Drip

A blue light seeps through Osric's eyelids. He opens them to a gold lantern, glowing faintly blue, dangling from a rope just above him.

Where the hell am I? He tries to stand. His arms are trapped — strapped down to the wooden chair he's stuck in.

A figure emerges from the darkness. Black robes lit by the lantern’s glow. A mask covers its face — an executioner’s mask, with holes for demon horns. The figure stops at a table.

Metal tools gleam on the table to Osric's right.  a knife, a file, pliers, a needle, many needles… Osric's stomach tightens as his eyes slide down the long table.

Footsteps echo from beyond the table. The shoulder-padded demon steps into the blue glow.

Osric starts screaming an incantation: "Light this—" The metal around his wrists glows. The same magic circle as the bars in his cell.

The demon laughs. "Why did you think it would work this time?"

"What are you going to do to me?" Osric snarls.

"Nothing... if you agree to restore the book."

"I can't."

"If you can restore the Quadra Codex, why can't you restore this one?" The demon produces the book.

"How do you know its name?" Osric narrows his eyes.

The demon mutters something to the executioner in the demon tongue.

"I'm talking to you, bastard!" Osric screams.

A swift slap stings his cheek. "You will not call me that," The demon hisses. "Call me King Anzu."

"How do you know the name of that book?" Osric glares intensifies.

"Will you restore this book?"

"I told you — I don't think I can."

Anzu sighs. "I hoped a few days would change your mind." He snaps his fingers.

The executioner grabs the knife, and swipes it across Osric's thigh, slicing his pants and skin.

Osric clenches his jaw, Ah, he's still locked on Anzu.

His other thigh is next.

The pain starts to get to him. He grimaces, lowering his glare.

"Will you restore the book?"

"Go fuck yourself," Osric growls through clenched teeth.

Another slash — Blood sprays. He can't hide his pain.

Anzu barks at the executioner, then smacks him on the back.

"He doesn’t understand human fragility. We don’t want you bleeding out." Anzu’s hand glows blue over Osric’s thighs. The wounds seal closed like a zipper.

A rock lands in Osric’s lap. Anzu spins around. "Decide to help me, speak my name, and the rock will activate." Then he vanishes, leaving the lantern’s glow.

>>>

Crack!

The sound is almost as bad as the pain. Osric yelps as his last fingernail is ripped free. His head slumps forward. Tears plop into his lap.

The executioner spins the pliers in his hand, inspecting Osric's nail.

"Sadist creep," Osric spits — the only insult he can muster between pulses of agony.

The executioner grabs Osric’s left leg.

"What are you doing?" Osric asks, fighting a bitter laugh.

He lifts the leg.

"No! Stop! I beg!" Osric thrashes. The Executioner's grip is rock-solid.

One hand on Osric boot, the other bracing above his knee... then —

His leg is bends the wrong way. Osric's scream tears apart his throat as it flies out.

Everything goes black.

>>>

Drip.

Cold and damp. Osric opens his eyes to stone. The cell again.

His knee is throbbing. He tries to sit up. It won't bend.

Hands rub his face. Fingernails — back.

"Hey! You forgot to heal my knee!" Osric tries to crawl — but accidentally kicks his bad knee.

He rolls across the floor. The pulsating pain spreads through his whole body.

>>>

Sleep is impossible. He's been laying here hours, maybe days. He can't remember. He tries to remember anything to get his mind off the pain.

Drip.
What the hell is that sound? A leaky pipe?

Footsteps echo. The lantern on the wall flickers on. Anzu stands the bars.

"Heal my knee, please!" Osric drags himself forward.

"I admire your resolve, Sage. But we are running out of time." Anzu tosses the book through the bars. "Restore it. Use the stone to reach me." He departs.

"No! Wait! Heal me, please!"

Anzu's footsteps fade away. The lantern extinguishes. Cold and damp darkness swallows him again.

This isn't how my second life is supposed to go. I don't want to do this anymore, He thinks as a tear bridges across his nose.

"Hey, you." A nasally, deadpan voice echoes across the stone.

Osric peels his head off the floor — like he could see anything.

"Aren't you tired of all this? Don't you want to... relax?"

He crawls towards the voice.
It's the book. The book is talking.