DC : Architect of Vengeance

(Mature/Explicit themes ahead. Skip if you feel uncomfortable)

The surgical table gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights as the victims surrounded Pyg's suspended form.

Alex had positioned it deliberately—the same medical equipment, the same restraints, the same sterile environment that Pyg had used to create his "perfect" soldiers.

"Please," Pyg whispered as Robert and David began working on his restraints. "You don't understand what you're doing. You're not killers. You're good people. I made you good."

"Good people?" Julia's voice was ice-cold as she tested the leather straps on the surgical table. "You will soon find out how good we are."

Lisa was carefully examining the surgical instruments, "He used this one," she said, holding up a bone saw, "to cut through that homeless man's skull. He made us watch while he was conscious."

"The anesthesia was imperfect," Pyg said desperately. "I was trying to improve the process. I was trying to make it painless."

"Painless?" Tommy's young voice carried a weight that no child should possess. "You told me it would be painless when you were going to cut into my head. But you lied. You were going to hurt me just like you hurt Robert."

The victims lowered Pyg onto the surgical table the same way he used to do. Robert secured the head restraint while Julia worked on the arm clamps. David and Lisa handled the leg restraints, their movements coordinated as if they'd done this before.

"You taught us well," Robert said, tightening the straps until Pyg's circulation began to slow. "All those months of watching you work. We learned every technique, every method and every way to maximize suffering while keeping the subject conscious."

"I didn't teach you to hurt people," Pyg protested, his voice rising to a whine. "I taught you to be perfect and beautiful. To be without flaw."

"You taught us," Sarah said, picking up a scalpel, "that some people deserve to suffer."

She made the first cut—a shallow incision across Pyg's palm. Not deep enough to cause serious damage, but enough to draw blood and establish what was coming.

Pyg's scream echoed through the chamber.

"Too loud," David said clinically. "He always told us we were too loud when we screamed."

Lisa produced a gag from the surgical supplies—the same type Pyg had used on his victims. "This should help with the noise."

As they forced the gag into Pyg's mouth, Alex noticed something he'd been waiting for. The victims were moving with purpose now, their earlier confusion replaced by determination. They weren't acting from blind rage—they were acting from learned behavior.

"You know what the worst part was?" Robert said, making another small cut on Pyg's forearm. "It wasn't the surgery. It wasn't even the pain. It was knowing that we were helping you do it to others."

Julia moved to Pyg's other arm, her scalpel finding the same nerve clusters he'd targeted on his victims. "You made us hold people down while you operated. You made us watch their eyes while you cut into them."

"You made us feel nothing," David added, his voice growing harder with each word. "You made us stand there like statues while you tortured children."

Lisa began working on Pyg's legs, her movements smooth and deliberate. "You remember Jenny Lawrence, that twelve-year-old you grabbed from the bus stop? You made me hold her hand while you removed her kneecap. You made me squeeze it every time she tried to pull away."

Each cut was small, precise, designed to cause maximum pain without threatening life. The victims had learned well from their tormentor—they understood exactly how to make suffering last.

"You know what you said to me?" Tommy asked, his small hands surprisingly steady as he picked up a medical clamp. "You said little boys don't cry when they're perfect. That tears were ugly. That you were going to fix me so I couldn't cry anymore."

He positioned the clamp over Pyg's thumb, then slowly began to tighten it. The pressure built gradually, methodically, until Pyg's muffled screams reached a new pitch.

"I'm crying now," Tommy said, tears streaming down his face. "And it feels good. It feels human."

The victims worked in shifts, each taking turns to inflict the specific tortures they'd been forced to witness. Robert used the bone drill on Pyg's shin—the same tool that had been used on his own leg during his "conversion." Julia employed the nerve stimulator, sending carefully calibrated shocks through Pyg's nervous system.

"You told us," Julia said, adjusting the voltage, "that pain was just a signal. That perfect people don't need to feel signals. So we're going to help you understand what signals really mean."

