The world had turned black and gray. Why, I wondered?
I could feel them dragging me like some beast of burden, pulling me down into a cellar I had never seen before.
Their heavy footsteps thundered in my head what a nuisance.
But. where did the colors go?
We reached a massive iron door, towering like the gates of hell, meant only for those condemned to torment. They shoved me inside, and I collapsed onto the floor. The room swallowed me whole, the way an abyss swallows light.
The door slammed shut behind me with a screeching groan, then silence.
Nothing but suffocating darkness, a single lamp dangling from the ceiling a candle flickering within, its flame weak, trembling on the verge of death.
The light quivered, and I quivered with it.
André's eyes were half-shut not from sleep, but from the pain gnawing through his face, seeping into every nerve of his body.
Minutes of agony passed. Then the door creaked open again. Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
"Well, well, well"
That voice, that filthy, mocking tone was unmistakable. Enzo.
André raised his head with effort. His left eye was swollen nearly shut from the burn; he could see only through his right. He stole a glance at Enzo.
"You f**king bastard. What do you want now?"
Enzo stood before him, holding a metal rod, heavy and brutal, like a baseball bat. He tapped it lightly against his palm, testing its weight.
That twisted smile of his the one André had always hated shone clearer beneath the faint candlelight. Strange, though: there was no color in him. No vibrancy. Just black, empty, lifeless shades.
That's all André could think about when he saw him.
A chuckle slipped out of Enzo, echoing across the room. He leaned closer.
"Don't be so cold. I only came here to have some fun."
"Leave. I don't want to see you." André steadied his breath, forcing himself not to collapse, though his body screamed otherwise.
But Enzo wasn't going anywhere. That look on his face said it all he had no intention of letting go.
"Ha ! How pitiful. No, I'm not leaving. Don't you get it yet? You're in the Hell Room. Which means there's no escape from me, you idiot."
His words were sharp, hidden beneath that wicked grin. André clenched his teeth, refusing to give Enzo the satisfaction of seeing weakness.
Enzo stepped closer. Each stride heavy, crushing, until only a single inch separated them. His presence pressed down on André's chest like a weight.
Then his hand reached out slowly, deliberately, and pressed against André's burn. He pushed down hard. The searing pain exploded through André's skull, spreading across his body like wildfire.
André's scream tore through the silence, raw and defiant all at once.
"I will kill you, Enzo. Do you hear me? I'll make you pay for everything!"
Enzo's madness was undeniable now. Torture was his delight, and tonight he had André as his prey.
He laughed, swaying like a drunkard, hysteria in his eyes.
"Kill me? Look at you. You pathetic fool. You can't even stand."
He took two steps back, raised the rod, and grinned wider than ever far too wide, a grotesque preview of what was coming.
Then the beating began.
Blow after blow crashed down on André's body. He curled himself, trying desperately to shield his organs, to minimize the damage, but there was no escape. Every strike landed with merciless rhythm.
Groans and shallow cries escaped him, but Enzo only laughed, swinging harder.
He wasn't satisfied with just beating him. Grabbing André like a ragdoll, Enzo dragged him to the corner, where a rotting wooden chair waited. He slammed him into it, then fastened him tight with rusty chains that bit deep into his wrists.
That twisted grin again.
"Did you think I was done? Not even close. I've got plenty more in store."
But André could barely hear him anymore. Exhaustion consumed him, spinning the world into a blur. A sharp ringing filled his ears until nothing else existed. His vision caught only Enzo's mouth moving, that despicable grin stretching but the sound was gone.
Enzo leaned closer, gripping André's fingers one by one, bending them back with cruel precision, savoring each crack of protest. He went further, digging under the nails and tearing them free, one after the other.
His laugh was low, venomous.
"It hurts, doesn't it? That's what you get for daring to insult my master."
André screamed until the sound dissolved into violent coughing. Tears burned his eyes, mixing with the blood that ran down his face, twisting his features into a grotesque mask of anguish.
Enzo stared at his bloodstained hands, madness blazing in his gaze. His voice shook with rage, as if fury itself controlled him.
"You humiliated me! In front of him my Don! Do you think I'll let you live after that? Never!"
A feral roar ripped from him. His hand clawed at his hair, yanking it in fury, desperate for release.
