The wedge continued damaging Draco's feet by stabbing them for a time, but eventually began diving beneath his toenails and almost prying them from his feet in turn, but never fully bringing the nails off. Throwing the scissor-like contraption he'd been slicing Draco's tongue with to the stone floor, he called over yet another instrument, a sprinkler. Not the sprinkler that would usually come to mind, but something filled with metal. Upon reaching Voldemort's hand, the metal inside of the mesh-like drain object began to melt, and soon crawled out through the little holes. Pulling Draco's tattered shirt up high above his stomach, he placed it to his chest and let the scorching-hot metal trail down the soft skin slowly, while the wooden wedge continued doing its work.
The pain was leaning toward unbearable and Draco was screaming so loudly he knew he'd have no voice soon. The wedge stopped its impaling of his feet, but only went to slide in between his toes and toenails. The sensation of his toenails being ripped out at the root was nothing like his feet had ever felt before. The blood dripped off his feet, both from the stab wounds and from the torn out nails, to puddle around them. Soon the next method of torture came in the form of liquid metal flowing down his chest and stomach. Trying to evade the scorching metal, there was little space for him to move. The cuffs kept him from going side-to-side, the wall stopped him from moving backwards, and the Dark Lord in front of him didn't let him move forward. There was no place to run.
When Voldemort finally became satisfied with the level of pain and the loudness of Draco's pained screaming, he ceased the flow of the molten metals, smirking slightly as he pulled away the device and set it down, carefully. With a waving motion of his hands, the wooden wedge ceased digging beneath his toenails and fell to the floor lifelessly. "Are you still so confident, Malfoy? Still believe it was wise of you to take her place?" he teased, looking over the pale but soon turning a blood red boy amusedly. Averting his eyes back over to the wooden surface that bore other tools, he turned his back to Draco pointedly and began walking back towards it, purposefully slowly.
Picking up another rusty mechanism, he surveyed it thoughtfully for a moment before also picking up a bottle, shaking his head and setting it down. Setting for the compressive device he held, he studied the table once more. Wait! The branks. Picking up a mask made of metal, he grinned recalling Draco's inability to scream, and when he tried, it would hurt worse. Almost skipping back over to his victim, he shoved the mask over his head, and forced the spiked mouthpiece into his mouth. He'd be unable to talk once more, if he had half a mind to not be in pain.
When the tools of torture causing his pain stopped for a moment, Draco panted loudly, deep shuddering breaths in and out of his lungs. He was beginning to feel dizzy from the amount of blood flowing off of his body and from the lack of oxygen due to his screaming. "Yes..." Draco answered softly, his head dropped, too lazy to hold it up anymore. In an offhanded way, he notice that his chest wounds had been cauterized from the liquid metal. His arm and leg had clotted, stemming the flow of blood there. But, his foot and tongue still bleed viciously. He was somewhat glad for the slow walk the Dark Lord took; it gave him a moment to breath. Watching as two more medieval tools of torture were brought over.
The first, a mask was placed over his head and was rather heavy. But the worst part by far was the spiked mouthpiece shoved inside his mouth, pressing against his already bleeding tongue. It was obviously to keep him from talking again, not like he was doing much talking to start with.
Voldemort took the second tool and unceremoniously placing the object over Draco's thumb, after of course spreading out his hand on the wall. Positioning the device so that he could smack Draco's thumb joint and still keep his hand against the wall. Tightening the turner until the screw was driven into Draco's thumb joint; he waited for expression of pain before simply leaving it at that for a while, and then digging it further.
The second object slipped over his finger like a metal glove and figured it would probably break his finger. As the Dark Lord meticulously placed the item and then began tightening it, it slipped in the joint of his thumb, spreading it apart. As the screw drove deeper into his thumb, Draco gave a muffled scream, his tongue further sliced by the awful mouthpiece. The joint popped sickeningly as it separated, the muscles in his hand twitching in pain. Looking through the small opening in the mask, he could see Dedra across the room, looking away decidedly. Knowing he'd failed her with his cries of agony, he felt like he shouldn't look at her, that he was unworthy of looking at her, so he stopped. Instead, he stared at the fogged up metal inside the mask from the humidity of his breath.
