Hades' Point of View
He sat slumped in the chair, his head lolling forward, blood already dripping from a cut on his brow. The dim overhead light swung gently, casting shadows that danced across his trembling form. He wasn't tied up; there was no need. His body was already betraying him, limbs heavy with fear, as though his muscles refused to obey even the most basic commands.
I stepped closer, my boots echoing against the concrete floor, and he flinched at the sound. "Adriano," I said his name slowly, savoring it like the first sip of a fine wine. "You know why you're here."
Adriano didn't respond. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, his shoulders rising and falling erratically. I could hear the faint, pathetic sound of him whispering a prayer under his breath. It amused me.
"Praying, are we?" I asked, my voice a smooth drawl. "To whom, exactly? Surely not to the god who condemns men like you to eternal torment?"
I moved closer, dragging the metal chair from the corner of the room and placing it directly in front of him. Slowly, deliberately, I sat down, resting my elbows on my knees as I leaned forward to meet his wide, terrified eyes.
"Do you know the punishment for lust, Adriano?" I asked, my tone conversational, almost friendly.
His lips trembled, but no words came out.
"Let me remind you," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. "In Dante's Inferno, the lustful are forever trapped in a violent storm, buffeted endlessly by winds they cannot escape—a reflection of their uncontrollable desires. But me?" I paused, letting the silence linger. "I've always preferred something more... *tangible.*"
I smiled—a slow, deliberate curl of my lips—and reached beneath the table. One by one, I placed the knives on the cold metal surface. Each blade gleamed under the dim light, their edges honed to perfection. I aligned them meticulously, each one in its rightful place, like an artist arranging his tools before beginning a masterpiece.
Adriano whimpered, his eyes darting to the knives, then back to me. He knew what was coming. They always did.
"Your hands," I said, my voice sharp as the blades in front of me. "The same hands you used to *touch* her."
He shook his head weakly, but I didn't need his confession. I had all the proof I needed.
I grabbed his right hand, holding it firmly against the table. He struggled, weakly, pitifully, but there was no escaping me. I reached for the smallest knife, the one with the curved blade, perfect for precision work.
"You touched a woman with these fingers," I said softly, almost tenderly, as I pressed the blade against his flesh. The first cut was deliberate, slow, and precise. His scream echoed off the walls, a symphony of pain that only fueled my laughter.
I removed the first finger, holding it up for him to see before tossing it carelessly to the floor. Blood poured from his hand, pooling beneath him, but I didn't stop.
"One," I counted, slicing into the next finger. "Two." The blade slid through flesh and bone with practiced ease.
"Please!" Adriano wailed, tears streaming down his face.
I laughed—a low, guttural sound that echoed in the room. "Oh, Adriano, this is only the beginning. You should've thought about that before you let your filthy hands wander."
By the time I'd removed all ten fingers, his screams had turned to sobs, his head sagging forward as if he couldn't bear the weight of his own agony. I leaned back in my chair, wiping the blood from the blade with a clean cloth, savoring the sight of his mutilated hands.
"You approached her," I said next, standing and moving to his feet. "You thought you could walk towards what doesn't belong to you?"
He was too broken to respond, his chest heaving as he sobbed. I crouched before him, gripping his ankle as I pulled his foot into position.
This time, I didn't bother with the small knife. I chose the cleaver—a heavier blade, meant for deeper cuts. It sliced through his toes with brutal efficiency, each strike accompanied by a sickening crack.
"One," I said again, repeating the count as I worked my way through his toes.
He tried to kick, his remaining foot jerking feebly, but I pinned it down with ease. When the last toe fell to the ground, I straightened, blood dripping from the cleaver as I gazed down at him.
"But that's not enough, is it, Adriano?" I said, my voice mocking. "You didn't just touch her. You didn't just approach her. You *wanted* her, didn't you? You thought she was yours for the taking."
I grabbed his ankle again, pressing his leg flat against the floor as I prepared to remove the entire foot. He screamed louder than ever, his voice cracking under the weight of his pain.
The cleaver came down hard, severing the limb in two swift motions. Blood sprayed across the room, painting the concrete floor in violent streaks. I stepped back, admiring my work, my laughter ringing out like a madman's hymn.
"You smelt her body," I said, my tone shifting as I moved to stand behind him. "You dared to think you could breathe her in and make her yours."
I grabbed his head, forcing him to look up at me. Then, with a swift, brutal motion, I delivered a blow to his nose with the hilt of the knife. Bone shattered under the impact, and blood gushed down his face.
Adriano choked on his own cries, his body convulsing as he tried to pull away.
"And you saw her," I said, my voice dark and low, the final sin weighing heavily in the room.
I leaned in close, so close I could see the reflection of the blade in his tear-filled eyes. Slowly, almost lovingly, I pressed the tip of the penknife against the corner of his left eye.
He begged incoherently, words slurring together as his terror consumed him. But I didn't stop. The knife slid into the soft tissue, his scream splitting the air as I punctured the delicate orb. I twisted the blade once, then pulled it free, moving to the second eye without hesitation.
By the time I finished, Adriano's head lolled forward, his body slack and lifeless. I stepped back, breathing heavily, my chest rising and falling as the laughter slowly died in my throat.
The room fell silent, save for the steady d
rip of blood pooling at my feet.
I smiled. It was a masterpiece.