The cracked cast-iron chains were like snakes that slithered round his bare body; chaffing cuffs dug themselves deep into his wrists and the cold grit of steel constantly stung his skin.
He stood like this day and night chained against the stone wall of a dungeon.
A small sliver had been chiseled into this stony wall some heads above so that some light still seeped in, but he could not turn to face where it came from.
This sliver of light had not been something merciful but rather a purposefully painful reminder of the world outside that he would never see again; its purpose was to fan that little longing flame inside of him only so that he would suffer more severely, as one does when there is still some hope.
Once a day—somewhere in the evening, judging by the dim rays of the setting sun—a man would come by.
His black-hooded head was faceless and he never spoke. The prisoner had tried many times to speak to him; at first to try and understand what had happened to him, then after some time merely to hear a human voice.
But that was many years ago, and when the prisoner thinks back on his pathetic pleas for sound, it makes the corners of his mouth curl in amusement.
This hooded figure would come to feed him; some pitiful meal perhaps consisting of porridge, fit for pigs and nothing more. Then the speechless figure would take away the bowl and the dungeon door would slam shut with a haunting creak and the sliver of light would once again be the prisoner’s only companion.
It was many merciless moons ago that the evil sorcerer had him damned to this sepulchral tomb. What for, he could not remember.
And sometimes it even seemed to him, that not only could he not remember what he had done, but also who he had been –and perhaps whether or not he even existed.
Many years were passed in this sort of agony. He pleaded with the gods but his many calls were never answered.
Then the hot coal of agony burned so hot that it melted away even itself and from that day onward the prisoner felt nothing–not even pity for himself—save for a smoldering heat like that of a blacksmith’s forge.
And so, he set his sights on a singular possession: that of strength –and plunged the hot iron of his desire into that fiery forge.
Instead of letting his mind dwell on the pitiless procession of thoughts that plagued him daily, he would gather together all the forces of his mind and bring them all to bear onto a single point; some far flung pin-prick at the center of his being. And like so, some sort of seed took hold inside of him and from that day forward his strength began to grow.
Then when his mind was weary from his contemplation and he was well-fed on the piggish porridge, he began to strain and strengthen his body.
He would pull and push at the chains; straining his muscles as the steel refused to relent. He would contort himself into every position possible and press and pull from each and every angle so that his every muscle was worked in every conceivable way.
The prisoner would even grasp at the chains with his fingers and pinch and pull them until his tendons ached.
Day in and day out he would apply himself thusly; training his mind in the morning, and training his body at night.
And so, over many years of this tribulation his every sinew was like steel and his every muscle like iron –and his mind too became like steel and iron, and was perhaps the most hardened thing of all.
The clattering chains that so agonizingly bound him became the very thing that had given him his strength, and so, after some time, they began to crack and chip as his strength became too grand even for them.
One day, perhaps for the 10.000th time, the hooded man came by for the daily round.
His veiled face gazed mercilessly at the prisoner like it had done uncountable times before, but this time the prisoner did not kneel and grovel.
Instead, he braced his steely sinews and with a vigorous flexing of his iron-like muscles he broke free from the chains at once.
With his legs that were now more powerful than even the strongest steed, he leapt at the hooded man, and slammed against him like a slab of stone, so that he was easily was knocked down.
Then the prisoner grabbed hold of this faceless figure and tore off his veil.
He did not care to look him in the eyes; to see who had been complicit in his lengthy torture, to see the man he had know for so long without actually knowing.
No.
He only cared to see his newfound strength.
The prisoner took his fingers, now like iron-nails, and thrust them eagerly into the man’s eyes.
Like a child sticking his hand into a jar of honey, the mushy substance overflowed from his eye-sockets; like yolk from a cracked egg.
Then the prisoner grabbed hold of the man’s head on both sides, squeezing him like a vice.
Bone gives way to steel, and the man’s skull cracked and shattered as his brains poured out.
The prisoner—prisoner no longer—stood up and turned around; he looked through the sliver of a window and saw the sky.