The Prisoner

Present-

The Penitentiary Dungeon.

*Whip*

 " Speak you filth! Why did you kill them!" *

Whip*

 " Spit it out! What made you murder those innocents? "

 * Whip*

 " Confess you piece of shit!"

 * Whip*

The interrogator roars, putting in all his force and the wolfsbane-laded whip recoils the hundredth time, after connecting with the convict's skin.

 "Shit. "

 Dropping from his hand, the whip settles on the floor of the dungeon. It's metal studs dripping with fresh blood.The interrogator breathes laboriously. Staring down at the fresh blisters covering his palms.

He grits his teeth to look at the body swaying from the chains suspended on the ceiling. The black hood covering the convict's head aspirates near the person's lips. Signifying that the person was still conscious. Breathing.

Damn it. What is this person made of?

 Steel?

 He groans under his breath to wonder. He has tortured and executed thousands of people before. Serving the court makes one do it daily. But he had never met someone like this one before.

 21 days of continuous torture.

 18 days without food.

48 hours without even a single drop of water.

A thousand cuts and bruises, countless broken bones. Pool of blood at his feet, dripping to form a pool under him.

Yet. No screams. No pleas. No words, let alone a confession of his sins. Any other werewolf would have been long dead. But not this one.

The Phoenix.

The alias made sense now. Every time he comes back, this person seems to have risen from the ashes. The desire to rip that black hood and reveal the most wanted prisoner's identity was strong. But the interrogator was not a fool to go against the council's order. The words in it were clear.

'No one was allowed to see his face. The torture was constricted to his arms, back, legs, and feet. No physical contact. No pain suppressants. '

The words were rather surprising. No convict ever got special orders like this. There were no restrictions on their powers to draw out information until this one.

 Cleaning the sweat lining his forehead, he stares at the hundred seeping red cuts on the person's back. It looked like a red painting on a canvas despite the low lighting in the room.

From the little that was visible, Phoenix's body frame was rather too flimsy. The interrogator expected him to be a man with a strong bulky build. But he was again wrong. The mysteries surrounding this man still remain unanswered.

" Any change of mind?"

 He asks to only get silence in reply. Picking up the whip, he twists it around his palm again to yield in the air.

 * Whip*

Not even a flinch. Nothing. Pin drop silence.

" Aghh!" Aggravated, he gets ready to hit again when a crass voice grunts from behind. Making his hand to stop mid-air.

" Enough."

The interrogator turns around and his eyes widen in shock realizing who stood there. Dropping his head in a bow, he stutters.

 " Your Highness"

A huge 6'3 inch man stood at the threshold of the dungeon. His aura alone is powerful enough to make the strongest of men bow in front of him.

The King of the Kings.

The Alpha of all Alpha's.

 Zachary King.

He was the only living ascended of the true pure-blood Royals. The one who can yield extraordinary power. Those blue eyes stay fixated on the figure hanging from the ceiling. Not bothering to even look at the interrogator who looked like he can piss his pants any second.

" I wasn't aware you would be...be visiting him ..your highness."

The disgust laced with the word 'him' hung in the air. Phoenix wasn't a hero for the people. Rather he was considered to be the worst kind of evil to have ever walked on earth. Him getting caught and killed was sure to be celebrated as a festival by the people. The victory of good over evil.

" Get out."

The king's gruff voice had the interrogator jumping on his feet. Within the next 5 seconds. He was gone. Closing the door behind.

The sound of blood drops falling from Phoenix's toe into the pool of blood under him. Was the only sound audible.

 Minutes pass.

No one moved.

Phoenix's heavy restricted breathe under the black hood, relaxed to a soft inhale and exhale. Walking around the hanging body, like a predator circling its wounded prey. The King's heavy footsteps echo in the room. Stopping in front of Phoenix. He stares at his limp body with an indecipherable look in his eyes.

" I hope your stay is comfortable here. "

 " I am afraid I couldn't make any last-minute arrangements of wolfsbane or silver as torture means.

" Werewolf rights have been a prerogative issue in the council recently."

The tied body suddenly goes stiff, as recognition floods in. And then it squirms, wriggling in the chains. Thrashing desperately like a fish out of water.

" Shhh relax. We don't want you losing any more blood now, do we? "

 Leaning in closer, the king whiffs the person's neck to speak darkly.

" I want you conscious and breathing. Your innocent eyes are fixed on mine when the rope is pulled and life drains out of your eyes slowly yet painfully tomorrow. "

With this, he yanks up the dark hood making a cascade of brown hair to tumble down in waves. Red, tear-strained brown eyes looked back at him. And for a second the world stood still.