Chapter eleven: Torture

Trigger warning: This novel contains graphic scenes of violence, torture, gore, and psychological trauma. It also explores themes of war, death, and morally gray characters. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Not suitable for sensitive readers

Valerian POV:

The witch was still unconscious, His head was slumped forward, blood dried on his face from the beating i gave him earlier when I captured him. He looked half-dead already, didn't matter

Then I turned to Refeal.

“Water.”

He handed me the bucket we’d filled earlier.

I stepped forward and poured the freezing water over the witch's head.

He jolted awake, gasping, sputtering, coughing. Wild eyes blinked rapidly before they landed on me.

“Damn vampires,” he spat, his voice hoarse

"What are you witches planning?" I asked

He didn’t answer right away. His lips were set in a tight line, and his eyes flicked around, searching for any possible way out

I moved closer, I saw the way his shoulders were visible tensed

The others stood back, watching

I grabbed the witch’s hand. His still had a confident look in his eyes, that he wasn't going to talk, but how quickly did people like him break, they always did

I pulled one of his fingers out straight and bent it back

Slow

He screamed. The bone cracked. His body jerked in the chair.

I grabbed the next finger.

Snap.

Then the third

And the fourth

Fifth

One by one.

Five fingers on one hand, all broken.

He screamed until his throat was raw and trashed in the chair, he tried pulling back but could not because of the ropes that tied him in place

I didn’t blink.

I wiped his black blood off my hand with a cloth and dropped it.

I stared at the witch in front of me, my mind was quiet. I didn't feel angry, just numb, the witches had gotten ahead of us. People were dead. A whole village, gone. I’d been too slow, and this thing in front of me, he was part of it, but I didn't feel hatred towards him, he should just be good and don't break easily

“Talk,” I said, he still hesitated, I grabbed his hair and slammed his head into the chair. Over and over, blood dripped down his face.

I signaled to two of my men. They brought the table forward—the one lined with tools, filled with tools to play with the witch a little longer

My hand hovered untop the table looking which tool to use

“Does your king know you’re doing this?” the witch shouted, eyes wide now “He would hunt you down” he added, visibly shaken since the table was brought in

I played what he said in my head, My king, oh he meant father

I picked up the knife, I picked up a knife. Tested the weight in my palm. it's sharp enough to carve, I walked back to him, A hum slipped from my lips as I walked back to him.

I dragged it across his arm. Slow. Deep. Like drawing.

He screamed again, jerking in the chair. witches are weak creatures, fragile like humans, they only thing that differentiate them is their ability to cast spells

“Stop—please—"

why was he begging, answering my questions would end the torture but he'll still died, I dropped the knife on the table and grabbed a hammer

I knelt in front of him. Looked into his eyes.

There was nothing in mine.

No anger. No pity. Just cold.

“The village,” I said. “What are the witches using them for?”

He didn’t answer.

I shoved the cloth in his mouth. The torturing room was deep underground, but there was that Lycan upstairs whom I sure would follow the sounds of the witch scream and come down here, the doll would break seeing this scene and I don't need her broken

I brought the hammer down on his foot, his bones cracked.

He shook.dm Drool ran down his chin. His eyes rolled back.

Another hit. His other foot.

The pain made passed out.

'Pathetic' I stepped back.

“Wake him,” I said.

One of the men tossed another bucket of water.

The witch woke with a gasp, choking on blood and screams.

I crouched beside him again, stabbing the knife through his thigh.

He howled through the cloth. I redraw my hand, the knife still stabbed in his thigh

“Talk.”

He shook his head. Tears mixed with blood.

So I kept going.

I burned him next.

Took the metal rod we’d heated. Pressed it to his chest.

The smell of burning skin filled the room.

He screamed, but the cloth muffled it. I wanted to hear it more, his scream, the look of helplessness, what was so important that he was going through this torture, what deal did father strike with the witches, that man was nothing but a fool

I burned his stomach, his legs.

I took the knife and cut off his ear.

Blood poured down his neck.

He was barely holding on.

But I wasn’t done.

I took a thin wire. Wrapped it around his fingers. Tight. Until they turned purple.

He looked like he was dying.

Still, he hadn’t talked.

So I made it worse.

I picked up a needle. Pressed it into the corner of his eye.

He jerked so hard the chair tilted.

Refeal pushed it back.

I slid the needle into the soft part under his eye, then yanked it out.

The witch screamed, shaking his head wildly.

I stood up and walked behind him.

Slammed my fist into the back of his head.

He went still.

I poured more water.

He gasped awake again.

His body was soaked. Bloody. Burned. Broken.

I leaned close.

“You’re going to die here,” I said. “You can talk. Or I can keep going.” I say, removing the cloth from his mouth

His voice cracked. “I—I don’t know the full plan—”

That wasn’t enough.

I grabbed the knife again and stabbed him in the hand, all the way through.

Blood poured from his mouth as he coughed and cried.

He whimpered something.

I leaned closer.

“The cave,” he gasped. “North… of the city. They—they used it… for keeping some undead”

I stared at him.

He was finished. His face was swollen. One eye shut. Skin torn. Flesh burned. Bones broken. His hands are useless. His legs ruined.

But he was still breathing.

Barely.

I Looked at the others.

“Get ready, we leave in a few minutes,” I said.

Then I turned back to the witch.

"Kill him"