"No! No one should speak of me with anything but pride! He should be proud of me. Me alone! Not Daniel, that worthless damn! His name should be erased forever!"
He lashed out in a frenzy, striking André across the head with the rod. The blow thundered through his skull. Blood filled his mouth, spilling in a violent cough.
And in that moment, André thought only one thing:
Why is this happening to me, Dad?
Is this the just world you always told me about?
What a lie.!
I think I've had enough. This is enough.
I just want to die.
His vision blurred, dimmed, then faded to black. His body slackened. His head fell sideways against the chair.
Unconscious. Completely.
Enzo's thrill withered instantly. No more cries. No more resistance. Just silence an empty, bitter silence.
He shook André's limp body violently, unwilling to accept that the game was over.
"Hey! I'm not finished! Wake up! Now!"
But André didn't stir.
Enzo stepped back, then again, his rage drained, leaving nothing but hollow defeat. He looked down at the rod, held it for a moment, then turned away.
His footsteps dragged toward the door slowly, heavily, stripped of triumph. "Shit."
The door groaned open, then shut. Silence heavier than any blow filled the Hell Room.
Hours passed. The candle clung desperately to life, but its glow grew faint, weaker by the second.
At last, André stirred. His eyelids twitched, then parted. Consciousness seeped back, fragile, hesitant.
Emptiness.
Nothing but his broken body and that single candle flame, dancing on the brink of extinction.
My head!
The ringing again. Piercing, relentless. His skull felt like it was splitting open.
How long have I been here?
Damn it! These chains, they're tearing into my wrists.
He struggled, but the iron bit deeper. The skin beneath had darkened, swollen, and throbbing with pain.
Won't this pain ever stop?
Then he froze. A new horror gripped him.
Wait. Why couldn't his left ear hear anything?
He strained, desperate to catch a sound a whisper, an echo but all was void.
"My ear ! my ear!"
Panic ripped through him.
It's gone. My ear is gone.
A broken laugh slipped out. Cracked, deranged. He banged his head against the chair again and again.
I've lost it! My ear! Damn them! Damn them all!
Time crawled. Minutes dragged like centuries. His eyes stared blankly at the floor, wide, unblinking, as if they'd abandoned life.
The candle finally died, plunging the room into absolute darkness. But it didn't matter anymore. André wasn't truly here. His mind had emptied, hollowed out, stripped of thought, of meaning, of humanity.
Two days passed. Then three.
No one entered. No one called. Not even footsteps outside the door.
Hunger gnawed at him. Thirst clawed his throat. Pain throbbed endlessly, as if his body screamed to live while his soul refused.
Sometimes, he hummed. Aimless sounds, tuneless, meaningless scraps of a mind clinging to the edge.
"Hmm… mmm… LA… LA…"
But peace never lasted.
Suddenly, the ringing surged back stronger, sharper, crushing him inside. The migraine chewed at his skull, grinding it as if it would split apart.
What the hell is happening to me? Am I finally going to die?
He screamed not in plea, but in desperate release, clawing for relief. He pulled at the chains, jerking, straining, trying to rip free, to tear himself out of this hell.
Then it began.
Something stirred. Something unnatural. It seeped into the room, into his skin, into his mind.
Whispers.
Not one voice. Many. Tangled, distorted. Breaths without mouths. Words without meaning.
"What? What is this? Voices? I can't see anything!"
He twisted, searching, but the darkness was suffocating, leaving no trace, no source.
Madness clawed at him. He screamed, yanked at the chains, thrashing to break reality itself.
"Damn it! Show yourself!"
And then, amid the void, the whispers vanished.
A red spark flickered. Just a dot, hovering in the nothingness. Not light. Not fire. Something else.
It grew. Wider. Brighter.
André could see it even through the choking dark, he saw it. Felt it. That crimson glow wasn't warm, wasn't kind. It was unsettling. A light that revealed what should never be seen.
It shifted, shaped itself. Became a form. A figure.
Then the eyes appeared.
Twin crimson eyes, glowing in the void, empty of life.
"Well, well. What's this? A child?"
The voice came from the figure, calm yet hollow, as it drew closer. Its steps made no sound almost as if it didn't walk at all.
Its body formed from that red radiance, though the darkness veiled every detail beyond its eyes.
"So my aura responded to a child? What a strange world indeed."
It stood before André, not touching, not threatening only staring, as though reading an open book.