Was it his vision that returned first, in grainy, static flashes of black? Or did his ears finally surrender to the pervasive presence of the spongy, wet gurgling from across the room? Cadin was only sure that his mind was the last thing to catch up, like counting the heartbeats between the blinding sheet of lightning and its companion roar of thunder following behind.

The first clear thought to pass through his head was not a comforting one.

Why doesn’t it hurt?

It nagged at him, like a broken tooth. A splinter under the nail.

Sluggishly, his body like a marionette cast carelessly aside, he tried sitting up further. He didn’t remember sitting down to begin with, and yet here he was, back against the cool marble of the fireplace, legs splayed out before him beneath a cloying, damp weight. He blinked, once, then again more forcefully. He tried to persuade his eyes to show him something different than what he had been seeing for the past several moments, but they were not open for debate on the subject.

His intestines were sitting in his lap.

Again came the thought, the quiet mantra that his mind had latched on to as he had come to.

Why doesn’t it hurt?

Gritting his teeth, the Salvaran brought hands numb with cold to his gut, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch the looping spill of meat from within his torso, to probe the long, ragged incision in cloth, leather and skin. In the dim light, the weak strip of it brave enough to peak through the slightly ajar door of the office, he could see the spread of liquid black running off the fireplace, soaking into the carpet and smeared across his clothing. He could smell the abattoir reek of himself, felt his stomach curdle.

Not cold, then, the numbness. His head lolled forward before snapping upright, the knee-jerk reaction of someone catching themselves falling asleep. Bad idea, that. Falling asleep now seemed like it carried a promise of a much longer rest than Cadin wanted. His eyes finally managed to untangle themselves from the Gordian knot of his serpentine guts, casting about desperately for something else to focus on. Of course, he could hear the muffled chorus of weeping? Laughing? Some hideous blend of both? It was out of sight, other than the occasional erratic stab of shadow against the back wall of the room, and the odd, wet impact of something hitting the floor, the walls, the desk…

But he didn’t want to focus on that yet.

Instead, his gaze alighted on the only other form he could see from his vantage point. It was tiny, just a little scrap of flesh lying on the floor. Half of it that he could see was white – not just white, but the unhealthy pallor of something that had lived a life far from the touch of any sunlight. Livid stripes of scar-tissue criss-crossed the malformed little thing, shrouded beneath the broken curve of a black feathered wing. It was, at least once in its existence, a foetus; that much was clear, however much one might have wished otherwise. Cadin knew the little beast of course. Anyone who had had dealings with the tiefling lord of the House of Sin knew of it.

Junior, he had called it. The warlock’s pet, familiar, bastard child… the rumours were wildly varying as to where and how it had originally been procured, let alone gifted with the cruel mockery of life it possessed.

Had possessed? The disgusting little abomination wasn’t moving, not that Cadin could see.

Memories reasserted themselves slowly, smoke building in thickness within the confines of his mind. Little flashes of moments rendered clearly. He could see the arc of Pawel’s axe swinging towards the little monster. Could see it hit the ground and bounce, only once, skidding to a halt where it now lay. Yes, that was it. The other man had struck Junior, and then suddenly they hadn’t been alone in the room. Cadin had tried to turn, hadn’t he? He had, and then there came the horrendous ripping across his stomach, the cold fire plunging into flesh and muscle. Pawel had gone down almost the same instant, vanishing from sight behind the desk, beneath the pouncing weight of whatever had entered the room--

No, that wasn’t right. Whatever had attacked hadn’t entered. It had already been in the office, watching them. How could that be, though? They had scanned every inch. Nonetheless, it had to be the case; as soon as Junior had gone down, it was on them.

Junior. Something tried to click in his head, but his wounds were dulling his wits too much.

Even as he watched the broken familiar, feeling the sweat slathering his skin cool and become sticky – or was that the blood? – something else vied for his attention. Something just as pale as Junior, rising from behind the dark slab of the desk. It panted, fast and low, like something feral as it stretched to its full height, jerking spasmodically with the click of vertebrae and the subtle creak of leather. It sniffed the air and he could feel the weight of its attention settle on him where he was sprawled. Cadin tried to focus on it, could feel its familiarity, but even as his head turned the weight became too much and once again he found his field of vision filled with the stinking spill of offal. Was it still considered offal if it was his? Viscera, perhaps.

Why doesn’t it hurt?

More blood was leaving him, its progress marked by the small trickles joining together, tributaries connecting to become a river. Could he see, he wondered, his own heartbeats? Could he see each pump of the straining muscle in his chest purely by watching the expanse of his own lifeblood spreading over the off-white marble? Did he want to?

