-One Week of Torture (Castle Time Dilation, faster than Normal World)
The dungeon air hung heavy with the scent of copper and salt.
Torchlight flickered across ancient stone walls, casting dancing shadows that seemed to mock the prisoners with their freedom of movement.
Lucien hung suspended from the wall, chains binding his wrists and ankles. Blood had dried in rivulets down his bare chest, mapping paths like dark rivers across pale terrain.
His breathing came steady despite the circumstances - measured, controlled.
For the hundredth time since his capture, he studied the chains that bound him. Ancient metal links inscribed with Enochian sigils that pulsed with subtle energy whenever he attempted to access the Force.
'Interesting design,' he murmured to himself internally, 'Not specifically targeting the Force - they wouldn't even know what that is - but anything mental directed beyond the physical body...
The Force still feels like an extra limb to me, and acts like one. If the chains sense my mind directing to something that isn't just my limbs and body, they immediately attack me.'
He experimentally reached for the lightest touch of the Force, just enough to sense the room around him.
Immediately, the sigils flared with angry light, sending waves of excruciating pain through his nervous system. He grunted but didn't cry out.
"So that's still a no," he noted dryly when the pain subsided.
In the corner of the cell, Stefan huddled with his knees drawn to his chest, eyes hollow from decades of torment.
He watched Lucien with a mixture of pity and fascination - this child who defied their captor with such casual disregard for consequences.
Silence fell between them, broken only by the distant drip of water somewhere in the castle's depths and the occasional rattle of Lucien's chains as he shifted his position.
The heavy iron door creaked open, breaking the stillness.
Isaac entered with measured steps, his sandals whispering against the stone floor. In his hands, he carried implements of his trade - a multi-tailed whip, various blades, and other tools whose purpose Lucien could only imagine.
Isaac arranged his instruments on a small table with methodical precision, each placement deliberate, as if conducting a sacred ritual rather than preparing for torture.
"Good morning," Lucien greeted conversationally. "Or is it afternoon? Hard to tell down here."
Isaac's movements paused almost imperceptibly before continuing. He didn't respond immediately, instead checking Lucien's restraints with professional thoroughness.
"The Son of God requires blood collection," Isaac finally stated, his voice formal and detached. "Lord Dracula awaits your cooperation."
"Yeah, about that," Lucien replied, as if discussing a minor inconvenience. "I'm not really in a cooperative mood today. Maybe try again tomorrow?"
Isaac selected the whip from his collection, testing its weight in his hand. "Cooperation is inevitable. The only variable is how much suffering precedes it."
"You know," Lucien said, watching Isaac prepare, "for someone who hates humanity so much, you sure picked up our flair for dramatic statements. Though I suppose that isn't too surprising, since you're still bloody human, despite how much you hate it." A hint of a British accent came out at the end - from being so long around Klaus.
The whip cracked, opening a fresh line across Lucien's chest. Blood welled immediately, dripping down to join the collection in the bucket positioned below him.
Lucien didn't scream. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing slightly, but otherwise he showed no reaction to the pain.
He wasn't going to give the satisfaction to this fucker.
"The Son of God bleeds like any mortal," Isaac observed, studying the fresh wound with clinical interest.
"Funny how that works," Lucien replied through gritted teeth, his tone still conversational. "Almost like I'm actually human or something."
Another lash fell, then another. Each stroke precisely calculated to draw blood without causing fatal damage.
Isaac worked with the concentration of an artist, his movements economical and practiced.
Throughout it all, Lucien remained silent. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his breathing grew more labored, but no sound of pain escaped his lips.
After twenty lashes, Isaac paused, observing his work. Blood now flowed steadily into the collection bucket.
"You understand why this is necessary," Isaac said, wiping blood from the whip with a clean cloth. "Lord Dracula requires your blood, freely given, to restore his strength."
"And yet," Lucien observed, voice strained but still remarkably steady, "here you are, taking it anyway. Doesn't seem very 'freely given' to me."
"This blood is merely for later, once permission to drink is given," Isaac explained.
"Well, he's going to be waiting a long time," Lucien replied, managing a small, defiant smile despite the pain radiating through his body.
Isaac set aside the whip and selected a thin, curved blade. "Everyone breaks eventually. Even gods."
"I'm not a god," Lucien said. "Just a kid with really bad luck."
"Your identity is irrelevant," Isaac stated, bringing the blade to Lucien's shoulder. "Your function as the Son of God is what matters."
The knife traced a shallow cut along Lucien's collarbone. More blood for the bucket.
"You keep calling me that," Lucien noted, his voice tight but still casual. "Son of God this, Son of God that. Do I at least get a Christmas card? Some divine health insurance?"
Isaac's expression remained impassive as he continued his work, methodically opening small wounds designed to bleed without endangering Lucien's life.
"Your attempts at humor change nothing," Isaac said. "Lord Dracula has waited centuries for one such as you."
"I'm flattered," Lucien replied dryly. "Really, I am. But I think he's got the wrong kid."
