I'm placing a warning at the top of this chapter. The torture in this chapter is more intense than the rest of the story (probably). If you can't handle gore, don't read.

If you like the story, you'll probably be able to skip this chapter - but you'll miss some important tidbits.

Although honestly, if you have read this far you are probably fine with gore. I certainly hope so.

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The first part of Law's plan was simple.

He had ordered everyone off the ship. Having seen his face, no one argued. They would be off the ship and out of his hair for the next 24 hours, and he encouraged them to stay away for longer. He didn't tell them it was for their own safety. They assumed it was to protect them from his rage. The truth was Law couldn't trust their safety around that bitch below.

So they had all rented rooms for two nights at one of the inns in town, and would probably be drinking through the night. Two nights of debauchery for his crew, and peace with which Law could implement his schemes.

She had manipulated him.

No one manipulates Law.

For the first twelve hours, he sat in the control room, his fingers on the kill switch and a book in his hand. He had a surveillance snail watching her, and her screams filled him with sadistic pleasure as he read his book.

At random intervals, he simply flicked the power switch for that section of the submarine. Off. On. Off. On. Sometimes rapidly, sometimes lingering, and always humming in satisfaction.

With his current mood, he would have killed any woman that he tried to have. Or at least left them much worse for wear.

No.

This was better.

Every now and again, he napped while the lights were off, relaxed as she begged and screamed for him to free her. It was mostly incoherent as the blind panic had taken over her senses. And the rest of the time, he planned.

In between napping sessions, he prepared his operating theater. He gathered the materials he would need.

So she could regenerate. Good. That meant that Law didn't have to worry about killing her before he'd had his fill.

And he would have his fill.

Bitch.

He had remembered her panic when he had first transported her to his sub. In the following days, there was nothing else that caused that level of blind panic. He admitted that even he had originally felt strange when using his shambles technique. Both his men and himself had adjusted quickly - but it was disorienting to a normal person. He could only imagine how it felt to someone who had no grip on reality.

He had mused on that fact. She had no grip on reality, so the fact that she even noticed the teleportation seemed out of character.

Then again, at this point, nothing should surprise him concerning the woman. Nothing made sense around her. He almost regretted taking her off that ship, aware that her only saving grace was the information that she had given him. Everything else though… everything else. She had invading his mind, quickly becoming an obsession.

She was a mystery that he hadn't been able to solve. Every new discovery only piqued his curiosity rather than sating it. Every answered question brought on copious more. Everything from her physicality, to her insanity, to her unexplained knowledge-

And that knowledge. She knew things about him, things that no one else knew. He clenched his fists in his anger. She shouldn't know anything. It wasn't right that she had that knowledge. She hadn't earned it. He didn't trust her.

Frankly, it was terrifying.

Just like that odd power of hers. Not only her regeneration, but that sensation of electricity. He had woken up twice from his sleep reaching for it. She had invaded his sub, his past, his mind, and now his dreams.

That regeneration of hers was fascinating on many levels. As a doctor, she was a potentially limitless organ donor. He had thought of pulling out her organs and seeing if they would grow back, wondering if he could sell her organs on the black market. They would certainly go for a great price - organ smuggling was something that was difficult to pull off, even more difficult than slavery due to the tendency of the donors dying during collection.

She was steadily consuming him. He'd never been more fascinated by a person in his life.

She was going to pay.

He had noticed her regeneration seemed to fit every part of her. Twelve hours of screaming, and she had not lost her voice. Her screams were as intense at the beginning of his schemes as at the end of the time. A smile graced his lips at the thought. He had yet to tire of them.

It was time for phase two.

Law stood up, turning the lights on in her cell. He brought his video receiver den den mushi with him as he stalked towards his operating theater. Even with the video turned off, the sound continued. She was sobbing hysterically. His hatred of her reveled in those sounds. It was going to get much worse for her.

Much.

Much.

Worse.

Reaching his theater, he set up the video feed on an empty wall, standing comfortably next to an operating table. He checked the straps briefly for the third time since he'd spoken with her. Taking his time, he checked all of his materials as her sobs quieted. Turning back to the video feed, she had fallen asleep in her cell, exhausted by the last twelve hours.

It was time.

He extended his room throughout the entirety of his submarine. His nodachi stood unsheathed in his hand, poised and ready. He was going to have to be faster than her. He would be faster than her.

The last eleven years had not been spent doing nothing. He had perfect control over his powers.

He had left the rag outside her cell in his rage. Now, it presented the perfect opportunity.

"Shambles."

There was a sudden scream. This panic was even more intense than her petrified screams of the dark - if that was even possible. She hadn't traveled far, but it don't seem to matter. she thrashed, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as she screamed for Eric.

This displeased Law.

"Shambles."

He switched them again, sending her back to her cell. She smashed her head against the bars with enough force to bend the bars and crack her skull.

"Shambles."

Again she was switched. Her wild thrashing dented the floor, and that unmistakeable crack of bone told him she had broken bones in the process.

"Shambles."

Those bars would need to be replaced at this point. Her head wound was already healed, but seemingly not for long as she cracked her skull against the bars again. Fresh blood coated the walls as her thrashing decorated her cell. She screamed for her lover again.

"Shambles."

The delirium had set in. No words were uttered anymore from her lips as she shrieked.

"Shambles."

Blood dripped from her mouth and she choked. She had bitten off her tongue in her thrashes. The severed appendage slipped from her mouth as she opened it to scream again.

Time to change things up again.

"Shambles."

