THE WOLF AND THE HARLOT

CHAPTER ONE

All the cells in her dungeon reeked of sweat and blood and fear, piss and shit and burnt flesh.

How long had he been locked down here now with him? Five days? Maybe longer, she guessed from the smell.

Once upon a time, it had turned her stomach, put her off her food for hours. Now, she found it invigorating, refreshing. She licked her lips.

Wuya walked the long, dimly lit corridor with two slaves trailing behind her, to the final cell door, open ajar at the end of hallway. The smell of blood coming from the room was almost overwhelming.

Good. She found herself thinking.

The dungeons in Wuya's home were small and cramped, perfect for prisoner interrogation; Wuya's speciality.

"Leave me." She said to the two slaves behind her, who glanced at each other nervously.

"B-but, my lady...The dungeons are dangerous..." One of them stammered. Wuya's eyes narrowed, and he fell silent instantly.

"I said, leave me." She repeated sharply, and this time, the two slaves nodded hurriedly, bowed, and scuttled off quickly.

They do not like it down here. Wuya knew. They are frightened of the things that happen in my dungeons.

As she stepped inside the room, there was little room to spare at all. Ash sat on a small stool, busy preparing himself for the day ahead by laying out the metal instruments on an old table. He lifted each instrument, letting it glisten in the crackling torchlight; allowing his friend a close inspection to each one. In the centre of the room was what had once been a dentist's chair, now tattered and torn and thick with blood; some old, some new. The poor sod bound to the dentist's chair was whimpering, his eyes wide with fear. Wuya cast a sly glance at him.

He was a stubborn man, for sure. He had stayed silent. So far.

That would not last long. Not now she was here.

The blood of his friends and his brother still stained the chair and floor below him from days before. She found something rather poetic about that.

But far more notable in the room, was the presence of the man who was inspecting the tools so carefully.

When Wuya cleared her throat to get his attention, he shot upright, facing her with an empty expression. He bowed awkwardly with what might have been a smile, and in his gruff voice, he uttered "My lady." to greet her.

Her bare feet pattered against the floor as she cupped his face in her long fingers. "Hello, my pet." She whispered, her voice gentle and sweet. "What have you got for me today?"

He didn't move at all as her fingertips brushed his strong jawline, tracing them tenderly. She had always liked Ash.

He was easily a foot and a half taller than her. For a man so large, his touch could be as gentle as a butterflies wings and his hand as steady as rock. Important in his line of work.

Ash was Greek, with a chiselled face, thick eyebrows and thick brown curls that hung past his ears. If you could ignore the scarring, he was a handsome man, but the scars were too prominent to go unnoticed.

There were three pale scars that lined his face. Once down, across his eye and left side of his face. He had gone blind in that eye, which had gone a milky blue colour while the other stayed brown. The other scars lay across his chin, and along his forehead. He often wore an eyepatch to cover and protect the blind eye, but sometimes, he found it more effective to frighten those in the chair by leaving it off.

He could have snapped Wuya like a twig, but instead, her minion turned, presenting the quivering wreck strapped to the chair, and smiled lightly.

"Scum." He growled in his deep voice, still tainted with an accent. Ash never said much anyway. "Silent so far."

The man on the bench had already suffered at Ash's blades for a few days. Ash was slow, patient, taking the time to appreciate his art, but he always talked eventually.

He had started by removing the upper layers of flesh first along his stomach, cutting away the skin, slowly, pinching and twisting the flesh, tearing it away.

Next, came the burning. A red hot poker, touched along his thighs and forearms, where the meat was tender. Wuya could see the blistered flesh, which Ash took great delight in teasing.

The next day, Ash had removed the man's fingernails and toenails.

Yesterday, he had broken the man's fingers, one by one, before taking a mallet to the man's left leg.

Today, he would take an eye or an ear, whatever Wuya ordered first. Maybe both. It depended on how willing he was to talk. If he talked today, there would be no need.

Wuya, somehow, seemed to think neither would be necessary.

Ash had a way of torturing his prisoners that almost always got results, and if Ash couldn't get them to talk, then Wuya sure as hell could.

Every careful incision was made to cause minimal shock and blood loss damage, yet to be as painful as possible. It was an artform, and one that both she and Ash took great delight in. It was the only time Ash ever really liked speaking.

The man on the bench did not seem like a man of strength. His brother and friends had died without giving up their secret; hell, he must have heard them screaming. Wuya would have bet money that people outside the tower could have heard it. Maybe even outside the city.

When the man in the chair clapped eyes on Wuya, he realised that he was at the mercy of the notorious Black Hands. He instantly began to talk. He jibbered away incoherently to himself, too afraid to form any intelligible words, until Wuya finally pressed a finger gently to his lips.

He instantly fell silent, though she felt his bottom lip quivering.

"Shhhhh." She whispered tenderly, as if to a lover.

