PROLOGUE
The whip cracked as it hit its target, again and again and again. Each time digging deeper into the skin and drawing more blood, from its long suffering victim. The torturer had a wicked smirk on his face; this was the part of the job that he enjoyed the most. Seeing the look in his victim's eyes, as they edged one step closer to finally meeting with their maker.
This particular one was more enjoyable than most, and it showed the he was extremely good at his craft to be honoured with performing the ritual torture on this prisoner. This one was a veteran to the ways of the prisons torturers, and the guards would always try to find some new way that they could find, that may finally make him cry out in pain, as he'd found long ago that it was better to hold in the cries of agony that would always accompany the pain, and conserve his energy, in the hope that one day he may finally escape this hell hole, showing that he was strong, and would not allow himself to have his spirit broken.
For now though the whip was as good a weapon as any, and they would delight in the pleasure they all got from using it on him,
With one last crack of the whip, aimed directly between the shoulder blades, the torturer pulled up his victim, his prisoner, forcing him to look directly into the eyes of the one who had caused him so much pain.
As the head was jerked up by its long black hair, matted with blood and grime, the torturer looked straight into the eyes of the young man, who had not even reached his twentieth birthday yet, the bright blue eyes showing that he wasn't willing to let the pain show, and that despite all of the pain, he was still the winner in this game. The pain was however registered by the clearly obvious way that he was biting down on his lower lip, to stop himself from crying out, and the very unhealthy stream of blood running down the side of his face from his scalp. This was a good site for the torture, but the determination in those eyes unnerved him. In one sharp swoop he had picked up the club that was attached to his belt, and with as much power as possible, smashed the boy around the head with it, delighting as the way the face contorted with the sudden unexpected pain, as his bound body slumped to the floor as he lost consciousness, allowing his blood to flow freely onto the ground.
The whip cracked as it hit its target, again and again and again. Each time digging deeper into the skin and drawing more blood, from its long suffering victim. The torturer had a wicked smirk on his face; this was the part of the job that he enjoyed the most. Seeing the look in his victim's eyes, as they edged one step closer to finally meeting with their maker.
This particular one was more enjoyable than most, and it showed the he was extremely good at his craft to be honoured with performing the ritual torture on this prisoner. This one was a veteran to the ways of the prisons torturers, and the guards would always try to find some new way that they could find, that may finally make him cry out in pain, as he'd found long ago that it was better to hold in the cries of agony that would always accompany the pain, and conserve his energy, in the hope that one day he may finally escape this hell hole, showing that he was strong, and would not allow himself to have his spirit broken.
For now though the whip was as good a weapon as any, and they would delight in the pleasure they all got from using it on him,
With one last crack of the whip, aimed directly between the shoulder blades, the torturer pulled up his victim, his prisoner, forcing him to look directly into the eyes of the one who had caused him so much pain.
As the head was jerked up by its long black hair, matted with blood and grime, the torturer looked straight into the eyes of the young man, who had not even reached his twentieth birthday yet, the bright blue eyes showing that he wasn't willing to let the pain show, and that despite all of the pain, he was still the winner in this game. The pain was however registered by the clearly obvious way that he was biting down on his lower lip, to stop himself from crying out, and the very unhealthy stream of blood running down the side of his face from his scalp. This was a good site for the torture, but the determination in those eyes unnerved him. In one sharp swoop he had picked up the club that was attached to his belt, and with as much power as possible, smashed the boy around the head with it, delighting as the way the face contorted with the sudden unexpected pain, as his bound body slumped to the floor as he lost consciousness, allowing his blood to flow freely onto the ground.