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Perfect Hell	By : CallyKariShokka Category: +S through Z > Sonic Views: 2356 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Sonic The Hedgehog game series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Perfect Hell
- 1
Author Notes: This is a one shot, entirely inspired by Nokiasama. Just something to get the creative juices flowing. I�ve been in something of a slump, lately.. I dunno why. ._.;
Written in the span of a week. Pfft.
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters here, or the song. I just borrow it and put it back with damage inflicted. XD;
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Perfect Hell

It�s more to me than you ever will know

Down here where the rest of us fell

Waste away with nothing left to show

While I�m in this perfect hell

Obsession has begun

Possessed by destruction

How did I get so low?

Believe me, no one knows

Sometimes I can�t hold on

And no one can help me

Now it�s got a hold of me

I don�t think I can make it through this

Now it�s got a hold of me

The less I do the more it makes no sense

-- �Angels With Dirty Faces�, Sum 41

Memory is a strange and unusual thing. At times, one could recall the smallest, unimportant details years after they had occurred. At times, a pivotal, vital moment can be lost for no understood reason. The mystery behind thought and memory has frustrated the universe for eternity.

How the attack had originally begun was one of the lost memories; all anyone really knew was that the day had started normally, but had ended as anything but. Some said that they came from seemingly random portals; others said they came from hovercrafts in the sky. Regardless of how, it had happened, and the impact was spectacular. Horrifying, but spectacular.

At nine in the morning on that normal Thursday, Angel Island was serene and peaceful. By noon, the Thursday was transformed into a brutal blur for all involved; the Dark Legion had attacked.

What resulted was a battle. The Guardian of the island fought with the vigor and confidence he had always possessed. His friends, collectively known as the Chaotix, fought at his side. For the first few hours, the Legion had been pushed back.

Then, Enerjak arrived.

The Guardian�s family arrived soon after the immortals� surprising appearance; all thought that the Legions� leader has been mortal, had been stripped of his power. Seven powerful Guardians against the God of the Dark Legion; a battle waged for well over an hour.

It had not been enough. At 2:17 in the afternoon, Knuckles Echidna, youngest and most powerful of the Guardians, lay dead on the streets of Echidnopolis. The rest followed quickly after.

The Dark Legion had finally accomplished what they had always desired: Complete takeover of Angel Island, and the annihilation of the Brotherhood of Guardians.

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Once Enerjak had arrived, the citizens of the island had begun to flee; somehow, their instincts knew what was to occur. Hundreds of men, women and children ran to transports, hover vehicles, whatever they could get their hands on. As it eventually came, a quarter of the islands� population managed to find sanctuary within the world below.

Only half of the Chaotix were amongst them. In their haste to see innocents other than themselves to safety, they had neglected their own; those that escaped could only fear for those that had not.

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Espio Chameleon groaned in fitful slumber, attempting in vain to find a more comfortable position on the hard floor; bruises and cuts made rest a distant impossibility, every turn and toss only inflicting more pain. The chill of the cell made sleep even more difficult to accomplish; he could not recall the last time he had naturally slept.

With a sigh, the young chameleon surrendered and sat up against a wall. It was dark, signaling a late hour, but not completely so; stray beams of florescent light struck the floor from the cell door.

He had been there too long to truly know; the days blurred together in pain, filled with beatings and torture from what could only be described as sadistically bored Legionnaires. They hadn�t killed him, and he did not know why they hadn�t.

A sigh escaped, bordering on a sob, recalling that they had killed Knuckles. Possibly Julie-Su, as well; she had not managed to escape the island either, and he had not seen her since they had been captured.

The lights turned on with a sudden snap; all Espio was able to do in response was blink. The hour was later, or perhaps �earlier�, than he had thought, and he dreaded the day as he did the others.

A creak sounded as the door opened; another long day of pain lay ahead.

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The crack sounded before he felt it; a scream came in response, followed quickly by sadistic laughter, then again with a new crack. It became a vicious cycle with no escape; crack, pain, scream, crack.

The Legionnaires had been flogging him for hours; the whip had come down on his mid and lower back with such force, the spikes along his spine had chipped and cracked. One had broken off completely; it only invigorated his torturers� madness.

It was not the first time Espio had been flogged; it did not mean the pain was any less. Angry tears escaped through the pain. He lifted his head to scream anew; he wound up taking a brief moment to stare at what he saw.

Enerjak stood several feet away, leaning nonchalantly against a wall, an undecipherable expression behind a masked face. The whip came down again with the sudden realization that Enerjak was watching, that Enerjak always watched.

There was a brief pause between strikes, when a strange and unusual circumstance stopped them all.

�Enough.� The Legions� God boomed, still stoic.

The Legionnaires paused in nothing short of utter confusion.

�You three.� It was clear that Enerjak was speaking to his underlings. �Leave us.�

�Uh..� One of the Legionnaires managed to speak. �My Lord, are you cert --�

�Now.� There was no room for argument. The three in robes left with clear disappointment.

Espio could do nothing but breathe, panting in the aftermath of pain and the current grip of angry fear; his hands were bound to the ground, and he had learned not to attempt escape long before.

