A Story of the King

Note: This story is a retelling, there will be commentary straight from Quinn himself as the story evolves.

Part One, Ten Years in the Making

“I’m cold…” The words were soft, the vibration of tiny vocal cords squeaking them to life, leaking innocently into the air. A child lay upon the stone surface of a darkened, dank room. His nimble, pale-red arms curled around his knobby knees. He attempted to capture the heat of his body into the tiny ball he formed along the wall. His sentiments were shared, “me too,” replying from across the gloomy darkness, which hung thick between them.

The floor was covered in a wet sheet of melted ice, provided by empty buckets in the corner, which would be filled from time to time by the hosts—a feint blurting of the men’s voices that bleated in a distant, undecipherable combination of echoes outside the steel door on the far side of the room. Trembling with pain, the boy scooted along the floor, his small hand flopping down and reaching out to the sound of careful splashing. “Take my hand,” the boy whispered, his outstretched palm splayed open, reaching with all the might his quiet, shivering desperation could muster.

If only the chain from a steel manacle, which bit hard around the raw skin of his tiny ankle had been a few inches longer, the two sets of fingers might find the haven both eagerly sought. A ripple along the surface of the frigid puddle decorating the floor went slowly still, a lone, hushed droplet that came welling from the flap of the young tiefling’s eyelid. “I can’t reach you,” his quiet call of anxiety not quite silent enough, the steel door harangued open, startling the two children who scrambled to the opposite side in a heap of terrified arms and legs.

The scrape of one steel bucket against stone following closely behind the rickety, unforgiving tone, “Oh, awake are we? Get away from her you little welp!” The frozen cubes were cast outward, forming a bridge from the lip of it, which connected in a clashing shower down upon its target. A smog of steam hissed outward as each translucent cube smattered over the hot red flesh.

Pain, “Sister–!” the little voice stung outward, before the mouth was stifled by the tip of a boot which interjected the plea, and quiet was the next word as always. The man whom had kicked this obedience into the boy, sparing not an iota of guilt, lifted the tattered loin cloth away from the bare-bottom of the scarlet-fleshed adolescent.

He satisfied himself at the boy’s pain, absorbing his own pleasure, taking his own control… the sheer tenacity of his act, every thrust contorting, consuming, enraging the young boy’s mind. The young tiefling girl watched, curled into herself, her brother disgraced, taken… his servitude held along the hard penetration that destroyed his soul.

“And so was the first ten years of my life. You have to understand, the way I have come to understand, it is less than likely that human beings understand themselves. They will always find an excuse for their barbarism. Unfortunately, nature is not so kind to those that are so kind to themselves. There is a particular experience to be gained from the indulgence of one’s own misery, you do, after enough pain and embarrassment and humiliation, start to see the true nature of things. You, ultimately, come to understand that the tools for your torture, are being carried on the strain of your own back, and in the case of my young life… my own backside.

When I was very young, humans had never yet experienced the delight of a birthed tiefling. In their eyes, I was an abomination. I had horns, I had red skin, and I seemed to have a perpetual fever that they could hardly understand, the warmth of which they could not deny themselves… but they could indeed temper to ensure I made a good slave for their usage. What many will not understand, is that the entire essence of my supernaturality, is the ability for my brain to withstand supernatural temperatures. A human brain cannot survive at a high temperature for very long, but mine… only empowers itself.

Human beings came to understand this very quickly, in my case. After I was born, I grew exponentially. My muscles, although no more powerful than the above average human male, never seemed to become tired. I was capable of moving weight, digging in the mines, carrying buckets of ice (to my own dismay) for very long periods of time. I also never required sleep, so you can imagine how this might have made me an efficient slave.

However, despite the frigid torture of humanity, it was a rather difficult affair to keep me… tame. The method for which they derived to fully control me, involved my feelings. I had a great love for my sister… ice-torture upon her, was the surest way to force me to adhere… to nearly any demand…”

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