Isaac stepped back, studying Lucien with cold calculation. "Your resistance is futile. You will give Lord Dracula what he requires."
"And if I don't?"
"Then others will suffer in your place."
A moment of silence stretched between them as the implication hung in the air. Lucien's eyes flicked briefly to Stefan in the corner before returning to Isaac.
"You're really committed to the whole 'evil henchman' aesthetic, aren't you?" Lucien observed. "The cryptic threats, the torture implements, the whole dungeon vibe. Very on-brand."
Something in Isaac's expression tightened - the first crack in his professional demeanor. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
"You think this is a game, child? You believe your defiance amusing?"
Lucien met his gaze steadily. "I think you're a sad, broken man who found the biggest bully in the playground to hide behind."
Isaac's composure slipped further, his eyes hardening. He opened his mouth to respond when Lucien gathered what little moisture remained in his mouth and spat directly onto Isaac's sandaled feet.
The room went deadly quiet.
Isaac looked down at the bloody spittle on his immaculate sandal, then back to Lucien. With deliberate control, he set down his blade and wiped his foot with a clean cloth.
The silence stretched, heavy.
Then, with unexpected swiftness, Isaac stepped forward and grabbed a fistful of Lucien's hair, yanking his head back to force eye contact. Their faces were inches apart, Isaac's breath hot against Lucien's skin.
"Perhaps you require motivation," Isaac said, his voice controlled despite the rage evident in his eyes. He gestured with his free hand toward Stefan's huddled form. "Observe the ripper of Monterey. Once feared across continents, now reduced to this."
Stefan flinched at being mentioned, pressing himself further into the corner as if trying to disappear.
"The ripper thought himself strong as well," Isaac continued, still speaking of Stefan in the third person despite his presence. "He believed he could resist Lord Dracula's will. That his reputation for violence would protect him."
Isaac's grip on Lucien's hair tightened painfully.
"Lord Dracula instructed me to break him. I removed his limbs, piece by piece, forcing him to consume human blood to regenerate. When his screams became tiresome, I cut out his tongue."
Stefan made a small, strangled sound in the corner, his eyes wide with remembered terror.
"The ripper learned true fear then," Isaac continued, his voice soft but carrying clearly in the silent dungeon. "When I took his manhood, he finally understood his place. Most fascinating was his adaptation - he gained such control over his vampire healing that he now prevents his tongue and member from regenerating, lest we remove them again."
Lucien's expression remained defiant, but a slight widening of his eyes betrayed his horror.
"You see, Son of God," Isaac concluded, "there are fates worse than pain. There are humiliations that break the spirit far more effectively than any physical torture."
Lucien's eyes narrowed, and with sudden viciousness, he spat again - this time directly into Isaac's face.
Blood-tinged saliva struck Isaac's cheek and eye. He recoiled instantly, releasing Lucien's hair and stepping back.
He instantly wiped his face clean with a fresh cloth, then rinsed with water from a nearby basin.
The only sound was the splash of water and Stefan's shallow breathing.
Isaac's movements were controlled, methodical, but the tremor in his hands betrayed his rage. He dried his face, set down the cloth, and turned to retrieve his sword from the table.
The blade gleamed in the torchlight as he approached Lucien again, its point hovering just below the boy's chin.
"I cannot remove your tongue," Isaac said, his voice deadly quiet. "Lord Dracula requires your verbal consent to consume your blood."
The sword point traced downward, over Lucien's chest, past his navel, stopping just above his groin.
"But there are other parts less necessary to our purpose."
Lucien's eyes widened, genuine fear flashing across his face for the first time.
"Perhaps," Isaac continued, "without your manhood, you might find yourself more willing to cooperate."
Something snapped in Lucien then - a surge of primal rage that transcended pain and fear. With strength born of desperate fury, he pulled against his right restraint.
The ancient chain links groaned against stone as muscles strained.
With a sound of tearing metal and crumbling mortar, his right arm broke free, the chain still dangling from his wrist.
Isaac stepped back in shock, sword still extended.
"Isaac Laforeze," Lucien said, his voice cold, his eyes completely wide, in rage.
Isaac froze. "How do you know my name?" he demanded, suddenly wary as he eyed the free arm.
Instead of answering, Lucien channeled every ounce of his remaining strength into breaking his other restraints. One by one, they tore from the wall despite the agonizing shocks from the sigils.
With a primal roar, he launched himself at Isaac, tackling the larger man to the ground. The sword clattered away as they fell.
Lucien attacked savagely, clawing, biting. His nails raked across Isaac's face, drawing blood. His teeth bit into Isaac's shoulder, desperately, with fury.
Isaac struggled beneath him, caught off guard by the ferocity of the attack. He managed to throw Lucien off momentarily, but the boy was on him again instantly, eyes wild with rage.
Lucien grabbed Isaac's head and slammed it against the stone floor, once, twice, three times. Blood matted the forgemaster's head but still he fought back.
With a snarl of pure hatred, Lucien positioned his thumbs over Isaac's eyes and began to press inward.