He brought her into his operating theater, in an open section of the floor. He decreased the size of his room to just cover her as he cut her into pieces that he attached to the floor before dismissing his power. She had had enough time to still dent the floor. Reaching over, he picked up her head by her hair and ignored the accompanying jolt as it threatened to send shivers down his spine, carrying her head over to a box.

She had ceased coherent speech, even with his touch. He thought it was a good sign. He was breaking her. She would be broken. And then he would toss her out like the trash she was.

The box was painted black on the inside. It would be beyond dark inside. He tossed the head inside as she screamed. He threw a lock on for good measure, and then a black blanket.

She would see nothing. If he was lucky, his touch would bring her just enough sensation to feel everything that he was about to do to her body.

He was glad he had sent his crew away. He vaguely registered the grin on his face, and knew that it was more insanely pleased than usual.

He took out a sledgehammer, picking up a hand and placing it on the dented spot on his floor. He then swung the hammer with all the force he could muster onto the hand. The dent grew bigger, but the blood that painted it pleased Law enough that he just didn't care. Her screams had reached a new octave. He considered it a personal achievement, and resolved to break his new record. He watched with detached fascination as crushed bones knitted themselves back together, before repeating the process on her hand, her kneecap, her foot and more. The amount of blood on his floor was getting dangerous before he stopped. He didn't want to slip.

It was time for the next experiment.

Grabbing her chest, he strapped it down to the operating table. He grabbed a rusted scalpel from a bucket seawater, chosen specifically for it's dullness to gather rust months ago, and brutally cut into her. He reached in and pulled her ribcage apart before dumping the saltwater inside her.

This would answer if her powers were devil fruit based. If they were, this would kill her.

He stood back, pickup up a hand and absentmindedly stabbing it as he watched her body's reaction. In the corner, the lock on the box jingled, almost drowned out by the screams.

A new record, he mused quietly.

The ruined organs were piecing themselves back together. Even more fascinating, a rib that he had broken off was not reattaching itself. Instead, from the stump of leftover rib, a new one grew before his eyes. The old one was pushed out of her body by her regrowing organs, and clattered to the ground besides the table.

As her body put itself back together before his eyes, the seawater spilled to the floor. In two minutes, her chest was whole again, unmarked.

Her straightjacket was permanently ruined though. He considered calling Bepo and asking him to find a new one in town for him. Alas, it was close to five in the morning, and Bepo would be asleep.

Law caught himself admiring her bare chest before his lip curled in distaste.

This time, again using the rusted scalpel, he ripped into her chest, throwing salt and shards of broken glass inside before grabbing a stapler and stapling her skin back together. All her body parts were desperately flailing around his theatre, soaked as they were in her own blood. He picked a few up, tossing them into the air lightly as he watched her body's reaction to this new development.

The skin across her chest had healed, sealing the salt and glass inside. He weighed his options if the glass was stuck inside her body permanently. The stapled were pushed out of her skin and sat uselessly on top of her chest.

Her screaming stopped.

Her various body parts stopped thrashing.

Examining her chest with sadistic awe, he watched as shards of bloodied glass began pushing out of her skin, wiggling their way like worms out of an apple. Beads of red pushed themselves out from her chest, and he realized it was the salt he had dumped in. It was the most disturbing thing he'd ever seen.

He wanted to see it again.

He wondered if it would work with something bigger.

He repeated the process, only this time leaving the rusted scalpel behind. She was no longer reacting to anything he did.

He didn't care. This was fun. More fun that cared to admit. Luckily, no one was around. They would never know.

He watched in morbid fascination as the scalpel was pushed through her skin much in the same way as the shards had been.

He registered that she must have passed out from the pain or shock. Good enough for him. His anger appeased, he resolved to spend the next few hours satisfying his curiosity instead.

Switching utensils, but not bothering to wash his hands (he could care less if she got infected, although at this point he doubted it would happen), he cut into her chest again, this time using clamps to hold the edges of her flesh from reconnecting. He pour lemon juice inside, seeing if it would wake her. Alas, no screams, no thrashing. He then removed organs, first cutting them out carefully, seeing if he could salvage the removed organs. He placed them in bags in and put them on ice to test their validity later. Then he watched her body continuously create new ones in their stead. He took her beating heart in his hand and crushed it, leaving it in place. It repaired itself and began pumping again. He cut her limbs and bled her dry, only for her to never run out of blood. He soaked her limbs in seawater, chained her with sea prism and cut off fingers. He even pulled out a tattoo machine and tattooed her skin, watching her skin reject the ink and heal without a mark.

She couldn't die.

She really couldn't die.

It was as if reality itself refused to let anything happen to her body. As if reality rejected the damage.

He paused.

As if reality rejected the damage.

Those cracks that she saw. She had said there was light and pain, and that the cracks had pulled her through.

What if she was telling the truth?

Law glared at her rapidly healing body. Only this demon of a bitch could confuse his own acceptance of reality in this way.

She still had yet to respond to his ministrations.

After two more hours of operation, he decided he was tired. He could operate on her more later.

He put her body back together, leaving her head in the box as he carried it down the stairs towards her cell. He dumped her body onto the bed, before he bended down to unlock the box containing her head. He reached in, and pulled her head out.

Her eyes were open, and solid black.

He stopped, gazing at them curiously. No response. He hit her head against the wall. Nothing.

Well. This was new.

He placed her head back on her body, before exiting the cell. Her black eyes were turned towards him. Law doubted she could see him, but that didn't shake the ominous feeling that settled over his chest as he walked back up the stairs.

He left the light on.