She smirked cruelly then, her full red lips forming her killer smile. Her slender hands twirled playfully, stretching, preparing. She trailed her hand across his shoulder, dragging her nails along his exposed chest, then around, to the table of tools, one finger trailing along the cold, razor-sharp steel. She faced him once more then, climbing over the chair until she straddled him.

He whimpered at the pain of her weight on top of his already battered body, but Wuya only leant down further, her hands touching the flayed flesh on his stomach. The man gave another shudder of pain.

"Now then, my sweetness." Wuya breathed, barely more than a whisper. The man's eyes were wide with fear, yet they never left hers as she crawled towards him, licking her pointed teeth.

"My... friend here..." She gestured back to Ash, who stood back, arms folded against the wall, looking formidable even now. "has been trying to get you to talk to us for a few days now... and I understand that you don't want to talk to him." She reached up, curling her fingers in his sweat-sodden hair, "Will you talk to me?" She leant down even further, so her chest pressed against his. His sticky blood stained her dress, not that she cared. Her lips were close to his; so close that she could feel his ragged breath on her face.

The man's wide eyes flickered between Ash and Wuya, and finally, after days of silence, he broke.

"Yes." He gibbered breathlessly, afraid and desperate at the site of her. "I will tell you. I swear!" He gasped, though he didn't take his eyes off Ash.

"Tell me." Wuya whispered, a small smile. "You have nothing to fear from me. I promise. You want to leave here, don't you?"

"You'll let me go?" He gibbered, his eyes flickering deliriously.

"Of course."

"You don't let people go..." He breathed.

"My dear," Wuya stroked the greasy hair from his sweaty forehead, "Who do you think tells all those nasty stories about us? No one would ever know what we get up to if we let no one alive to tell it, would they?" She smiled gently.

"You'll let me go."

"I swear." Wuya promised, raising her right hand innocently.

The man looked conflicted, and began to speak panicked gibberish.

"Mountains. To the west. Rebel camp. I heard one of them was there." Wuya managed to pick out the words.

In truth, she was disgusted. Touching this mere mortal was almost torture in itself, but she often found that after a few days with Ash, her appearance startled the rebels who had been captured.

The rebels called them both "The Black Hands", infamous torturers.

Most rebels had would never know who Ash was and assumed they had been captured and tortured for information by mere Heylin Warriors. It wasn't until Wuya showed up, with her flaming red hair, piercing green eyes and tattooed face that they realised the dangers they were in. They were notorious.

It was a popular rumour amongst the rebels that Wuya was a terrible seductress, and that Ash was the kinder one of the two. The rebels aren't entirely wrong in that, she thought.

Smiling, Wuya sat upright, still straddling the man. His blood stained her front, her bare thighs, her arms and hands, but she barely seemed to notice. "Thank you, my love." She whispered gently, before turning back to Ash and nodding at him.

Ash smiled, before turning to the fire pit that sat in the corner of the room, lifting one of the pokers, which had turned white-hot in the flames. He twirled it in his hands, watching the end of the poker shining bright.

"No!" The man squirmed beneath Wuya, a look of horror on his face. "Please! I told you!" He squealed, desperately. "I told you all I know! Please!"

Ash only chuckled lightly.

"Please! Why?!" The man looked at Wuya, looking like a frightened little lamb. "You said you'd let me go! You SWORE!"

Ash came closer.

Wuya clambered off the man, kneeling down beside his head, so that her lips were in his right ear.

"Thank you, my love." She breathed, kissing his sweat-soaked cheek gently.

Ash lifted the poker above his victim. The man could feel the heat from it, even at this distance.

"Please! I told you everything! Why are you doing this to me?!" He cried out, sweating, shaking, knowing he was nearing death.

Wuya chuckled softly. "Because, my love," she whispered in a breathy tone, "this is what we do."

With that, Ash plunged the poker straight into the man's left eye. Blood spurted and the hissing of burning flesh was tremendously satisfying for Wuya.

The unnamed man screamed for only a few moments, as Ash twisted the poker, sinking the metal deeper and deeper until Ash broke bone. Wuya found a smile on her face.

Within three seconds, the man was dead, the poker embedded thick into the man's head.

Standing back up, Wuya moved towards Ash, trailing her bloody fingers over his shoulder. "You're an animal, my pet." She whispered. "You did well."

"Thank you." He said stiffly, unmoving.

"I will call Chase soon, he'll want to know immediately." Wuya said, pausing beside him. Her fingertips lingered on his chest. She drew closer, smelling the scent on his skin. Blood, sweat, dirt.

"He will be pleased."

"I know that, you damned fool." She growled, growing tired of hearing the sound of his voice. "If you had a brain for anything other than violence, you'd be Chase Young reborn."

He opened his mouth to speak again, perhaps to apologise, but Wuya was there first, thrusting her lips against his and shoving him against the wall. With rough hands, she hoisted her black dress up as fast as she could, and unbuckled his pants hastily.