Isaac screamed then - a sound of genuine terror as he felt pressure on his eyeballs.
"AAAHHH! STOP! MY LORD! HELP!"
The dungeon door burst open with explosive force. In a blur too fast to follow, Dracula materialized beside the struggling pair. With one powerful hand, he seized Lucien by the throat and tore him away from Isaac.
Dracula slammed Lucien against the wall, pinning him there with one massive palm against his chest. The vampire lord's seven-foot-three frame towered over the boy, holding him suspended so his feet dangled above the floor.
"What is the meaning of this?" Dracula demanded.
Hector rushed into the cell, immediately moving to help Isaac, who was struggling to sit up. Blood streamed from scratches across his face, and his eyes were bloodshot but intact.
"My lord," Isaac gasped, composing himself with visible effort as Hector helped him to his feet. "The prisoner broke his restraints and attacked without warning."
Isaac wiped blood from his face, straightening his posture despite his injuries. "I was explaining the consequences of continued resistance when he exhibited unexpected strength. He addressed me with my full name despite never having heard of it."
Dracula's crimson eyes narrowed as he studied Lucien, still pinned against the wall. "You addressed him by his full name? How did you come to possess this knowledge?"
Lucien's hair had fallen forward, partially obscuring his face. His chest heaved with exertion beneath Dracula's restraining hand.
"Perhaps," Dracula said, turning back to Isaac, "your methods require adjustment. Castration might indeed prove... effective." Showing that he had been listening.
At this, Lucien's head snapped up. Through the curtain of his hair, his eyes locked with Dracula's.
For a long moment there was only silence.
"Marie Belmont," he suddenly whispered, his voice barely audible.
Dracula went utterly still, his expression freezing in shock.
"What did you say?" he demanded, voice dangerously quiet.
"You heard me," Lucien replied, his voice gaining strength. "Marie Belmont. Your wife."
A heavy silence fell over the cell.
"If you castrate me," Lucien continued, his voice taking on a cold, detached quality, "I swear to you, I will rape your fucking wife."
Dracula's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Don't think you can keep me here forever," Lucien continued, his voice growing increasingly unhinged. "The soul is immortal. And I am, in your own words, the Son of God. Heaven will eventually come."
His lips twisted into a mockery of a smile. "And if you think you can make me powerful enough to wipe out the entire host to get to your wife and revive her - yeah, I've already figured out your galaxy-brained idea, how you think this story is going to go - do you really think, I mean REALLY think, you'd still be able to control me?"
Lucien's voice rose, becoming more frantic with each word. "I will rape your wife right in front of your damn face, and then throw her into Hell and have demons have their way with her. You can torture me however much you want, there will be payback for that later."
His eyes were wide now, his voice cracking with emotion. "But castrating me? No, no, no, no, no, no. There is one thing a man always keeps no matter what - and that's his pride. I will never accept such humiliation and agony. I will return it a thousand fucking fold!"
The final words echoed in the stone chamber, followed by absolute silence.
Dracula stared at Lucien as if seeing him for the first time. Something like confusion crossed his features as he studied the boy before him.
A realization seemed to dawn in the vampire lord's eyes. All this torture as well as the terrible life the boy already has led - the brand of sacrifice, the monsters, the separation from family, and now this dungeon, years upon years of isolation and suffering - was changing something fundamental in Lucien's soul.
He was witnessing the corruption of a Son of God.
The creation of something else entirely.
This was how demons were made from humans in Hell...
Without a word, Dracula gestured with his free hand.
Reality itself seemed to bend to his will as additional chains emerged from the walls. He secured Lucien once more, repairing the broken restraints and adding new ones for good measure.
"Leave us," Dracula commanded, not looking at Isaac or Hector.
The two forgemasters exchanged glances before bowing slightly and departing, closing the heavy door behind them.
For a long moment after they left, Dracula simply studied Lucien, his expression unreadable. Then, without another word, he turned and exited the cell, the door closing with a heavy thud of finality.
Alone again except for Stefan's silent presence, the full weight of what he'd just said crashed down on Lucien.
His face contorted in disgust - not at Dracula or Isaac, but at himself.
He retched violently, his empty stomach producing only bile that burned his throat and spattered the floor beneath him.
Tears, unbidden and unwelcome - not out of fear, but out of disgust - began to track down his cheeks, mingling with blood and sweat.
For a long moment he was silent.
"What am I becoming?" he finally whispered to the empty air, his voice breaking on the final word.
In the corner, Stefan watched in silence, his eyes reflecting a terrible understanding.
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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter.
Do tell me how you found it.
So, yeah... That happened.
Yeah, Isaac first before torturing Lucien with hurting innocents, wants to collect as much blood as possible, and weaken him mentally, so that he understands the suffering Stefan and the humans will suffer, by first torturing Lucien.
No, Lucien's... Breaking? Can we call it Lucien breaking for a moment?
Whatver we call it, what did you think of it?
I'm interested in your thoughts.
I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)