David had found the chemical injections—the same cocktail of stimulants and inhibitors Pyg had used to keep his victims conscious but paralyzed during surgery. "This should keep you awake," he said, preparing the syringe. "We want you to experience every moment, just like we did."

"Just like you made us experience it," Lisa added, beginning to remove Pyg's fingernails. "Every cut, every burn, every violation. We felt it all while being unable to react."

The most disturbing aspect wasn't the violence itself—it was the detachment with which the victims worked. They'd been trained by Pyg's own methods, taught to dissociate from suffering, to view human pain as merely another variable to be controlled.

"You know what's interesting?" Robert said, taking a break to examine his handiwork. "I don't feel the same satisfaction I thought I would. It's like... like I'm still not completely human yet."

"That's because he broke something in us," Julia replied, continuing her work on Pyg's nervous system. "Something that might never heal completely. But this... this is helping me remember what it felt like to choose my own actions."

Lisa had moved to Pyg's face, using the same tools he'd employed to remove and replace facial features on his victims. "You called it 'artistic improvement,'" she said, beginning to carefully peel away skin. "Let's see how artistic you feel when it's your face being improved."

Tommy, despite his age, showed no hesitation as he worked on Pyg's feet with a medical hammer. "Robert told me you were going to make me forget him. Make me forget everyone I loved. To make me into a thing that couldn't love anyone."

The child's words carried more weight than any adult threat. Here was innocence that had been targeted for destruction, fighting back with the tools of its would-be destroyer.

The victims continued their work for what felt like hours, each taking their turn to inflict the specific horrors they'd been forced to witness.

"You're probably wondering why we're not killing you," Julia said, cleaning blood from her hands with the same methodical care Pyg had always shown. "Why we're not ending this."

"Because death would be mercy," David replied, beginning to bandage some of the wounds to prevent Pyg from bleeding out. "And mercy is something you never showed us."

"Besides," Tommy added, his young voice carrying ancient wisdom, "you taught us that some improvements take time. That perfection requires patience."

Robert stepped back from the table, examining their work with critical eyes. "I think we've learned enough for now. We understand what you put us through. We understand what it means to have power over someone helpless."

"And we understand," Julia said, "that we never want to become what you were. This isn't who we are. This is just... necessary."

Alex watched from the shadows as the victims cleaned their tools and prepared to leave. They'd gotten what they needed—not just revenge, but understanding. They'd faced their tormentor and proven to themselves that they could choose their own actions, their own fate.

But most importantly, they'd learned to feel again. The tears on their faces weren't just from pain or anger—they were from the recognition of their own humanity, returned to them through the act of choosing their own violence.

Pyg lay on the surgical table, alive but broken, his body a map of precisely inflicted suffering. His eyes showed the same blank terror his victims had experienced, the same helpless awareness that had characterized their ordeal.

"We're done," Robert announced, his voice carrying finality. "We've seen enough."

The victims began filing out, each taking one last look at their tormentor before disappearing into the tunnels. Tommy was the last to leave, his small hand touching Pyg's bandaged arm.

"I forgive you," the child said simply. "Not because you deserve it, but because I don't want to carry you with me anymore."

Then he was gone, leaving only Alex and the broken surgeon in the underground chamber.

Alex approached the surgical table, looking down at Pyg's mangled form. The professor's eyes tracked his movement, showing recognition mixed with terror.

"They're better than you," Alex said quietly. "They chose to stop. They chose mercy, even after everything you did to them."

He began preparing new surgical instruments, his movements carrying the same experience the victims had shown.

"But I'm not them," Alex continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I don't choose mercy. I choose justice. And justice, Professor, is going to last forever."

PS :

1) One more chap & we are done with this.

2) I will try to reduce the punishment description & length from next arc onwards.

3) I am gonna introduce a new short para at the end of chaps from now on for suggestions. I will share new fanfictions I have read and you guys gimme some in return(including what you have written). I feel dried out without anything new to read.

Suggestion - Diablo 2 : Destruction (For fellow diablo fans)

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Advanced chapters on patre*n

DC : Architect of Vengeance

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