6. The Winner Takes It All.

I lay in bed, my body restrained and weakened by the effects of the drugs. The room was filled with a pungent smell of medication, making me feel groggy and disoriented. He stood beside me, his impatience palpable, eager to take me to the shed that awaited us. I could see the anticipation in his eyes, a cold malice that sent shivers down my spine.

"Oh, baby, you are getting just right for the shed. I have a little surprise for you." His voice oozed malevolence.

With a sinister grin, he approached me, placing a spiked collar around my neck. The sharp points dug into my flesh, causing a wave of pain to surge through me. I was powerless to stop him, completely at his mercy. His sadistic pleasure was evident as he pressed the spikes deeper, relishing in my helplessness.

Suddenly, he pressed a button, and a surge of electricity coursed through my body. Every muscle tensed, and my back arched involuntarily. The shock left me paralyzed, unable to move or fight back. It ensured that I couldn't tap into my rage, leaving me utterly defenseless.

Damon then freed me from the bed, only to replace the restraints with narrow bracelets tightly attached to my wrists. Those had springs in them, so they fitted around my wrists very tightly. As he pressed another button, the spikes on the bracelets pierced deeply into my flesh, causing my fingers to spasm with agony.

He twisted my arms behind my back, forcing me into submission, before snapping the bracelets together. The strong magnets in them held me firmly in place. Damon lifted me off the bed and began to push me forward. His anticipation could be felt in the air. It pressed down on me, making this once beautiful castle in place of genuine horror and torture.

We descended the stairs, the sound of our footsteps echoing through the empty house. The smell of dampness and mildew hung in the air as we entered the kitchen and made our way to the basement. I was not sure where we were going but somewhere in the basement. 

At the end of the basement, barely noticeable, was a concealed door. Damon retrieved a small box from his pocket and pressed a button, causing the door to slide aside. Beyond it lay a dimly lit hallway, stretching out before us. As we walked, the cold concrete floor chilled my bare feet, and the intermittent spotlights on the walls cast eerie shadows. He walked me mercilessly in front of him, my feet moving on their own. Somehow the pain of the collar in my neck made me obey and I could feel a headache from the metals setting in already.

We finally reached the end of the corridor and ascended a flight of stairs. The creaking of each step added to the sense of foreboding. At last, we stood before a heavy door. Damon held me tightly as he swung the door open to reveal a shed. It was a disturbing sight, filled with an array of torture equipment hanging ominously from the walls. The metallic scent of blood lingered in the air, making my stomach churn. He had used this shed before, and this was so close to the castle. 

The shed was expansive, almost like a small dungeon. I noticed a faint corridor at the back, hinting at hidden secrets.

Damon whispered, "Surprise, but don't fret. You won't remember the existence of this shed so close to the house. And remember, this isn't the only one."

His words sent a chill down my spine as I realized the depths of his sadistic plans.

Damon walked me over to one upright device.

He held me tightly as I attempted to kick him. My foot connected with a solid thud against his shin, causing him to curse under his breath. He pressed the button. A surge of electricity coursed through my body, leaving me drained and weak.

He swiftly opened the lid of a mysterious device, unhooked my wrists, and secured them to the racks attached to it. He fastened a cold, metal belt tightly around my waist, pressing me firmly against the device. Next, he bound my legs, leaving me standing with my hands immobilized at my sides. I had never seen anything like this device before, and its purpose remained unknown to me.

Damon rose to his feet and flexed his hands, a sinister grin spreading across his face. "Let's take it slow, my dear, so you can endure for as long as possible."

He sauntered over to a nearby cabinet, retrieving a vial of medicine and drawing its contents into a syringe. He repeated this process six more times until he held seven identical syringes in his hands.

The talking started as he began to explain things to me. Not making this any much better, "Now, this muscle relaxant is potent and long-lasting. It will enhance the effects of the device."

Methodically, he began injecting the muscle relaxants into my stomach muscles, one after another. After the sixth injection, he remarked with satisfaction, "Ah, perfect. Nice and soft, just as it should be."

The final syringe contained a slightly higher dose, which he injected directly into my heart. Instantly, I felt my muscles losing control, causing me to slump against the restraints.

"Excellent, just as I planned," he said. With a final twist, Damon closed the lid of the device.

"Behold, my baby, this is the marvel that will ravage you. You may recall it from the pharmaceutical company over yonder. It served as my inspiration for this creation. I don't want you attempting to diminish the impact of the blows. Hence the muscle relaxant, allowing the device ample time to work on your delicate internal organs."

He flicked a switch, and the device sprang to life. Coincidentally, the piston struck me with a force, both in the front and back. The pain made me gasp. I could not move. I was damn trapped, and I knew that my multiplication enzyme might activate from this and then it will drain my strength.

"The machine is now programmed to target your internal organs. The bone-crushing will come later," Damon explained casually, as if engaging in idle conversation.

The blows grew more intense and unpredictable due to the muscle relaxant, rendering my muscles useless. The pain spread throughout my stomach, with the device relentlessly focusing on the areas that caused the most agony.

"The machine constantly scans you, seeking out any damage and exacerbating it as per my programming," Damon revealed.

My liver likely screamed in anguish, my spleen ached, and my intestines were being ravaged. The machine relentlessly searched for my kidneys, while my ribs protected my lungs and heart. Eventually, my entire stomach became a symphony of agony.

