rust formed the floors. Pink, wet, and riddled with veins the walls were the inside of a strep throat. It was Satan’s zoo. It was my home.
My cell was not much different than the others, and believe me it looks so much worse from the inside. It was like standing on the tongue of some malformed giant, waiting for the inevitable. There was no bed, and a hole in the floor made for, what I assumed to be, a toilet. Dedan was nowhere to be found, but that was the least of my worries. Kicking at the bars proved them to be as strong as steel despite their osseinic appearance. Perhaps it was claustrophobia, but my heart began to flutter, picking up an extra several hundred beats-per-minute. Sweat trickled down my brow. “Human,” a voice that sounded as if it belonged to a bear called to me. In the cell across from me a single eye, yellow and strained, watched me from the darkness. “Don’t look so scared,” its owner spoke.
“I’m not scared,” I lied.
“Well you should be,” Yellow-eye said. In the darkness he shifted about, a leviathan shuddering in the darkness. His ochre eye, riddled with stringy red veins, rose to its full height at least a foot and a half taller than me. Legs thick as barrels carried his massive frame into the light. What stood before me, trapped in a cage similiar to mine, was nothing short of monstrous. Orange skin, streaked with pale yellow tattoos, and quivering with thick chunks of muscle. Around his waist hung the pelt of some unknown animal, fashioned into a loincloth. Necklaces formed from teeth hung around his neck, clattering like macabre marracas. Greasy black hair french braided and pulled back into a makeshift topknot covered a skull marred by old scars. That single eye, yellow and curdled as yolk, its mate long since gouged out. “Humans don’t last long down here,” he spoke with a voice befitting his wretched appearance.
“Nice to meet you to,” I said, shuffling away from the bars of my cage.
“You know why they don’t last long?”
Silence was my response.
“They don’t last long because they’re weak, a race of sinners, unfit for even the mercy of Makkagrande,” he said and smacked his heart with his fist.
“Who the fuck is Makkagrande?” I asked. There was a sneaking suspicion in the back of my mind that Yellow-eye was Makkagrande. There was an even more insidious suspicion that my cell-neighbor was batshit insane.
“Makkagrande,” the jolly orange giant began, smacked his chest, and continued, “is the true god of this realm human, he is a god of action, a god of momentum...”
At this point my eyes began to glaze over as Yellow-eyes began to proselytize. Not only was the big boy aggressive he was a talker. Compared to the squalor and hellish abominations I had seen so far, nothing quite measured up to the torture that I endured listening to this beefcake blather on. Once again he smacked his chest and my mind connected the dots. Everytime he spoke his god’s name he performed this physical tic. What a tool. “For fuck’s sake shut up already,” I said, raising my voice with every word, “you orange motherfucker, I don’t give a good goddamn who you or your god are, so shut the fuck up or I’ll cut your goddamned tongue out.” Empty threats, that was how low I had fallen. I’m not proud of this, but at that point peace and quiet was high atop the list of things that I wanted.
“Bold words, we will see if your bravery exists outside these bars,” he said. I flipped him the bird. Again, I know, petty, but it made me feel better.
My cell was not much different than the others, and believe me it looks so much worse from the inside. It was like standing on the tongue of some malformed giant, waiting for the inevitable. There was no bed, and a hole in the floor made for, what I assumed to be, a toilet. Dedan was nowhere to be found, but that was the least of my worries. Kicking at the bars proved them to be as strong as steel despite their osseinic appearance. Perhaps it was claustrophobia, but my heart began to flutter, picking up an extra several hundred beats-per-minute. Sweat trickled down my brow. “Human,” a voice that sounded as if it belonged to a bear called to me. In the cell across from me a single eye, yellow and strained, watched me from the darkness. “Don’t look so scared,” its owner spoke.
“I’m not scared,” I lied.
“Well you should be,” Yellow-eye said. In the darkness he shifted about, a leviathan shuddering in the darkness. His ochre eye, riddled with stringy red veins, rose to its full height at least a foot and a half taller than me. Legs thick as barrels carried his massive frame into the light. What stood before me, trapped in a cage similiar to mine, was nothing short of monstrous. Orange skin, streaked with pale yellow tattoos, and quivering with thick chunks of muscle. Around his waist hung the pelt of some unknown animal, fashioned into a loincloth. Necklaces formed from teeth hung around his neck, clattering like macabre marracas. Greasy black hair french braided and pulled back into a makeshift topknot covered a skull marred by old scars. That single eye, yellow and curdled as yolk, its mate long since gouged out. “Humans don’t last long down here,” he spoke with a voice befitting his wretched appearance.
“Nice to meet you to,” I said, shuffling away from the bars of my cage.
“You know why they don’t last long?”
Silence was my response.
“They don’t last long because they’re weak, a race of sinners, unfit for even the mercy of Makkagrande,” he said and smacked his heart with his fist.
“Who the fuck is Makkagrande?” I asked. There was a sneaking suspicion in the back of my mind that Yellow-eye was Makkagrande. There was an even more insidious suspicion that my cell-neighbor was batshit insane.
“Makkagrande,” the jolly orange giant began, smacked his chest, and continued, “is the true god of this realm human, he is a god of action, a god of momentum...”
At this point my eyes began to glaze over as Yellow-eyes began to proselytize. Not only was the big boy aggressive he was a talker. Compared to the squalor and hellish abominations I had seen so far, nothing quite measured up to the torture that I endured listening to this beefcake blather on. Once again he smacked his chest and my mind connected the dots. Everytime he spoke his god’s name he performed this physical tic. What a tool. “For fuck’s sake shut up already,” I said, raising my voice with every word, “you orange motherfucker, I don’t give a good goddamn who you or your god are, so shut the fuck up or I’ll cut your goddamned tongue out.” Empty threats, that was how low I had fallen. I’m not proud of this, but at that point peace and quiet was high atop the list of things that I wanted.
“Bold words, we will see if your bravery exists outside these bars,” he said. I flipped him the bird. Again, I know, petty, but it made me feel better.