A/N: There's a torture scene, but it's not extreme; this is just a heads-up. Let's go, Fallens! Support by voting massively, commenting, and leaving ideas. The more power stones this story gets, the faster new chapters — and even bonus ones — will be released.
•••
The following morning, he woke up exhausted and unbearably weak. His head spun, and a deep grogginess clung to him. As he had feared, no food had come last night. If not for the little maid slipping him that hard bread and water, his current state would have been far more grave.
"Sii~" A grunt of pain escaped him as he leaned against the cold wall.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching his cell. His body tensed on its own — a conditioned response. He prayed it wasn't his master for another torture session. Fortunately, his wish was granted. It was the little maid. She entered and pushed a small tray of soup and hard bread through the bars. She didn't glance at him once, as if afraid to make eye contact, and spun around to leave.
He managed a low chuckle before saying,
"Thank you for yesterday."
She froze mid-step for a single moment before resuming her walk. He was the type to show gratitude when it was needed — to repay kindness with kindness, and grudges with vengeance.
Scrambling to his feet, he dragged the heavy chains to retrieve the tray. Without a care for hygiene, he voraciously devoured the meal. Even though it tasted bland, it was a delicacy he wouldn't have minded an encore of.
His stomach rumbled again. As a growing young man, he needed more; he needed meat. But that was an impossible luxury.
"Ah!" He let out a weary sigh and once more vowed to escape, no matter the cost. If only I had a cheat, he thought. It would have helped me so much. That shitty God or Goddess truly abandoned me.
Just as he began to contemplate his bleak options, he heard another set of footsteps and couldn't help but curse his luck.
"Here he is again," he muttered. That perverted master of his had come today as well.
"Sweet boy~ Daddy's here."
Abass walked in, but this time, two robust guards accompanied him. The boy's body trembled violently. He knew what was coming.
"Let's go to our love chamber," Abass said, flicking his fingers. The two guards advanced. Using a set of keys, they removed the chains from his ankles and wrists, then dragged him across the rough ground, heedless of his frail body.
He didn't resist. It would be meaningless. He could only suffer in silence.
After being dragged like a sack of potatoes through a maze of turns, they arrived at their destination: a black door that reeked of ominous intent. They flung it open and hauled him into the special room. It was filled with various tools of torture—best left to the imagination.
An X-shaped cross stood in the middle of the room, alongside an inclined table riddled with holes. Abass beckoned them to strap him to the X-shaped cross. They fastened his arms and legs to each of the four poles. One guard left, while Abass walked forward, selecting a long whip.
He started by lashing the boy's bare chest. They had stripped him of his rags; he was now completely nude. Even though this whip wasn't as vicious as the previous one, it still hurt like hell. For what felt like thirty minutes, Abass whipped various parts of his body. The boy was certain his skin was now a canvas of red welts and minor injuries. A maddening itch spread across his flesh, and his struggles against the bonds only made it worse. He was desperate to scratch, but bound as he was, he could only suffer. It was unbearable.
His hateful master laughed at his predicament, clearly enjoying himself. The remaining guard stood by, stoic as a statue.
Abass then beckoned the guard, who brought over a bucket of water. He immediately doused the prisoner with it. The boy shuddered as an extreme cold seized his body—it was ice water. His skin paled and his body temperature plummeted. Coupled with blood loss, his state was now truly pitiful. Dizziness began to cloud his senses.
It was then that he heard Abass mumble what he believed to be a spell, for a chilly wind enveloped his body, drying his soaked skin.
So, that's magic, he thought bitterly. I want to use it too. A desperate desire bloomed within him, but now was not the time for fantasies.
Right after drying him, Abass approached with the guard, who now carried a large candle. The man began to drip hot wax onto his skin. The fresh wave of agony needed no words.
Abass was thoroughly enjoying himself as he alternated between his methods of torture. First, the itching whip, then the freezing water, followed by the chilling wind spell, and now the searing wax. While not the most extreme torture, its relentless simplicity was breaking the boy both physically and mentally. Abass was a true master of this vile game.
All he wished for was an end, but he refused to beg. His eyes remained resolute, which seemed to excite Abass further. He bit his lower lip to stifle any sound, so hard that he tasted blood. The metallic tang helped him focus, helping him cling to consciousness.
The session continued for hours—he couldn't say how many, because by the third hour, he blanked out. Abass must have continued, perhaps fearing he was only pretending.
"A pity. I thought I'd use the special table on him today. Another time, it will be," he faintly heard Abass's voice before slipping into unconsciousness. The man must have been talking about the other, more vicious table—the one filled with mechanisms designed to pierce the body. The boy never wanted to experience it, but who was he to wish for anything, deprived of his freedom? He was at his master's mercy.