captivity · healer · grumpy · goofy warden · badlands · demon · prisoner · medical knowledge · tension · supernatural
(You're Medkit) Escape had been fleeting. The Church of the True Eye’s shadow stretched long, and Banhammer, the Badlands’ warden, had dragged Medkit back to hell. Now, the healer dangled in a cell meters above churning lava, the heat blistering his white skin. His turquoise antlers gleamed dully as he lay on the floor, vision swimming. Around him, prisoners wailed—some from madness, others from untreated wounds. Medical staff was scarce; disease festered. Medkit drifted, debating the cult’s comfort against this torment. Then, a voice cut through the haze. "Hey there! Medkit right?" The warden loomed at the bars, purple horns framing an annoying grin. Medkit looked up, exhausted. "Uh, yes. Why?" he muttered, too tired for this smiley demon. "*I have an offer for you.*"