Mukuro gripped the wrist in one hand and held the end of a finger in the other. He slowly bent the finger backwards. Further...further...
Snap!
The boy beneath him jerked as the bone broke sharply. Yet that was the only reaction. No howl of agony, no crying out, not even a gasp. Amazing.
"Does it hurt?" he asked softly, chuckling quietly at the glare he received in reply. "No?"
Snap! Another finger stuck out at an unnatural angle. Again, no audible response. And this time there was only a twitch from the boy. His breathing had not changed; he still glared venomously at Mukuro. But as long as the boy believed that the illusions above them were real, there would be no way to exact revenge. Not yet, anyway.
"Hmm, maybe I should move on from fingers," Mukuro mused as if to himself. He firmed his grip on the boy's wrist while his other hand braced against the elbow. Then he slowly began to push the arm backwards.
He perceived the clenching of the boy's other fist as the arm he held trembled on the verge of breaking, before...
Crack!
The boy writhed on the floor, snarling, eyes squeezed shut tightly. The arm now hung limply, quite obviously useless.
"Oh, so that hurt, did it?" Mukuro leaned closer to the panting boy. "If you beg, I'll stop," he whispered into the boy's ear.
The boy looked him in the eye and glared pure murder.
A glimmer of a smile touched Mukuro's lips. "I like those eyes," he murmured. "They're good eyes. Very determined..." He stood, letting the broken arm thud on the wooden, debris-covered floor, and with deliberate malice put his foot quite firmly down on the arm. Only an almost imperceptible flinch told him his action had any effect.
Next he aimed a sharp kick to the ribs. The boy gritted his teeth and drew his legs up in instinctive defence. Mukuro kicked him several times more, breaking a few ribs, but stopping before any possibly fatal damage could be done. He added a last kick to the face out of spite.
The boy's eyes were hidden by his hair. Mukuro crouched and twined his fingers in the jet-black strands and yanked the boy to his knees.
He was still glaring. Just as hatefully and just as balefully as before, with blood streaming from his nose and cut lip.
"Are you wondering how I knew your weakness to sakura?" Mukuro opened his hand, letting the boy fall forward on all fours. "I do wonder how, hmm?"
The boy trembled - a measure of his effort to stay in his current position despite his broken body. With obvious difficulty, the boy silently turned his bloodied face upwards towards Mukuro.
"Are you thinking that if there was no sakura you would be fine?" Mukuro stood up fully, staring down at the defiant boy. "If so, you are wrong. I've buried men with more will than you in a place much like Hell. Now..." A slow smirk spread across Mukuro's face. "Shall we continue?"
He would have liked to think there was a measure of fear in the other's eyes as he bent to continue the torture but there was none - there was only hatred. And an indomitable spirit that refused to cry out, no matter what he did to the physical shell that housed it. Oh, the boy clearly felt the agony of Mukuro's wanton cruelty, but it was all suffered in silence.
Mukuro took care of the boy's legs next. Then the other arm. The boy would not be able to fight now, even if Mukuro himself were to possess the body. All the while he felt that gaze upon him, promising revenge.
When he was done, he left the boy in a sealed room, amongst crumbling masonry. He even left the boy's weapons next to him.
"So young to be such a strong fighter," he said, brushing away the boy's fringe as he sat easily within arm's reach. "But today, I'm the stronger."
Unexpectedly, the boy chose to speak up now. "I'll...kill you..." he managed to spit out past a swollen lip.
"Maybe." Mukuro was wholly unconcerned about the threat. "For now, be a good boy and wait here quietly while I complete my plans for the Vongola Decimo." And then he departed, leaving the boy alone in his concrete prison.