The smell of sweat, bodily fluids, and pain seeped into Raze's nose as he stood inside a dimly lit room. The air felt moist and warm, sticky. He stood at the door, his gaze locked on the figure at the very end of the room.
A man sat with his back to the wall, his head hung over, his body covered in scars, blood dripping from his face. His bones fought to leave his skin; he was a skeleton covered in skin. A puddle of blood, feces, and piss formed under him.
The scene made Raze's stomach churn. He could only imagine the pain that could bring a man to such a state. But he didn't feel pity for him, no, not one bit. This figure was someone who had taken pleasure in killing humans and turning them into abominations. There existed no pity for him.
"I-I said, I'll not speak." His coarse voice left his throat, sounding almost like a static radio.
Cough, cough. He coughed blood after speaking once, his body too weak to even cough properly.
"Is it really worth it?" Raze asked.
