#also hungry.

Nico was choking on his own tongue. It was nearly impossible to scream the way he wanted with his lips sewn shut, and the amount of strain he put at the bonds keeping his body against the table made it all feel worse. It couldn’t be helped. The room was warm and the table under them would have, at any other point, been a comfort.

The bastard had leaned in, tantalizingly close. If he had been able to open his mouth, the man would’ve already been on the ground. He would have known what it was like to choke on his own tongue before the toxin weaved through his veins and pierced his heart. But instead? Nico could only clench his jaw and stare down the man leaning over him.

“Nicky,” the man hissed more than he did, and had he the ability to taunt him about it he would have. “May I call you that?” He smiled, baring all his teeth. “I do hope you like the room. I had to get the temperature just right. I had to make sure you wouldn’t go falling asleep on me.”

It was then that the man’s hand rested on Nico’s stomach and, without too much hesitation, moved down the long tail that composed his lower body. “What beautiful scales you have,” the S seemed to catch and Nico found it vaguely snake-like. He wondered if it was unintentional or if it was meant to mock him. He didn’t have long to linger on it, as something sharp pierced his skin and pain coursed through him. It was focused. Sharp. Like his body was being ripped apart in one place and the only thing he could managed behind closed lips was a groan that made it even harder to keep himself from choking. He stained; tried to yell; anything, but the bonds that held him down afforded little movement.

As his vision blurred at the edge and pain nearly blinded him of sight and thought, it subsided. There was still lingering feelings through his tail but the sharpness of it had faded. It was when the man straightened that he saw why. One of his scales was held up, the man turning it over in his hand. “Mmm, yes. Beautiful. Trust me, Nicky, I’ve seen a lot of lamia scales in my day, but yours are some of the best. They’ll look wonderful in my collection.”

Collection. It was that single word that an already cold body feel frigid. He knew then that he wasn’t getting out of this alive. Banging his head back against the table, he closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, trying to block out the pain as the men went back for another one of his scales. Then another. And another.

It’ll be over soon. It’ll end soon. It’ll be done soon.

He opened his eyes and everything was dark and entirely too claustrophobic. Where was he? What happened? The last thing he remembered was… the man. The pain. His scales. No. The last thing he remembered was dying. Was he dead now? A bitter sort of rage washed over him and he clenched fists, moving his arms. He could move, if only a bit. He wasn’t tied down to something anymore, and that freedom was enough to provide a thrilling level of excitement. A hand went to his mouth, fingers feeling at his lips. The stitches were gone. His tongue slid out, hissing at the air around him.

It smelled like must and dirt. Something wooden was close by. Was he… He was in a wall. Had the man not thought him dead? Boarded him up in a wall before finishing the job, leaving him to starve to death.

Another hiss. Another test of the environment. Nothing hurt anymore, and Nico wondered how long he’d been out. Shoving against the wall, he positioned himself between two of the studs and managed to push through the drywall. He was weak; stomach aching from pains of hunger. But that was it. No sharp stick in his side from where he had felt knife digging through flesh. No searing burn in his tail from where scales had been ripped off.

As he spilled out of the wall onto the floor, he was confused by what was around him. A basement? It seemed vaguely familiar. His attention had been almost entirely focused on the man torturing him before, but he recognized the layout. It was the same place where he had been tied to the table. Now, instead of instruments on a bench and a metal table where he had been attacked, he saw camping equipment. A few bikes. A kayak was propped against the wall.

His tongue hissed past his lips and he got his bearings. Movement upstairs; the sound of little feet against hardwood and a voice calling out about snacks.

Snacks. Food.

His stomach rumbled and the hissing picked up. He felt like he’d been asleep for ages, and he was hungry. He would take a meal where he could get it, and it sounded like there was something upstairs waiting for him. Once he was sated, his purpose was crystal clear. He would find the man that had killed him and he would show him what it felt like to have parts of himself ripped away.