Prologue "A Routine Torture"

Neraka Parallel

Ifshar Rewede Beneklat was Taymat mir Beneklat or King of the House of Beneklat. He was 91 inches tall, big even for a Tamaratry male, heavily muscled his oiled, golden skin and twin hair-braids shone in the harsh lights of the cell as he pursued his favourite hobby. His current plaything was a Tamaratry female called T’Gira Seeneta Gerhant who was accused of being a spy from the House of Albalanta.

T’Gira was in a metal frame that fit closely to her body. Attached to the frame at the neck, forehead, wrists, waist, knees and ankles she could be moved into a wide variety of positions to make things easier for her tormentors. She was currently upside down which meant she was unlikely to faint whilst Ifshar applied a hot iron to the soft skin of her inner thigh. The smell of cooked meat began to fill the air and the Pain-Nurse turned up the extract fans in the ceiling. T’Gira’s screams were muffled by the clamps which held her mouth shut.

Ifshar put the iron down, examined the instruments on the table and turned the frame around so that T’Gira was upright and her face was at the same level as his. He picked up the miniature blowtorch and watched T’Gira’s eyes widen as he flicked the ignition and narrowed the flame to white hot. He hummed to himself as he methodically burnt the flesh from her right thumb and forefinger leaving blackened, oozing bone. When he looked up T’Gira was unconscious and he shouted at the Pain-Nurse to adjust her medication.

“Wake her or you’ll be the next one on the frame!”

“I’m sorry my lord,” said the Pain-Nurse. “She should be awake quickly now.” She pumped chemicals into T’Gira’s ravaged body.

“Welcome back my sweet,” Ifshar taunted T’Gira as her eyes flickered open. “How could you want to leave your party so soon?”

Ifshar grabbed one of T’Gira’s breasts in his taloned gloves and twisted hard. His other hand stroked her cheek the way he had done when they’d been lovers.

“I know that you’re in the pay of the Albalanta. Why not just tell me who you report to and the names of the other rats who spy on me? I promise that your death will be quick. If you won’t tell me then I will bring your son in next, attach him to the frame opposite you and burn the skin from his body.”

T’Gira tried to speak and her head made frantic motions as she tried to say yes and no at the same time.

“What’s that my love?” crooned Ifshar. “You won’t tell me?” Ifshar picked up a pair of pliers and gripped T’Gira’s nipple. “Then perhaps you need a little more persuasion.”

The torture continued as Ifshar had always intended it would. He didn’t know or care whether T’Gira was really an Albalanta spy. She’d been beautiful and an enthusiastic lover but he was weary of her and he had already moved against the House of Albalanta. This was a routine torture and not as enjoyable as the fun he’d had with the Albalantan matriarch, Ayishgtagar,  that he’d eventually had impaled last week. Ayishgtagar’s body was still on the main spike in the  courtyard of the Cathedral of the Glorious Pain. Rotting, bloated and stinking - but still impaled and upright.

Growing tired of his sport Ifshar turned to the Pain-Nurse on duty at the control panel monitoring T’Gira’s vital functions.

“Have it recorded that she refused to speak and as such the penalty will be that she be crushed until she speaks or is dead. Now wake her up, patch her up, make sure that she can never speak and have her crushed in the courtyard. Make the crushing last two days and I’ll see that you get a healthy bonus.”

“Yes taymat!” shouted the Pain-Nurse as she saluted. “At your service, always!”

As Ifshar stalked from the room the Pain-Nurse brought T’Gira’s frame level and called in a crash team to revive and treat her. Only the healthy and those able to properly feel the glorious pain were crushed. If the taymat had been displeased then T’Gira would have been impaled - and that could last for a week given the proper care and attention to detail.