“Why should that bitch get a fucking p-” Fritz suddenly flares into his demonic form and punches him across the face, causing spittle and blood to fly from his mouth, “Fuck!”
Fritz smiles at the bloody drool spilling from the corner of the man’s mouth, wiping his fist against Sam’s shirt, “Watch your fucking language, Sammy. I won’t be so nice next time.”
The man sobs, losing his tough facade. He wipes the back of his hand against his mouth before answering, “Is that what this is about? My fucking wife? You crazy assho- you guys can have her.”
I don’t bother to tell him we are quite happy with the woman we have. He doesn’t deserve even a mention of her. I roam around the kitchen, hoping for ropes or something to keep him secure, but no such luck. The only thing I find is a collection of butcher’s knives. I pick the longest, thinnest one, serrated andoh-so sharp.I twirl it in the light, letting Fritz and the man watch as it reflects the small amount of light coming from the lamps outside.
The man starts whimpering in fear, and Fritz is buzzing with energy from the malevolence rolling off of me. “Would you like to do the honors, or should I?”
He thinks on it before responding, “Be my guest, I have a few tricks up my sleeve that won’t work until he’s bleeding a fuck of a lot more.”
As I slowly walk back over, I consider all the places I could jam this knife. It’s close to the length of his forearm, and I consider severing his arm at the elbow altogether just to compare. But that would be too much blood loss too soon.
I stare down at the man before me, cowering with his eyes closed. He’s praying quietly, and I wonder aloud, “Did your wife ever pray for mercy from you?”
“Yes,” he sniffles.
“Hmm. And did you grant it?” As he opens his mouth to tell me a lie, I slam the knife through his right shoulder, straight through to the chair behind him, securing them together. He screams in agony and tries to move, but the knife has him held perfectly still against the chair. Each wiggle he makes causes the serrated steel to slice him open a bit further. His blood slowly begins to soak his shirt, causing the material to stick to the wound and the coppery scent of it to soak the air.
Fritz leans around to see the back of the chair, commenting, “Aw, man. You ruined a perfectly good chair, Cas. The knife went straight through.”
“Apologies. Couldn’t find any other way to secure him,” I shrug.
“I swear, I’ll never hurt another person again. Please, please don’t kill me,” the man begs again. Part of me thinks it would be wise to gag him; to prevent others from overhearing. But I will not deny myself the symphony of his pain and suffering.
“I think his tongue should go next. He’s annoying the shit out of me.” Fritz suggests. He begins humming that same tune from earlier, so upbeat it doesn’t seem to have a place in this moment.
I raise my brows in consideration of this compromise before nodding, “I’ll need a smaller knife. Excuse me, boys.” As I rifle through the discarded collection of weapons I hear the man scream out in agony again, so I turn to see what’s happened. Fritz has his hand on the wound, eyes closed in concentration.
Curiously, I make my way over with my finds, watching Fritz work.Is he… is he freezing it?
He looks at me with a manic gleam in his eyes, “Freezing works the same as cauterizing. Well, for a while, ‘til it melts. But it hurtsso much more. Then you can freeze the blood over and over again. It’ll slow down the wholedyingthing, but won’t stop it.”
I stare at the crystalized blood, the bastardization of natural coagulation Fritz has created, “Huh.” I reach out to poke it before Fritz slaps my hand away.
“Don’t touch it, it’ll melt faster,” he says before adding, “Well, fuck, he passed out already.
With a sigh, I lightly slap Sam’s face a few times, trying to wake him to no avail. “This guy’s a big baby,” Fritz adds, “One stab wound and a little frozen blood? Please.” He rolls his eyes before he walks toward the next room. “Lemme know when he wakes up, Bachelor starts in five,” then much quieter, he sings to himself, “It turns out he was a missing person who nobody missed at all.”
Wrong
Caspian
50 hours of glorious torture later, we finally call it a day.
“Hmm. Not the longest session I’ve seen, but definitely the most satisfying.” Fritz comments, eating something he found in the pantry.
The piece of shit before us is covered in bruises and slices, has only one eye left as the other was shish-kabobbed by afondue stick, and has tiny little paper cuts between each of his toes and fingers. I found that to be my favorite part.
The irony of Bel’s tiny injury that brought me here being one of the ways I tormented the human who dared harm her brings a grin to my face. She’s going to be angry when she discovers our deception in getting here, but surely she’ll understand.
With a pleased sigh, I turn to Fritz, “You ready for the finale?”
“Fuck yeah. I need to shower, sleep, and go see our girl,” his excitement is contagious, leaking into my bloodstream. Now that this weight over her head will be gone, we can just have more fun.So much fucking fun.I’m daydreaming over the events we’ll enjoy with her once we get home. Fritz will likely die of excitement upon seeing her toy closet.
He sets his hand upon the man’s lolling head, him being unable to do much more than groan in agony, seeing as his tongue is on the floor…somewhere, as is nearly three liters of blood. It’s been frozen over several times, and it’s caused the texture of it to become utterly vile. Even I won’t touch it.
With a small breath of concentration, Fritz sucks the final drops of life from the man’s body. As his magic works, it’s like watching an entire life sped up in time. He goes from looking like your average— okay, severely under average— late 20’s man, then through the stages of his 40’s to his 60’s. Until he looks like someone decided to dig up a mummy and desecrate their grave.