Cadin would never be sure if his consciousness had drifted for a bit, or if the shape now crouched before him had just moved that fast. It wasn’t there one moment, and the next, Cadin was eye to eye with the very half-devil he had only minutes before been silently wishing dead. It took two attempts to lift his head enough to properly meet the unblinking gaze only inches away from his face. He swallowed, not from fear – even if his mind hadn’t been too addled from blood-loss to feel it, his Salvaran pride would have forbade it – but to clear his mouth of the clinging taste of bile, and the metallic notes of blood staining his teeth. His eyes drifted slowly over the face of the man before him, taking in the details one by one rather than attempting to make sense of the whole picture that presented itself.

The hooks, the chains and pins and nails, the lacerations and piercings and ruin of meat and bone. The forked tongue lashing back and forth over his serrated teeth almost hypnotically. Even as Cadin watched he saw the black strip of muscle parting on the jagged tips, but still it went. Back and forth, back and forth.

“You look like shit,” Cadin grunted, trying to force a smile that was more grimace by the time it crossed his lips. He couldn’t keep his head up, and was glad to break eye contact with his boss as his chin touched his chest once more.

Aurelianus cocked his head to one side, the corners of his mouth peeling back further in a vicious grin. The skin gave way, loosing weak trickles of blood like ink down his gaunt cheeks. His face twitched, the muscles wracked with minute convulsions.

“Can’t say you’re lookin’ too shiny yourself, Cadin mate,” he chuckled, the sound thick and unhealthy. As he spoke, the tiefling reached a hand already stained with blood and other less easily identified fluids and stirred Cadin’s entrails. The human tried to bring a hand up to stop him, but the tiefling gently pushed it aside.

Why doesn’t it hurt?

“Bar that, cutter, I’m tryin’ to read.”

The half-demon crouched lower on the floor, his face getting closer and closer to the bowels leaking from his underling. Cadin tried his best to fight the feeling that Aurelius was about to start chewing on them. Instead, the tiefling’s eyes seemed to lose focus, a sick gleam coming across them despite how dry they must have been without lids. He sniffed, swaying slightly on his haunches as he stared intently at Cadin’s organs. His lips moved almost imperceptibly.

“You mind finding a fuggin’ book instead, you spooky bastard?” Cadin growled, mouth already thick again with the tang of copper.

“I can see it, cutter, can see it all unwindin’ away from ‘ere…” came the almost whispered response. Aurelianus seemed to snap out of a reverie, the muscles around his eyes giving soft tics as they reflexively tried to blink.

“Haruspicy,” he muttered, tongue still sliding wetly across his teeth.

“Harrow- what?”

Cadin’s eyes opened as he spoke, though he couldn’t remember having closed them. He was getting colder. And even with his mind as clouded as it was, he knew enough about wounds to know that was a bad sign.

“Shhhh, never you mind, me old son,” Aurelianus hissed, lips uncomfortably close to Cadin’s ear, warm and moist breath against the man’s clammy skin. This close, the smell from before returned to Cadin’s nose. Blood and vanilla and something else underneath it, the sickly sweet hint of rot. A tremor ran up the half-breed’s spine, and Cadin could have sworn he saw his skin shift and writhe where it stretched across his bones.

“You just sit back and let ol’ Uncle Aurelius sort you out.”

“Where’s Pawel?”

The question occurred to Cadin suddenly, and he felt a pang of guilt for not having thought to ask sooner. Maybe he was more akin to the monsters under this roof than he would have liked to credit.

The ashen-skinned warlock looked across the room, gaze wandering apparently at random up the walls and ceiling of the office as his smile took on a darker edge. Wire-wrapped hands curled into taut claws where they rested on his knees, tendons standing out against the scarred and raw flesh.

“’e’s around, cutter.”

The answer had a tone of finality to it that belied the casual amusement it was delivered with. Cadin didn’t press the issue. His tongue felt thick in his mouth.

“Now,” the half-demon purred, “let’s see if we can’t get these outsides back inside.”

He grabbed the slopping, gore-slick coils from the other man’s lap and, with an air of delight, started forcing them back into Cadin’s torso.

Why doesn’t it hu—

“OH, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”

Pain. It exploded across Cadin’s senses, filling every nerve ending with sparking, searing jolts and he finally found the energy to move, to flail, to try and grab the tiefling’s wrist as it burrowed deeper inside him. His head banged against the cold stone behind him, back grinding roughly against the bars of the hearth.

Finally, Cadin had an answer to his question. It only hadn’t hurt yet.

“Stop i—ugh! Fuck fuck! Get your hand out—bastard, shitshitshit – They won’t fucking fit, you whoreson bastaAARGH!!”

He bit down on his tongue to try and contain the scream, but all it did was spray bloody spittle across Aurelianus’ features. The bastard was still smiling, eyes catching what little light tainted the air and reflecting it back coldly. The devil’s free hand came up to latch on to the wounded human’s shoulder like a vice, pinning him back against the stained marble as he worked.

“Course they will, silly bugger. They came out, didn’t they? I’ll make ‘em go back in.”

There was another indescribable sunburst of agony twisting inside Cadin as slowly, one blood-glazed handful at a time, Aurelianus made good on his word.