"So, where is she?" His response was silence. The sound of wood cracking on skin rang out through the dark room, a grunt leaving his lips. He wasn't sure how long they had been doing this. Every smack with the wooden pole was getting harder and harder, his bruised skin breaking open in some areas, leaking blood.
"So, where is she?" Again, silence. Again, another hit with the pole. At first he tried counting how many times he had been struck, but he lost count a long time ago, somewhere around fifty. The men who held him captive were starting to get angrier and angrier with his vow of silence, and he was more satisfied, even if his body was in the most pain he had ever felt. He wouldn't give her up, even if it meant losing his life.
"So, where is she?" His captor asked again. He pretended to think, looking up at his wrists, which were bound above his head. He looked back down into the face of his captor and smirked, again, remaining silent. This time, the pole came into contact with his stomach, hard. He began to sputter and cough, trying to get his breath back. The man grabbed his face harshly between his thumb and first finger, pinching tightly, causing him to wince in pain.
"Now, why is it you won't tell me? Are you actually willing to throw your own life away to hide away some insignificant wench?" He coughed again, blood trickling from his mouth. He finally spoke up,
"My question is…" He started, trying to sound stronger than he felt, "WHY would I tell you? Why would you even want her when there's plenty of prettier girls you could sell, probably make more money off them." The man loosened his grip on his prisoner's cheek to wipe some of the blood off his mouth. He laughed to himself.
"Oh, but you don't understand. This girl is special. It would be the ultimate revenge against her worthless family." He laughed again, thinking to himself for a moment. "Either way, I'm going to find her, with or without your help. So you can make this easier and just tell me where you hid her so I can go get her and we'll let you go, or she will come here to try to save you, find your rotting corpse strung up as a warning, and end up in our hands anyway. You can take your pick, but in the end, she will be ours, Mugen." He hated it when the scumbag said his name. His words were full of venom, and it filled every cell in his body with anger.
"You underestimate me, you stupid bastard. I swear, when I get out of here I'll paint the walls with your fucking entrails." He spat a wad of saliva and blood into the mans face, which earned him a punch across the mouth. He laughed to himself as he weakly picked his head back up to stare into the face of the man who captured him. He didn't seem intimated.
"You sure talk big for a guy whose weaponless, bound up and bleeding from almost every orifice on their body." He said laughing, "As for escaping, I wouldn't count on it. See, I expected you to try, and rogues such as yourself know how to escape when in a tight spot." He put his hands to his wrists, running his fingers along the blue stripes that circled them. "These marks prove it. You escaped prison, did you not?" Mugen stayed silent once again, sick of talking to the man. He shrugged and walked to the other side of the room, lifting up a huge hammer. As he walked back over, the semi fear on his face must have become obvious, for the man began to laugh.
"Getting nervous now are we? Mugen, a man who charges head first into any battle, never thinking of the consequences, nervous. This is rich." He laughed harder, grabbing another strange contraption: a wooden block with holes for the ankles to go through. He forcefully pulled Mugen's legs out from under him, so they were outstretched in front of him, and clasped the wooden block around his ankles, locking it in place.
"What the hell are you going to do with that? I'll still find a way to wipe the floor with you; you're nothing but a chicken shit. You're going to regret ever coming into contact with me." The man lifted the hammer up above Mugen's legs.
"So, you really aren't going to tell me where she is?" He asked, eyes narrowing at the bleeding rogue.
"Not a chance asshole. I already told you that." The man nodded his head.
"Well, looks like I have to make sure you won't escape, you're going to be here a while, and I promise you, when I'm finished with you, you'll be begging for me to put you out of your misery!" He swung the hammer down on Mugen's left shin, the bone cracking so loudly it could be heard over his screams. Sweat began to form on his forehead, stinging the cuts he received in their scuffle. He closed his eyes so tight he was beginning to see spots, and before he was even able to get his breath back, the hammer swung down once again and crashed into his right shin, again cracking the bone. His screams echoed in the room this time, his throat going raw. Mugen took a few staggered breaths, trying to ignore the searing pain in his mangled legs. He finally managed to force his eyes open again to see his captor kneeling in front of him, with a look so calm he almost looked bored, and a small, but evil, smile on his lips. He rested his head on the handle of the hammer, silently listening to Mugen's shallow, pained breathing. After a few moments, he opened his mouth again, this time sounding more confident.
"So, where is she?"