IF IT WASN’T for Focalor’s stomach being completely empty, he would’ve thrown-up all the place. Gadreel had done his damnedest to leave his mark, and make Focalor’s stay in Club Agony a top-notch unforgettable experience. Gritting his teeth, he held back the scream on the brink of bellowing out, and rode out searing pain from the flaying job Gadreel was doing on his back, while he hung from titanium hooks, coated in shivical saliva where his wings used to reside. In the best of circumstances, the shit had the potency of acidic lava. In his case, it paralyzed him from the anchor sites down, but his central nervous system was alive and raw. Feeling the poisonous liquid work through his circulator system, burning him from the inside out, would make any sane angel crazy as shit.

He shouldn’t have put it past the evil Watcher to play this game, hoping to appease the holier than thou Demon Lord, Satan. The bastard was always a brown-noser. So, it didn’t surprise Focalor one bit. The male’s whole face took on a shit-stain tinge to it now. He didn’t need his eyes to get a whiff of the scent as Gadreel’s close proximity. The male reeked on a good day. And today wasn’t one of those days. “See, Jacob. Starve them for a while and their skin peels off like butta.” Gadreel peeled down another piece of flesh with his knife.

This round of torture had gone on for hours. At least it seemed like it had. The thick, humid air was suffocating with the fumes of decomposing bodies. Out of all his senses to remain, he wished more than anything his sense of smell would stop working. Gadreel and his crony had pierced his eye with a barghest claw, blinding him, while punching the other hard enough to make it swell shut. His hearing was shot to hell also, thanks to the head trauma and broken ear drums. Words sounded like garbled murmurs. He could still hear enough to understand the passing conversation between the two males. The little tormentors had made good on his taste buds, too. Apparently flaming coals of brimstone were a delicacy in the underworld. He couldn’t say he had taken much of liking for it; especially forced into his mouth with metal tongs and shoved down his throat. Heartburn had nothing on the magma hot rocks they took turns pushing down his esophagus.

He let out a verbal lashing, cursing Gadreel and Jacob with the promise of vengeance. Little did he know Jacob’s disgusting propensity for collecting body parts as trophies. With the same tongs used to insert the brimstone coal down his meat-hole, the Daemon clamped it on his tongue, yanking it out of Focalor’s mouth, and cutting the dry muscle off with a pair of kitchen shears. He was pretty sure they were the same pair used to cut off his fingertips from the mid-knuckle up on each finger, each time he refused to answer their questions. “Still think you’re feathered fuck-buddies are coming to get ya? Don’t you think they’re relieved you’re gone? Shit. I would be!”

If he had use of his legs, he would roundhouse the sardonic asshole. However, the question did provoke some deep reservations. Had he put his faith in the wrong angel? Maybe they had written him off after all. His hope of rescue was waning. There was no way in Hell—Funny, I’m already here—he was going to let Gadreel get away with this. Nor was he willing to die in the stinking pit by the hands of some sadistic wannabe demons. If Cassiel and the brethren weren’t coming to bust his ass out, then it was up to him to find a way to escape. Although his heart and instincts told him to hang on a little longer, his mind was made up.

Sinking down into the place in his mind where he had locked the door on revenge, Focalor tore the locks off and ripped the chains away. It was the last place he ever thought he’d end up again. The last time he indulged in his darker side, had cost him his wings. Those were lost to him now. The only other thing of value he had left was his life. And if soaking himself inside his inner darkness was going to be the only way to get out Hell, then so be it. Gadreel thought he was clever in his torturous antics. Too bad he hadn’t seen Focalor back in the day. This was child’s play compared to what the evil watcher had coming.

The longer he swam in the bloody images of past deeds, the more alive he felt, and the pain afflicting his body began to disappear. The scent of blood, sickly sulfur, filled the recesses of his brain, as he baptized his memories and future plans in the thick liquid. Get your licks in while you can, fuckers. Because once I’m free, you’re going to experience a new level of pain. Visions of Gadreel tethered to the rack, while he sliced open the male’s throat to retrieve his tongue, shot a trickle of excitement down his spine. It was only the beginning of what he had in store for the pair.