Ajay woke with a jolt, limbs burning.
He was naked, strung up in iron cuffs, his wrists yanked apart and chained to separate corners of the dark, humid room. Ankles too. Splayed open like an animal left to rot in the sun. The heat was unbearable—molten air, thick with the stench of iron and old blood.
His throat was dry. His vision blurred.
Everything ached.
Then he remembered.
The blacksmith.
The strike to the head.
His heart began to pound, but it was drowned out by the pain. His arms, his shoulders—he could barely breathe. Every muscle screamed for release.
A door creaked open behind him.
Heavy steps.
Boots. Leather. A quiet whistle.
"Still breathing?"
the blacksmith muttered.
Ajay didn't answer.
He couldn't.
A searing rod was placed in the forge nearby. The metal hissed. Flames roared.
Ajay's breath caught.
The blacksmith returned with a pair of shears. Rusted. Dull. Used.
Ajay's chest tightened.
"You're gonna be worth something,"
he murmured, kneeling beside him.
"Maybe not to the nobles. But people in certain places… they like fresh meat. Especially ones that heal."
Ajay barely processed it before the first cut came.
It wasn't deep.
Not yet.
Just enough to slice across his chest. A warm, wet sting. His body convulsed.
The blacksmith watched closely.
Then, without warning, shoved a scalpel into Ajay's side—twisting it like a key in a lock. Blood spurted. A scream tore out of Ajay's lungs.
The man twisted harder.
Then he took another one.
He shoved this one up his anus at a speed that nearly made Ajay black out instantly.
He was testing the regeneration.
"Fascinating,"
the blacksmith whispered.
"When I come back, I'm going to fuck you, like the slut you are"
Ajay blacked out.
--------
The next time he woke, the blacksmith was gone.
The heat in the room had intensified. Sweat rolled down Ajay's body, stinging every open wound.
He wasn't sure how long he had been out.
His body had healed again. Skin fresh, but raw.
The heat had loosened something.
The metal cuffs, warped by the temperature, weren't as tight. His body was slick with sweat.
He twisted his wrist. Pulled. Harder.
~ POP !
His left hand slipped free.
He bit down on his own shoulder to muffle the scream—his wrist had snapped, but the regeneration began instantly.
Using his one free hand, he gritted his teeth and twisted the cuff on his right until it cracked open.
Then his ankles.
He collapsed to the floor.
He couldn't even stand.
Crawling across the stone, leaving a trail of blood and sweat, he reached for the forge. His fingers brushed a rusted metal rod, glowing dim from the heat.
He dragged it with him to the door.
And waited.
Waited for the bastard to return.
---
But the door didn't open with boots.
It swung inward gently, and a girl stood there.
No taller than his shoulder. Around twenty. Dirt-smudged face, cloak wrapped around her like armor.
Her eyes widened at the sight of him.
"Oh gods—you're—are you hurt?"
Ajay stared at her, stunned. The rod trembled in his hand.
"No… not really," he muttered hoarsely.
She rushed to his side, unfastening her cloak, throwing it over his shoulders. "You're freezing. Here."
"Who are you?" he asked through cracked lips.
"Christina," she said. She guided him out of the smithy, past the stench of blood and rust, to a nearby stone hut hidden in the woods.
Inside, two men sat slouched on stools—one with a red scarf and wild hair, the other wearing a gray, featureless mask.
Christina pointed.
"That's Demetrius,"
she said, nodding at the scarfed one.
"And that's Zacky. Don't mind them. Both are lunatics."
Ajay didn't laugh.
He was too numb.
Christina leaned toward him and whispered, "We've known about that blacksmith. Bastard's a child snatcher. But he's got protection… backings. Killing him would drag the whole underworld down on us."
Ajay clenched his fist.
"I wanted to kill him."
The others looked up briefly.
Demetrius nodded. "Yeah. We do too."
Silence.
Then Christina smiled softly.
"Would you like to join our party?"
Ajay didn't answer.
His eyes shifted to the fire in the center of the room. He didn't want to think. Not about gods. Not about heads. Not about chains.
"Yeah," he said finally.
"I think I do."
They stood to leave.
Or so he thought.
Christina took the lead, pushing open the hut door.
Ajay followed—
But realized something was wrong.
He was the only one moving.
He turned—
~ CLANK !
Pain exploded through his skull.
Then silence.
------
He woke again in darkness.
This time, chained tighter.
No rust. No heat. No escape.
And now, voices.
"Healing type?"
"Looks like it. He's in good shape too."
"Good harvest."
Ajay opened his eyes.
Cold metal walls.
Blinding white lamps above.
A bunker.
His leg was being cut open. The pain was worse than fire—it was cold, surgical.
He screamed, but a gag was shoved in his mouth.
The man with the scarf now wore gloves and goggles.
"Just shut up will ya?, before I shove something else down that slutty throat of yours?"
Ajay tried to thrash.
The second man held him down.
"Stop moving. This one's squirmy."
They worked with professional detachment, carving flesh, testing the rate of regeneration, making notes.
When it healed, they cut again.
And again.
Hours.
Then days.
They kept him in a locked, bloodstained room.
Fed him just enough to keep his organs healthy.
Every day, they'd come.
Blades. Vats. Jars.
They cut open his abdomen first. Took bits of his liver. Kidneys. Pancreas.
Every time, he healed.
They laughed.
"This one's a goldmine," Zacky said one day, holding up a small glistening container.
"We sell these in the capital? We're set for life."
Ajay wept. He screamed. He begged.
They mocked him for it.
---
[1 Month Later]
Ajay lost track of the days.
He knew only the routine:
Shackles unlocked.
Metal table.
Blades.
Screams.
Organs removed.
Stored in preservation jars.
Carried away.
Repeat.
Sometimes they even reached into his chest.
One day, they took his heart.
He died for a second. He felt the emptiness. The darkness.
Then, healed again.
He had become an immortal butchery rack.
A money fountain.
Trapped in the cycle.
No escape.
---
But One Day...
They didn't fasten the last shackle properly.
Zacky was in a hurry.
They had just removed his heart again, chatting casually about profit margins as they exited the room.
The moment the door shut, Ajay twitched his wrist.
~ CLICK !
He was loose.
The other cuffs were harder. But desperation gave him strength.
He collapsed to the floor.
Blood everywhere.
Then—
A voice.
Soft. Familiar.
Floating like a whisper down the corridor.
> "That's enough pain and suffering." <
> " K I L L. T H E M. " <
Ajay froze.
Eyes wide.
It wasn't a hallucination.
> "Show them hell." <
The god had returned.
And for the first time—
Ajay smiled.