WARNING. Number 45 contains violence, blood in addition to torture so it's technically rated M. Please, please, please don't read it unless you are sure you can handle it. I really don't want to give any of the readers nightmares. This is by far the most violent of the drabbles. It is also the longest up until now.
I also hope this chapter isn't too confusing.
45. The Mind Of A Villain
When they say that he's the one who should try his hand at the stubborn Guard, who really does know more than he should and he knows it (and they know as well), his eyes light up and the grin on his face makes the newer recruit flinch back, horrified at how utterly twisted it is. No one should be happy about being giving the opportunity to hurt someone.
He just laughs and pats the other recruit's back and tells him to run along now, lips still curled into a smile that causes the other to tremble under his hood and his throat go dry, fingers shaking as he removes the hand from his shoulder before he excuses himself and leaves after dropping a key into the palm of the hand that seems all to eager to squeeze the life out of someone.
The owner of said hand closes his fingers around it while another burst of laughter bubbles up in his chest and he laughs gleefully, turning to disappear down into the cellar hidden beneath the hideout. The dark sound bounces off the walls and causes those who hear it to shudder.
The tortured man is lying in his cell, quite out of it with the side of his mouth bleeding sluggishly, the rest of the body bruised and his eyes are trying to see the shadowed face under the hood. He deems it impossible to see more than the twist on the other's face because his gaze seems to focus on it, no matter how much he wants to look elsewhere.
The apprentice giggles and opens the cell, dragging the Guard to his feet and dragging him along to the room where he knows they'll have the time of their lives. He notices that his prisoner doesn't struggle, doesn't seem to be afraid of the room yet.
He'll have to change that.
It starts with smalltalk, informing the bleeding man of the nice weather outside, the wind and the sun and the way he could just go back there to meet his family and lead a normal life. All he needs to do is tell them what he knows about the lovely Borgia family.
Stoic silence is his only answer but he keeps chatting away, laughing and telling him about how the last one that refused to answer the simplest questions. All while idly clearing the dirt from underneath his fingernails with his dagger.
The silence continues and the recruit finally shrugs, pushes himself away from the wall and walks to the wooden table the prisoner is currently chained to, tilting his head like a curious bird who doesn't know how to deal with a new situation.
And then he buries the dagger in the Guard's left knee, looking unhealthily satisfied at the scream that erupts from the Guard's throat and the sickening cracking and squishy noise as skin and bone and muscle are torn and broken.
Though he cheerfully tells his by now harshly breathing victim that he still has his right leg to rely on, should he start talking now.
An angry glare is the only answer he gets so he shrugs his shoulders again and pulls back to make sure that the Guard can not slip his hands through the cuffs before he skips off, out the door which he locks behind him.
His merry singing continues to bounce off the hallways, an old song about love and the ladies and wine. A song about freedom.
He returns three days later, wrinkling his nose at the smell that fills the room but his face lights up when he sees that the rats have started to work on the Guard's toes, they're bloody and fleshy and look so disgusting that even their owner doesn't want to look at them anymore.
Delighted laughter fills the air and the apprentice stuffs the rest of his mouth-watering smelling bread into his mouth, chewing as he examines the toes with the curiosity of a child, prodding at them and perking up at the pained noise that comes from his prisoner. Not dead. Probably hungry. So the recruit pulls out another small slice of bread and takes a large bite out of it, all while keeping his eyes on the Guard who is watching his every move with dull but definitely alive eyes.
But the apprentice is not asking questions, just eating his bread while making satisfied noises and he looks so content that the Guard wants to murder him.
When he finally starts asking the questions, spiteful glaring is one again the only answer.
Sighing, the assassin recruit pats the prisoner's cheek and starts to remove his dagger from where it is still stuck in the horrible mangled knee. He takes his sweet time, singing that song about freedom again, accompanied by the sickening squelching noises and the pained whimpers coming from his victim.
Once it's out, he buries it in the right leg, not far from the foot and tells the Guard that he'll never get the chance to dream ever again.
And he doesn't far every time his eyelashes flutter and his eyes start to close, dirty, smelly water is dumped on his face to keep him awake. That and the malicious smile from the person sitting on a chair not too far away from him.
He must have spaced out because when he comes to, the apprentice is playing with his fingers, treating them as if they are little puppets, moving them around, bending them and making them talk to each other with silly little noises.
And then there is the odd noise of something metallic moving and suddenly, one of his fingers is gone. The Guard stares, horrified and then starts to scream, struggling and trying to get away from this mad person.
Oh, silly me, the recruit giggles and tilts his head while staring at the pinky finger he's holding up to examine. I forgot to remove the fingernail first!
He doesn't forget when the thumb falls victim to the hidden blade.
Another day passes before the Guard finally, finally breaks. His right hand is gone completely and the infected wounds make him delirious enough to start crying and begging to mercy.
Instantly, the apprentice starts to smooth the sweaty and ratty bangs away from the Guard's forehead, cooing and telling him that things will stop if he just starts talking. With a feeble nod, the mangled man opens his mouth to answer but his throat is dry and cracked and only a pitiful noise leaves him.
He looks so panicked that the apprentice lets out a thrilled laugh before fetching some wine thinned with water, holding it up so the man can drink it huge gulps. He starts to demand more but the gaze that meets his is cold and uncaring despite the soothing smile that graces the apprentice's lips now.
So he starts talking.
He's crying when he reaches the end of his knowledge, voice cracked and broken beyond repair just like his body but his eyes. They're hopeful.
The blade that stabs him right through his heart brings blood to his mouth and it tastes like freedom. He's dead before he realizes that he's gone.
The recruit laughs, gleefully, and bounces out of the room up the stairs where he grabs another recruit with his bloody, dirty hands and twirls them around once before he is out of the door to give il Mentore his report.
The Maestro told them to always respect the dead so after everything is said and done, he gives the body a burial outside of the city.
It is only proper.
And he can't wait to make someone writhe again and again until
they
break.
Just like he did, a long time ago.