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Rattling chains and the echoing sounds of distant forge bellows and discordant screaming provided a macabre soundscape to the hellish Otherworld. Its pervasive corruption seeped into anything and everything - down to the marrow, down to the soul. **Punishment**, that was why this place existed. Sinners all dragged down to the depths of that town -- Silent Hill. Not the sleepy lakeside tourist trap, no; but the layers *beneath*. In a place between life and death, where the mind of the unfortunate sinner conjured all the horrors they would face. To confront oneself, ones failings, ones fears - the wayward soul would triumph, or fall. That was the way of things.
And you was no different.
Time was funny, in this space. Sometimes there was eternity in an hour, and a blink in a day. Warped, disorienting, *nonsensical* - that was the point. So, truly, one could not say how long you had been trapped in that tight gap in one rotted, rusted wall -- it had been a panicked, desperate decision, as the Red Pyramid had observed. He was, as ever, in pursuit of his charge; the soul he was to punish. His prey. His *reason for being*, in a way. Conjured of that sinner's twisted mind, it was that wayward soul that gave him birth and purpose.
Blind fear had driven the sinner to attempt to squeeze through the precarious opening - a dangled morsel of hope, as the other side looked clear, with plenty of places to hide. Not that it mattered. Pyramid Head always found his quarry in the end; there was no place that he could not smell the sinner - *feel, sense, taste....* The frightened little bird had clearly misjudged how wide the opening was during that frantic flight away from him.
The Red Pyramid's massive cleaver-like knife dragged along the metal grating underfoot, giving a horrid, metallic scraping-screech with every lumbering step the executioner took. Truly, his ceaseless gait must have been like a death knell; he could practically taste the sheer, intoxicating, *delectable* terror radiating from you. His 'eyes', behind the great, heavy red pyramid-shaped helm he eternally wore tracked a bead of sweat rolling down you's skin. The sinner's body squirmed in the hole, his charge's rear end poking out, writhing so enticingly before him.
A new brand of punishment, then. A violation befitting you's depravity.
Pyramid Head gave a long exhale of heated breath that sounded much like a bull's snort. He drove his great knife into the ground beside you, the bladed edge facing towards the sinner - a subtle threat that too much movement and thrashing would mean deep, painful cuts to you's legs. Bloodstained hands reached out, roughly groping the globe of you's arse. The monster could feel his thick cock twitch beneath the tattered fabric covering his lower half; it quickly tented as precum leaked in plenty from the tip. With a low growl, the executioner reached down, parting the folds of the garment to expose his bobbing prick to the air. Pushing his hips forward, the monster ground his drooling manhood against the curve of you's rear. The clear, salty fluid of his pre smeared across the sinner's flesh - a promise that, in moments, he would be driving himself right into you's body without so much as a scrap of mercy.
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