Spiral of Tortaurus (Chapter I) by Frank Carentz

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Once they have wrapped themselves onto the searing iron container, they find themselves required to lift the cauldrons up to depress the markings further into their already melting flesh and then return it to the embers. All this must be completed while maintaining the first sacrament of Silence. Those who fail to pass through the sacrament of Service find themselves becoming servants instead. If an acolyte should tear through their sacrament of Silence, ripping the flesh of their own mouth apart to release a cry of pain, then they have failed the sacrament of Service and are not worthy of progressing through the Spiral.

These servants are another ordeal all together. Their lips torn and jagged from being ripped open in cries of agony. The failed acolytes then find their ears bolted closed allowing them to speak as they will, but never hear anything more than the muffled words spoken by others. Iron disks, placed over the ears and then bolted or screwed directly into the skull of these failed students. A chain is then attached to the disks, suspended from one side to the other and used by their masters to assist in directing the miserable servants.
I vaguely recall the world beyond my cell, my mind having been tormented since my arrival here. The only day I can truly remember is that of my capture.

The sky was somber, a mixture of browns, reds, blacks and grays, as is if it were constructed of some type of metal that had been rusting and rotting for millennia.

The air was still, almost as if waiting in anticipation for something, but what? It was quiet; something was different about this day. Although I cannot truly recall any of my days before this, I know, that some how this day felt different.

It was mid day when it happened; there were dozens of people in the fields, harvesting what little food we could manage to bring back to our settlement. We were just about to return when we heard a high pitch whistling sound, everyone went quiet.

There, atop a hill we saw the figure of a man, his arm raised high above his head, his wrist spinning, whirling what appeared to be some type of weapon attached to a chain. It was this apparatus emitting the eerie sound, crying out, beckoning the others of his ilk to fly in haste to the location of its horrific melody.

The moment of silence seemed to last an eternity and all that could be heard was that crazing sound, until finally the screams erupted from our ranks. The chaos was evident as people ran in any direction that seemed safe. Shrieks and shrills came from the masses as we scattered in panic, it was as if everyone had gone mad. It wasn't until then that I looked down and took notice that I too was running, my lungs emptying themselves in blood curdling screams. I don't remember starting to scream or run. Perhaps it was that whistle. Perhaps it was the fear of being taken. All I do remember is running. More and more figures began appearing in the distance, surrounding us. I turned to look over my shoulder and bore witness to one of the figures firing some type of weapon into the air.