Suddenly, it seemed, the manacles and chains holding him down were gone; an emerald glow bound him, lifted him into a standing position, but left no room for movement. The lack of possible movement disturbed the young chameleon; at least he had been able to squirm and struggle before.

Enerjak continued to stare. For a long minute, nothing was said. The fear had somehow grown within the silence. When sound finally came, when Enerjak finally spoke a single word, the fear exploded.

�Perfect.�

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It was a shock when the surroundings changed; when the torture equipment, the whip and the blood vanished from view; carpet and hard wood replaced the steel of the walls and floor, furniture replacing the hellish devices. At first, confusion reared: Why had he been brought here? Where was this place?

A shocked yelp erupted, as the captive chameleon flew through the air, stopping only a short foot away from the islands� current ruler. Espio could only stare, unable to speak.

�You fought along side him, didn�t you?� Enerjak�s voice was still stoic and even, revealing nothing. �You were with him, with the rest of the so-called Chaotix, when he died, weren�t you?�

What was there to do or say? After a few frightening seconds, there came an almost whispered response. �..Yes.�

�A shame that I had to kill him.� Came the almost remorseful tone. �He had such talent, such power. Such attraction.�

Espio was not liking where this one sided conversation was headed.

�You are closest left alive to him that I have. Would you like to know why you are here?�

He found that he truly did not; suddenly, the flogging seemed far more preferable to the madness so clearly visible within Enerjak�s eyes.

�You are here for me. You are the closest I have.� Definite insanity, and something else Espio did not immediately comprehend; he was brought closer to Enerjak, hovering less than half a foot away. �This is my personal chamber, young one, and you are here for me.�

That was when Espio understood; horrifying clarity came, and his eyes widened in shock. There was an intention at speech, but all that came was a hung jaw; he was lowered to the edge of the bed, forced, not uncomfortably, into a sitting position.

The connotations left him shivering, robbed of coherency in both thought and sound; he was still unable to move. Soundlessly, wordlessly, he was laid back upon plush fabric and turned, legs left hovering several feet above the floor.

It was not until the clear pressure of a second body against the bed was Espio able to form sound. �Why..?� Almost whispered, barely a breath.

It was a surprise when Enerjak paused, tilting his head to the side in clear curiosity. �Hmm?�

�Why?� Somehow, he was able to gain slight courage. �There are hundreds that serve you, any of those would be willing.. Why..?�

The words were met with a dark chuckle. �You are the closest I have.�

There was hardly time to fully understand, before all thought evaporated with a single thrust and a wailing scream.

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It was nothing short of Hell.

From the first lance of pain that hurt far more than anything he could recall, he knew that there would be no turning back, that he would likely never leave alive. The horror of the situation didn�t truly settle, the reality not entirely making it through a mind shrouded in shock, until he heard the moans and laughter between his own screams.

The pain did not lessen as the torture went on; each vicious, powerful stab, not only a wound on its own but crushing bruised ribs and scratching hardly healed scars, seemed to hurt worse than the one before. He could do nothing but wail and sob, grabbing desperately at the bed sheets in the impossible motion to pull away, somehow still able to see through the blood covering his eyes from the reopened laceration on his forehead. It was almost a blessing when he had finally fallen unconscious.

Almost. When he awoke again, somehow startled by the pain that brought him back, realization rung a shrill denial from the core of his being.

He was still atop him, inside him. The tempo hadn�t so much as decreased; he knew he had to have been unconscious for a good while, an hour at the least, but he was still there.

Sanity was slowly but surely slipping away.

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There is something to be said for immortals, especially those filled with power. It is clear that a god-like being can never sleep, is kept eternally vigilant and aware with the power running through them. Those filled with darkness, with sadistic glee and terrible desire, often don�t even require rest. Gods never loose stamina.

It is this reason alone that most individuals taken for the personal pleasures of dark gods hardly ever survive the first full day. Those that do usually don�t survive the second.

A little over nine hours later, Espio Chameleon held this painful knowledge. Whimpers and soft sobs escaped as his rapist left, unable to scream any longer, voice long since raw. Fresh memories assailed his mind as he tried to obtain the somehow fleeting stubborn anger that had helped him survive in the past; horror, shock and pain erased what few reserves he had.

He was somewhat surprised that it had ended at all; he had fallen unconscious twice during the past several hours, only to awaken to the torture still in place, to the monster still atop him. Yet, it had come to an end, though he knew it was temporary, to a dark moan and his hands being bound to a bed post.

That was where he sat now; wrists shackled to the post closest to the door, kneeling on the carpeted floor, sobbing softly into his raised arms.

It was not the way he had wanted to loose his virginity.

It was not the way he had wanted to loose his life.

He wondered if he would be able to loose these memories.

I�m walking pollution who�s drained by delusions

On the verge of destruction, I cave in to abduction

Thin blood I�m bleeding, my pulse won�t stop racing

Just as my heart explodes

Now it�s got a hold of me

I don�t think I can make it through this

Now it�s got a hold of me

The less I do the more it makes no sense

-- �Angels With Dirty Faces�, Sum 41

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Author Notes: Pfft. Review, please. I need reviews to get out of my slump! Blah.
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Perfect Hell