"You'd better please me," she murmured breathlessly as he kissed her neck hungrily. "If you don't, I'll strap you to that chair myself."

Ash gave a small smirk, flipped her over, pinning her roughly against the wall, and lost himself in her.

When they were done, Wuya pulled her black dress back up, ran her fingers through her ruffled hair, smiling at Ash as he leant, naked and exhausted against the stone wall. They were both covered in the blood of the dead man and sweat.

"I'll see you later, my love." She said, and Ash didn't doubt that she meant it. He gave her another bow.

Wuya marched out of the room and was later rejoined by her two slaves. When they saw her ruffled hair, her smeared lipstick, and blood-soaked dress, they said nothing, but their stolen glances at each other didn't go unnoticed.

"You will say nothing." She told them sternly, and the two nodded quickly.

"Good." She said firmly. "Send a message to Chase's people. Tell him I have information on the whereabouts of Omi."

The two slaves nodded wordlessly, but the moment Wuya's back was turned they exchanged a startled and wide-eyed glance.

As soon as they were out of the dungeons and back in the familiar luxury of Wuya's home, they breathed a sigh of relief. One slave was a skinny girl with long black hair and freckles, the other a short boy with tanned skin and a gormless expression.

"Leave me." Wuya dismissed them passively, and the two slaves walked hurriedly, not saying a word until they were out of ear shot.

Wuya's home was nothing short of palatial. Her home was probably the second largest building in the world, second only to Chase Young's own Palace. After he had conquered the world all those years ago, he had gifted Wuya, who had been instrumental in his rise to power, her own city. There, she had every luxury she could ever want for, including her own home build especially to her tastes.

Wuya's home was encased in a stone fortress, just in case of another rebel uprising, but the exterior of the home was mostly glass and looked more like an office building than a home. It reminded some of those skyscrapers found in the old world.

There were none of those anymore. Well, maybe one or two.

The two slaves took one of the elevators up to the 37th floor.

"Could it really be him?" The slave girl said to the boy, timidly, afraid to speak.

The boy was surprised to be spoken to, but chewed his lip nervously. "I don't know."

"We don't even know if he's real..." She said uncertainly.

"You know the stories just as well as I do." The boy replied. "If it really is the Xiaolin Dragon of Water, it'll mean all those stories are true!" He looked excited at the prospect.

She shot him a glare and his expression dropped instantly. Slaves were not supposed to speak to each other. They had been practically raised by Wuya. She did not like her slaves chattering to one another. Anyone watching the camera in the elevator would have spotted his excited expression, and they would both be punished.

They kept as expressionless as possible, learning to communicate through barely moving their lips.

"Even if it really is Omi, so what?" She asked quietly. "The Xiaolin Dragons tried to defeat Chase Young once and failed. No one has seen them in a hundred years or more."

Every child in the world knew the story.

118 years ago, Chase Young had taken over the planet in just 2 months. Entire cities were sacked and laid to waste, millions died overnight as Chase's warriors rampaged through the cities, slaughtering all those who opposed them or tried to stop them.

It soon became clear that Chase Young was their new ruler, and that any opposition would not be tolerated.

Within a year, the so-called Xiaolin Dragons rose up. They amassed an army, 500,000 rebels or more who formed a giant rebellion to tackle Chase's Palace in the Capital City.

The heroes, blessed with elemental powers, were said to have fought bravely, but suffered a bitter defeat. Depending on who told the story, after realising they would not win the battle, the Xiaolin Dragons retreated, whether out of cowardice or to save what remained of their troops to return another day, no one was certain.

But that was 118 years ago, and no one was still alive to say who had the right of it. No one except Wuya and Chase Young, and the Xiaolin Dragons, if they were still out there somewhere, but it was legend, a rumour, just a hope for some people that someone, somewhere would help them.

"They could try again. Maybe that's why they're torturing so many people." The boy suggested.

The moment the elevator doors opened, noise burst from the room as the frantic workers scrambled to answer phones and hitting the buttons on their keyboards. One large computer screen in the centre of the room showed a map of the city, with small red dots placed all over it.

They were people suspected of being rebels.

Wuya had been tasked with tracking them down, torturing them for information on other rebels, and eventually eradicating them all.

She had also been put in charge of tracking down the Xiaolin Dragons as a result.

The two slaves approached one exhausted-looking man who had two sets of headphones on, a coffee stain on his shirt and hair stuck up at odd angles. He didn't even look up from his computer as they neared him. Instead, he continued typing frantically, as if he life depended on it.

"We bring orders. Send a message to His Majesty. Wuya believes she has information about the whereabouts of Omi."

The man seemed to barely hear them, but nodded shortly before waving them off with a lazy flick of his hand. "Out."

Back in the dungeon, Ash had re-dressed himself in an instant, un-strapping the dead man from the chair, and throwing him into the pit where the corpses were later incinerated. Then, he started blowing all but one of the torches out. As he collected the final torch from the wall, he found himself smirking.

I love my job, he thought.