: was working on getting Charles out of Hell, this is like one of my ideas but not sure what to go with - its just floating around ENJOY! :
Then the Devils Gate opened. Thousands of his kind scrambled for the entrance, his torture forgotten and left hanging on the rack, pins and needles still protruding from his once human body. He wasn't going to follow. He preferred his little corner of Hell, the surface world - it was too bright, too painful, too many memories. He wanted to screams as the thoughts he had buried so long came back with a vengeance, the deep betrayal after he had given him everything. Every secret, every strategy; Charles had once been important in this dead world, but after that purest pulled every little detail from his ruby lips, Charles had become nothing.
Just another traitor on a rack for all eternity.
Charles felt his lungs ignite as he inhaled. No it wasn't him, it couldn't. This was just another brand of torture Alastair had been preparing. He remembered the artisan mentioning a new brush stroke he wanted to prefect on his favorite canvas before making it public. Charles really wished that Alastair would use better metaphors for his torture.
He felt his body shake, he couldn't decide if it was relief, laughter, or sobs because everything was hitting him all at once like his heart had grown back. Which is had by now, only four hours ago it had been plucked from his oozing chest - if memory serves, it should have grown back.
The voice called again. Charles turned his head trying to ignore the bastard. But he felt his body betray him, his face eagerly turning towards the soft accent.
Charles, what are you doing?
He couldn't help but laugh. "Oh you know, trying to show these lessers’ who boss by bleeding on their shoes, yourself?" Charles said.
He heard a inelegant snort. A smile spread across his own lips at the delightful sound. For a moment he forgot where he was or rather pretended he was somewhere else. He was in a library, sitting in front of a blazing fire while moving his Bishop to a check position. He would glance up with a coy smile, and make a suggestive brow wiggle while his companion snorted and moved his pawn to intercept the check. Pawn. That was all he was to everyone.
Charles felt himself fall back, back from heaven, earth and into the pit. To this stupid bloody rack he was still strapped too.
Charles, why are you not running?
"Did I mention I was literally pinned to a rack?" Charles bit back. He felt a wave hit him, a projection of emotion that gripped his soul-essence, he didn't have a soul. Charles eyes hardened as well as his heart. He didn't need his pity.
I know you Charles, if you wanted to you could get off that rack
Charles turned his head in protest. He would cross his arms if he could but currently they were strapped above him, deep gashes torn through them to allow for bloodletting and a few of his digits had been either removed or twisted. Crossing arms might not have been a great idea.
"What if I don't want to..." he mumbled. Charles did not regret. He did not regret the thousands of lives he had destroyed, that he had manipulated into Sin, the souls he had brought and strapped to this very rack for Alastair’s pleasure. Until he met him and now this was poetic justice.
He was supposed to suffer for what he had done, after all - it was God's will.
"I SAID NO! I'M STAYING HERE. THIS IS MY PUNISHMENT," he screamed into the darkness. Charles felt his human chest thud; his body twisting in agony at the stress in had infected on it. His chest was still torn open, a bloody mess painted across his torso with his ribs cracked open to expose the precious organs that they were mean to protect. He felt his heart thud, the cold air brushing across his insides.
If you don't get off that fucking rack now, I'm coming down to pull you out
Charles thought his heart stopped for a moment, if he looked down he could probably see if it had but his eyes had fixated on the darkness.
"Don't! The gate is only open for a short time! What if you get stuck in here!" He cried out to the darkness. He couldn't, he wouldn't. In the beginning, Alastair had taunted him with images of dark claws gripping grey wings, the sickening squish and then the sticky blood of their owner covering the once beautiful feathers. They really were beautiful.
That is a chance I'm willing to take
"DON'T!" Charles screamed again. His entire body wracking against the old wood. He couldn't let him; he couldn't stand to see those visions come true. He felt it then, a firm hand clasping around his jaw pulling his face up towards the heavens. It was dark, it was always dark but for a brief moment he saw a flash of light, a signal or sign to direct him to where he had to go.
Charles held his breath as the familiar musk drifted across his senses. He could almost feel every callous and texture of the strong hand that held him. It was so familiar, it hurt to remember who it belonged to. A soft breath drifted across his cheek and up, curling around his ear before the soft words came in that heavenly accent.
Then get off this rack and run, run for the gate
And Charles did just that.
He ran, he clawed, he kicked and he scratched. He made it to the surface, his hand outstretched for the light screaming at himself to make it, he hand to. He had to get out of here. The whoosh made everyone move faster, the doors were closing.
Charles felt himself get sucked back into the riot as more demons and monsters clawed for the surface. They were so much more powerful than him. He wasn't going to make it; he wasn't going to get to see him. Charles felt the burn of tears streak across his face as the light grew dimmer and dimmer.
Charles felt defeat pull across his chest, once Alastair found Charles gone, it wouldn't take the demon long to find him, and rack him up again - the torture would be worse this time, after all he had tried to escape.
Charles leaned back against the wave of demons preparing to fall back into his place when the light got brighter. So much brighter. Too bright. Charles shielded his eyes as the demons screamed in surprise, they forms twisting and contorting from the light. They sizzled and burned as it continued to burn. Charles could feel his skin peel and bend, his blood igniting as it closed in on him. He had never known this kind of pain, and he had soon and suffered in the presence of Lucifer.
But as soon as the pain began a hand reached out and grabbed onto Charles arm. The flesh burned, burned like a brand but in a flash it was replaced with so much pleasure.
He felt the essence creep into his broken form and ignite every dark corner and burn it away. He was on fire, he had to be. Daring all the fates Charles opened his eyes and looked towards the light.
He had seen this once before, this beauty. The light caress of feathers touched his skin, and within moments he felt his body being jerked. He flew across the masses and then engulfed in a tight embrace. His heart thudded in his chest, threatening to break through the healed flesh. He didn't care, he was still in shock from what was happening.
He looked up towards the blank form that gripped onto him, his flesh still sizzled from the contact but that was to be expected - after all he was a demon.
Then he saw it. Amongst the dark masses of smoke and ash, the gateway from the pit was creaking close. Thousands of essence scrambled to escape, but the doors opening was getting smaller and smaller.
But that wouldn't stop him.
Like a jet, he took off projecting himself like a arrow he skimmed across the masses, igniting them with a touch before they both barreled through the small gap, escaping into the Earth realm.
