Categories > Cartoons > Class of the Titans > Spartan Anger
A/N: This is a really neat project I got cooking in my mind, and I'll tell you: it's not pretty. It's going to be gory, violent and brutal... dashed with a little intense romance that will fly as racy... but I know you'll like it. It's going to cross over slightly with another series, but I'll leave that secret 'til the last moment. Enjoy
Spartan Anger
His throat cried for air, but upon opening his cracked and bloodied maw there was none; merely the stale mist of blood and sweat. The fog of it always tasted bitter of new and old mixing together. He would try to open his eyes, but he knew too well that he was blinded by the metal helm bolted into his neck.
The pits of Tartarus were not a pleasant place to say the least; defying the gods in the worst possible manner earned your damnation into this pit. He could hear in the distance the grinding stone of Sisyphus and the turning wheel of Ixion. Long has he become accustomed to their constant tormented cries; he once accompanied them in their outbursts of pain, but after so many ages his torture was now something that was almost bearable.
Forced into kneeling, the prisoner of Tartarus was merged into the floor at the knees, his feet emerged slightly only to be nailed down for the sake of pain. His flesh was stripped away as he was whipped incessantly, the chains which bound his arms to stone pillars aside him. The rattling of his chains had long ceased, however, and now this poor excuse for a man was left to bleed, skinless, for all eternity. He often wondered if they merely stopped so he may grow healthy again only to be beaten once more. Surely a being as vile and dangerous as he should not be granted any form of pity or mercy.
Amidst the echoes and screams, the dead Spartan heard footsteps pace by him. He frowned; 'He left me and now the lazy bastard returns? I would have his head if I could' the Spartan thought as he pointlessly tugged at his chains.
Strangely enough the whip never cracked his back. No punch was thrown; no violent action was given to him. Feeling the pangs of anxiousness overwhelmed him eventually.
"What's with this!? Hit me, damn you! Worthless! " His voice was cracked and choppy, having not said words in centuries.
Feeling a coarse hand placed onto his cracked and bloodied shoulder, a raspy voice tumbled into his ear: a language that seemed completely foreign to him after not hearing it for so long.
"The escaped one has sent an offer for your assistance, Spartan. Your freedom will come at a simple agreement."
The words danced around his mind. The escaped one... The god of time; Chronus; the supposed "cannibal" god, wanted to free him. Long has rumor floated around of his escape from the pits, giving the damned a twisted sense of hope that they could do the same, and if not, that they would be freed by his hand one day when he returns. The person relaying this clearly shows that Chronus has been able to penetrate and seep into the depths of Olympia. Having nothing to lose, the Spartan saw no point in denying the wishes of a god.
"Tell him I want what was stripped from me, and only then I will help him" The Spartan hissed out through crimson scarred lips.
"Very well then" The voice creaked back. Feeling the hand leave his shoulder, he felt turmoil of excitement and hate boil inside him.
Ares... you will suffer again for all you have done
In the midst of his thoughts, the sharp burn of a whip cracked his back. The feel of his blood shake from his back at the crack awakened him out of it, almost making him feel alive again. A sneer crept onto his face, knowing he will soon be released from his bounds, and he would reap havoc onto those that stand in his way. Images of what he would do brought a strange relief to him; he alone would bring tartarus to the earth.
Blood now ran down his back and began to splash over his barren shoulder, but deep within the Spartan, the roar of evil and chaotic laughter boiled up and over his lips and flowed over. The whip fell harder onto his back as the laughter began to echo overtop the screams of pain.
Finally having his fill of this defiance, the tormentor stopped his whipping and finally gave a thunderous shot to the Spartans head, a light mist of crimson shaking off of him. Satisfied, the Spartan stilled. And there was silence.
Silence. In tartarus.
Smiling once more, the Spartan smiled through blood, bearing teeth, and hissed again.
"Ares...."
Spartan Anger
His throat cried for air, but upon opening his cracked and bloodied maw there was none; merely the stale mist of blood and sweat. The fog of it always tasted bitter of new and old mixing together. He would try to open his eyes, but he knew too well that he was blinded by the metal helm bolted into his neck.
The pits of Tartarus were not a pleasant place to say the least; defying the gods in the worst possible manner earned your damnation into this pit. He could hear in the distance the grinding stone of Sisyphus and the turning wheel of Ixion. Long has he become accustomed to their constant tormented cries; he once accompanied them in their outbursts of pain, but after so many ages his torture was now something that was almost bearable.
Forced into kneeling, the prisoner of Tartarus was merged into the floor at the knees, his feet emerged slightly only to be nailed down for the sake of pain. His flesh was stripped away as he was whipped incessantly, the chains which bound his arms to stone pillars aside him. The rattling of his chains had long ceased, however, and now this poor excuse for a man was left to bleed, skinless, for all eternity. He often wondered if they merely stopped so he may grow healthy again only to be beaten once more. Surely a being as vile and dangerous as he should not be granted any form of pity or mercy.
Amidst the echoes and screams, the dead Spartan heard footsteps pace by him. He frowned; 'He left me and now the lazy bastard returns? I would have his head if I could' the Spartan thought as he pointlessly tugged at his chains.
Strangely enough the whip never cracked his back. No punch was thrown; no violent action was given to him. Feeling the pangs of anxiousness overwhelmed him eventually.
"What's with this!? Hit me, damn you! Worthless! " His voice was cracked and choppy, having not said words in centuries.
Feeling a coarse hand placed onto his cracked and bloodied shoulder, a raspy voice tumbled into his ear: a language that seemed completely foreign to him after not hearing it for so long.
"The escaped one has sent an offer for your assistance, Spartan. Your freedom will come at a simple agreement."
The words danced around his mind. The escaped one... The god of time; Chronus; the supposed "cannibal" god, wanted to free him. Long has rumor floated around of his escape from the pits, giving the damned a twisted sense of hope that they could do the same, and if not, that they would be freed by his hand one day when he returns. The person relaying this clearly shows that Chronus has been able to penetrate and seep into the depths of Olympia. Having nothing to lose, the Spartan saw no point in denying the wishes of a god.
"Tell him I want what was stripped from me, and only then I will help him" The Spartan hissed out through crimson scarred lips.
"Very well then" The voice creaked back. Feeling the hand leave his shoulder, he felt turmoil of excitement and hate boil inside him.
Ares... you will suffer again for all you have done
In the midst of his thoughts, the sharp burn of a whip cracked his back. The feel of his blood shake from his back at the crack awakened him out of it, almost making him feel alive again. A sneer crept onto his face, knowing he will soon be released from his bounds, and he would reap havoc onto those that stand in his way. Images of what he would do brought a strange relief to him; he alone would bring tartarus to the earth.
Blood now ran down his back and began to splash over his barren shoulder, but deep within the Spartan, the roar of evil and chaotic laughter boiled up and over his lips and flowed over. The whip fell harder onto his back as the laughter began to echo overtop the screams of pain.
Finally having his fill of this defiance, the tormentor stopped his whipping and finally gave a thunderous shot to the Spartans head, a light mist of crimson shaking off of him. Satisfied, the Spartan stilled. And there was silence.
Silence. In tartarus.
Smiling once more, the Spartan smiled through blood, bearing teeth, and hissed again.
"Ares...."
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