Fighting her bonds hysterically when she saw Voldemort bringing over the mask, she almost broke both of her wrists, desperate to get free. Hearing him scream some more, she continued helplessly crying, more ashamed of her own inability to help him than anything else. Why wasn't she stronger? Why couldn't she help him and prevent Voldemort from hurting him?
Slowly unscrewing the screw from inside his thumb joint, Voldemort lackadaisically removed the apparatus off of and away from his hand, tossing it to the ground along with the other torture tools, a pile beginning to grow quite rapidly. Outstretching his hand, he called another contrivance to him, summoning a short pole with a pitch fork at one end. This was a Cat's Paw, used to tear flesh from a victim's body, and so it would be used right now. Snapping his fingers, the chains that bound Draco let him loose, and he was levitated off of the ground, only to be turned around and forced to face the wall, still wearing the mask. The chains once again dove back into the wall, holding him firmly against it.
As the screw came out of his thumb, Draco had a bad feeling that the thumb would be permanently damaged. While he was glad for the thing to be off his thumb, he nearly whimpered when it fell over limply. Yup, definitely screwed up, no pun intended. Once again the bindings holding him captive were removed and he was again shocked about it. But, he should've known better as he was lifted, turned around, and replaced back on the wall. The tightness of the chains surprised him and he felt he couldn't move anymore.
Most of Draco's skin was damaged, he was definitely in pain, and he could not even look Dedra in the eye with any sort of dignity. Voldemort could take a break for a while. After, of course, he finished. Taking the short pole with a pitch fork at one end, he began to drag it lightly up and down Draco's back, not bothering to try and remove his shirt. The Cat's Paw would do that for him. Beginning to dig in deeper as he scrapped down repeatedly, bringing the tool up and then dragging it back down, just starting to expose some blood.
Silently praying for Voldemort to finish, to halt in his vicious attempts at mutation, she couldn't even watch and look to Draco anymore, horrified. Crying and shaking violently, Dedra tried not to hear any sort of screams Draco let out, not wanting to witness anymore of his pain. She couldn't take it anymore.
Unsure of the thing moving up and down his back, at first it seemed to be nothing, but things were never what they seemed when it came to Voldemort. Draco first knew the thing was not good when the cloth covering his back shredded away. When the tool began to touch his skin, the sharp blades ripped it instantly, drawing blood rather quickly. The long the tool moved up and down, the deeper it dug into his flesh, and more blood flowed to the surface. The cries started low and soft but grew in intensity each time the thing transverse the length of his back.
Digging the prongs of the Cat's Paw deeper into Draco's back, the Dark Lord only stopped when he was fairly satisfied, and Draco's back was properly mutilated. Beaming sadistically, he slowly pulled it away, walking over to Draco as he still held the Cat's Paw and his wand tightly, removing the metal mask carefully. Now he could scream freely and not experience even more pain, only now it really didn't matter. "And now you're free to go. Tata."
Trying to blink tears from her eyes, she opened them, trying to focus them on Voldemort as though decided whether or not he'd really said what she thought he said. As happy as she could be at the moment, she smiled vaguely, looking over to Draco only to be mortified, nauseated, and frantically upset.
Crying out loudly as the duel pains of the Cat's Paw being removed and his tongue being sliced by the mask, Draco tugged uselessly as the chains on the wall. His back hurt like a bitch and the air blowing against the wounds just made it all worse. When Voldemort came over to his side to talk to him, Draco flinched in response, expecting more pain to come. But he was perplexed when the mask was removed and he was allowed to leave. Tugging at the chains and cuffs, he asked, "And Dedra will leave with me? My lord?" No matter how badly he wanted to leave, he would not do so without her.
Laughing at Draco's request, Voldemort raised a brow, as though he wasn't entirely sure Draco was being serious. "You're joking, right? While I gave you my word I wouldn't torture her, she cannot go with you. You'd be wise to leave it at that." Snapping his fingers, Draco's chains gave away, and a simple tug would cause them to fall to the ground uselessly. Yawning softly, Voldemort turned his back to Draco, advancing towards Dedra non-chalantly.
Squirming against her chains again when Voldemort began to walk closer to her, Dedra suddenly became afraid once more. She desperately wanted to leave with Draco, mainly to help him get bandaged up and begin healing. And then there was the fact she knew what Voldemort wanted with her once Draco left.
