Another strike sears across his scarred back, eliciting a numbed, exhausted whimper from his dry, chapped lips as more blood drips down his back. The pain he’s mostly used to, but it still hurts, aiding his need for sleep. It’s been over a century since he has slept.
As he falters, his black, clawed hands plunged into the bed of white-hot metal and coals, another demon watching strikes him with the frayed whip. He closes his burning eyes and moves his fiery grip across the metals, quickly fitting the pieces together.
Astileu. That used to be his name. He hasn’t heard it in hundreds of years. He wishes he would. Maybe he could even try to restore his wings— No. That is a dangerous and mental problem he’s not ready for. Not yet.
He wonders when his name will be called. When he will be free. When he might have a home, a beautiful, healed life. He wonders, and he regrets. He hates himself. He hates the claws on his blackened body. He hates the fangs, sharp against his tongue.
His hands move swiftly, never breaking from their flawless performance. The metal folds and twists with every second, no doubt scarring his hands like always. Astileu glances over his shoulder, watching for the fiery guards stationed around him. He can barely see his fellow demons working around him through the fire, but looking upwards, the fallen angels are perfectly clear.
Astileu’s reflexes are sluggish from fatigue, and he fails to turn around quickly enough. The fiery whip slashes his face, catching his left eye. He screams in pain, crumpling, blood running down his black skin. His body is immediately overrun with beatings, the switches striking every inch.
It takes him several minutes to find the strength to get back in his feet, letting go of his face, plunging his hands back into the tubs of metal. He’s left in the smoldering forge, sobbing quietly, trying to be strong as blood obscures his vision, his small frame battered and completely beaten.
For the first time in his life, he looks up, away from the smoking forge, looking up to where he sees faint stars, and he prays. He prays to God, if He even exists anymore, prays to the angels, prays to the humans, anyone, to call his name and save him.