Endlessly tortured, fearing he was losing his grip. Vicious day passed over into cruel night. The night air cooled. The flesh chilled. But still tortured by the stone burning in his back. Still refusing to give up its heat to the night time chill. Shivering on his front, his back sizzling like meat over embers.
The camp had settled for the night. Life had gone still. The celebratory whoring had lasted for hours. The women hostages paying with harsh coin for the freedom Maciste had won for them. A debt they owed him .. the warrior who shuddered in his pains. His body torn .. roasted and chilled .. at one-and-the same-time.
Who would want to end like this? Where was the courage in this? An endless day of torture that slid seamlessly into a perpetual night. A darkness of interminable horror. Agonies stretching out into torture without end.
Maciste was no stranger to hardship. In battle he had encountered death daily, by the minute. Its cold fingers rippling down his back. But to be broken like this ….? To fail like this. Abject disaster.
And it was all down to him. His own stupid fault.
Tortured out of his skin. For all his warrior spirit. Fate mocked his envied muscular strength. Laughing down at him .. stretched out in torment like this .. a mocking smile on her cruel lips. Well, Maciste, warrior, brave, honed to manly perfection .. How does it feel? This utter failure?
Fate was a bitch!