Blood mingles with sweat. He pants, eyes shut, face contorted in pain.
He should be used to it by now, he thinks. Should be used to the constant torture. But each blow, each insult stings worse than the last, resonates through his mind and body. He wonders if Serpine has done something to him, something to make it feel like this, to make it feel so disgustingly abhorrent. But maybe that's just him.
"Skulduggery..."
His voice is melodic, soft, teasing. He beckons him, beckons his battered body. Skulduggery's still sore from the last time, aching in his lower back and shoulders. He aches in other places, too, but he cannot complain. He just hopes death will come soon.
If only Serpine wasn't such an evil person.
Dead, too. He can't do much dead.
Hmm.