The machine came to a sudden halt, its mechanical whirring filling the air. As Damon lifted the lid, my eyes widened in horror. A sea of blackness engulfed my entire stomach, extending down to my ribs, where bruising contorted the skin.

Damon probed, his voice filled with faked concern, "Is it tender?"

He smiled at my pained reaction when he touched and pressed into my stomach. I let out a pained groan in response. He swiftly untied me, dragging me towards another apparatus. It was a peculiar frame that he secured me to, its presence looming in front of me.

Adjacent walls or panels enclosed me, brought close enough to brush against my body, leaving barely a meter of space in every direction. The panels rose to the level of my neck, while my arms were bound above my head, suspending me in a near-hanging position.

"Spanker," Damon mused, his voice dripping with malice. "Destined to handle your largest organ, your skin."

With a final tug, he stretched my body to its limits, then separated my hands, ensuring that every inch of my skin was exposed. In an instant, my vocal cords were rendered useless, silenced by Damon's manipulation. I hated that damn syringe when he paralyzed my vocal cords.

I guess he had heard me screaming enough already or then you're not supposed to scream in the shed. I have no idea. I do know that he dripped bag after bag of those damn murky bags in my already in medbay, so his little whatever experiment was getting on.

"Just so you know, the metals might still have an effect," he casually mentioned, before stepping back and activating the device.

A whip or a lash materialized from each panel, mercilessly striking me from all sides. The assault was ceaseless, with some lashes thin and stinging, while others had sharp blades that clung to my flesh before being violently ripped away by the machine. From my toes to my neck, the whip relentlessly lashed at me, causing my blood to spurt with each blow. The pain was something that I could not even find words to describe properly. It burned its way through my soul and my mind as well. 

The machine tore open my stomach, unleashing a torrent of blood and clots as it savagely battered my stomach lining. All of those beaten-to-pulp internal organs gushed out of me. I could hear them wetly dropping onto the floor, and smell them as well. Loops or bits of my bowels hung out of my stomach, only when the power of impact shook my body, did something drop out of me.

The position I was forced into was excruciating, my weight unbearable, and it felt as if my shoulders were on the verge of dislocation. Eventually, the machine ceased its assault. I was split open from all around my body and I was not sure did my heart even worked anymore. Everywhere were blood splatters and guts. The smell was just awful.

Suddenly powerful jets of ice-cold water hit me all around me, some sort of nozzles were in those panels too and they rinsed the rest of my bodily fluids, pieces of tissue, and grate of sewer pipe had been opened more so bigger clumps of tissue were soon flushed away. I was still strapped, now soaking wet, water stinging and burning everywhere, as all those open wounds were still wide open and the water had felt like acid. 

Damon approached, wearing his protective apron and thick gloves, removing the panels, releasing my arms, and hoisting me onto the next contraption. He swiftly secured my legs and arms, tying them first to my wrists and ankles, then to my elbows, shins, thighs, and shoulders.

I was too weak from the pain of being able to act. I had no sense of time, how long one machine beat me up in time. Only pain, weakness, and ever-increasing feelings of being poisoned by those metals came to be.

As he sealed the lid, he uttered with a cold detachment, "Now we'll treat your joints."

From his face shone so raw enjoyment that it made my heart break because I could feel my love for him weakening and no amount of pleading would get him in my good graces anytime soon after I would get somehow out of here. Now that 12 heat was the only faint memory in my mind and this torture, the past 12 weeks were more than enough for me to get really fed up with him.

Without further ado, he pressed the button, initiating an unimaginable force that stretched my limbs, wrists, and body vertically. The pain was relentless, slowly seeping into every fiber of my being. Ligaments in my wrist tore, followed by my elbow, ankle, knee, and shoulder, each joint popping out of place.

Damon's ominous words echoed, "This one will keep an eye out to make sure the spinal cord doesn't break. This is a clever device."

My vertebrae shifted and dislocated, unleashing waves of agony throughout my body. Once every joint was dislodged, the machine began to manipulate my limbs, intensifying the torment. The pain grew so unbearable that my vision blurred and darkness consumed me. Finally, I succumbed to the anguish, succumbing to unconsciousness.

I woke up in bed. This was some kind of army bed. My joints were in place, but for how long? My skin was broken, and my stomach was still sore.

"Oh, you're awake," Damon said, then he pressed the implant gun into my stomach and fired. "Malaria." then the next one against my chest, "Lung cancer," and on my hips, "Endometriosis."

I was helpless to stop him and it seems that he had really fallen in love with those damn implants of his, always putting them on me.

He still hit my brain with the syringe. His voice was explanatorily, again like he was chatting about the weather. "Epilepsy, but now you'd better watch out for those seizures with your joints so loose. "

The following weeks were torture. Every other day, he used various devices, stabbers, and bone crushers. He triggered epileptic seizures when I was in devices or in the stabber. He pulled my joints out of place several times. Once put me in a whipping machine so it would tear my skin apart and my body too, next he would put me in a machine that burned or froze. He also experimented with radioactivity, but not quite as enthusiastically as Sark.

He did not want me to get better by using that radiation as an energy source, so he mainly used it to get deep aching burns in my body, feeding me radioactive substances or dripping some in my veins, too. 

I always got a day off to recover from what the symptoms would allow. Of course, he would talk to me, drip those bags into me, touch me, so that pain would have made me lose consciousness more than once and he had a clock on the wall so I could see how long I had been here. My torment seemed never-ending, and I was wondering will I ever get out of here. Or will my straps break off fully before he stops?