The feral smell of sweat, mixed with fear, elation, melancholy, doubt, flows from bodies that huddle together in a dark, steaming place. Is it a cave? A cellar? Or the black imprisonment of their own tortured minds? One by one, the silver orbs of vision alight with recognition, fear, trembling, dreading anticipation.
The heavy step upon the ground brought impending doom; the cane tapping the obsidian darkness, ceaseless pain; the black voice booming from smoke-addled lungs, exquisite death. Blood rushes as one with each connected heartbeat, blood that would soon endlessly drip upon the shimmering floor.
Light begins to lift their vision into shadows as a door pours wrath into their dwelling, and they see the reflection of their demise in the pools of scarlet that already stain the floor. The white skull of a predecessor, flesh long eaten for lack of better sustenance, leers on the edge of his shadow. Its gored eyes and tainted grin are crushed with his heavy boot; a boot marked with the heinous crimes of years past, and he, with a deep growl of disgust, pushes back the fearful bodies in search of one to appease his bloodlust.
With the innocence of a child and body of a woman, one steps forth as a suicidal sacrifice to save the souls of those imprisoned beside her. Heightened fear bursts forth with the violent convulsions of her breast; she gasps for air in the murky depths of the dungeon, and he is appeased.
Blood spatters upon grimy faces and sparkles in the luminescence of a flame as her life blood spurts from her slender throat, and she crumples in a pool of staining scarlet that seeps through her hair and turns its golden strands dark with hate.
His eyes, ever black and watching, drink in the sight of her death, and with a tap of his white rod upon the open door, he disappears.
The feral smell of blood, mixed with fear, elation, doubt, and release mingles with the bodies that press forth and snarl to rip flesh for their survival. Bones, fresh and white, are thrown aside for the babes to gnaw on. The marked surface tells of flesh that supplied life to another, yet not even a spec of blood remains on the marred surface. All is consumed, an those who are weak have only memories of the bodies that stepped forth to save their own.
A/N: entirely random; I started out to write about a summer's day of hard work. Obviously, this isn't what I expected. I don't even know what to do with it, so for now it will stay a strange, short story of sadistic minds and prisoners forced to be cannibals.