When the cuffs released his wrist, he slumped slightly, rubbing the raw wrist. "Your word, my lord, was that you would not harm her, not just torture her." Draco reminded him, somehow keeping his tone very polite and respectful. Glancing over to the voiceless Dedra, he tried to give her a look to remain calm. Draco had an idea of what Voldemort wanted and he wasn't about to let that happen. "Surely whatever want you could have now would harm her, given her current state..."
"Draco. Honestly. Do you want to be killed? Never once did I promise not to kill you. Want a bastard child?" he teased, smirking to Draco from over his shoulder. "You're dismissed." Waving his hand careless and dismissingly, it was clear Voldemort would ignore all that Draco attempted to do, and Voldemort by far had the more powerful magic capabilities. Draco had few cards to play.
Wincing at the thought of being killed, Draco paused in his thoughts, but remained still. Unable to understand how he kept his tone respectful, despite what Voldemort had done, he spoke again, softly, "No, my lord, I do not wish to die. But I do wish to protect the health of my child and my girlfriend...." Remaining rooted to the spot, he refused to leave the room.
"Stay in here but a second longer and you will cease to exist. Am I being unclear about this, Draco, or are you just hard of hearing?" the Dark Lord inquired hatefully, continuing to walk over to the chair Dedra was bound to until he was right beside of it, then he turned on his heel to look back at Draco, gripping his wand tightly.
Shaking violently when Voldemort finally reached the chair, she tried to lean away from him, watching him noiselessly but not inexpressively. It was odd she was still able to remain a Death Eater, given if Voldemort came within two feet of her she trembled and whimpered.
Quickly tiring of being polite, Draco knew that one step out of line and the Dark Lord could kill them both. "My lord, I am asking you to keep to your promise, that is all. You have promised to not harm her if I compiled with your torture without resisting. I have kept my end of the bargain, do you not hold yours?" Draco inquired softly. After a moment, he asked, "Did you not please yourself with my pain? Then do some more, I know you have worse punishments than what you gave me. Take your pleasure on my flesh, instead of hers."
"Leave. Right now." Voldemort commanded sharply, glaring malevolently at him and starting to lift his wand, ready to perform a spell. Which spell it was wasn't so difficult to guess. "Unless of course you want the both of you to die, as well as your unborn child."
"Please my lord...." Draco resolved to begging, falling roughly to his knees, the raised wand frightening him. He knew very well that the Dark Lord wouldn't have a single problem with using the most deathly curse on them. Frantically looking to Dedra, he wondered what she was thinking, what would happen to her if he left. But, Draco thought reasonably, He could kill me anyways, then torture her, then kill her. The options were slim to none and there wasn't much that he could do.
Looking at Draco listlessly, she herself wasn't sure what she wanted for Draco to do. She didn't want for him to leave and wanted to help him get cleaned up and tended to, but she most certainly did not want for him to die. She was unsure of what to convey to him and tell him to do, and was even more unsure of what she wanted to chance.
"This is truly is your last chance, Draco. Leave now, or die. I won't wait. There is the exit." He gestured towards the doorway that lead to the tunnel outside. "Be gone. Leave." Voldemort clearly was giving his final warning, and this would be Draco's last chance to leave alive.
In death, Draco wouldn't be able to help Dedra afterwards or assist in raising their child. He could only pray that Voldemort would keep to his promise and not harm her, because he would pay if he did. Draco didn't know how, but he would find some way to do so. "I shall hope you keep to your promise, as did I." Draco murmured, rising to his feet painfully. Looking over to Dedra briefly, he tried to explain his thoughts, "If I am dead, I cannot help you afterwards..." Not wanting to remain any longer, he left the concrete place, albeit slowly due to his pain. Once reaching the exit, he sat down outside it, ignoring his pain while waiting.
After about an hour or two, Dedra was set free from the chair, the chains recoiling and her ability to speak returned. She was allowed to leave, and leave she did, hurrying out of the cold tunnels and towards the exit, hell-bent on reaching Draco. Smirking slightly, Voldemort thought to himself. Neither of them will forget that. Not ever. May it remain etched in their minds.