I'm not sure how long we hung there before Sebastian finally showed up. Long enough, at least, for me to grow numb to the sharp bite of the chains cutting into my wrists and ankles, and for my stomach to start twisting painfully with hunger pangs. My fellow prisoner—who had casually introduced himself as Amerigo—filled some of the silence by quietly detailing our circumstances. According to him, Sebastian would periodically come by and feed us oats, never enough to satisfy our hunger, but just barely sufficient to keep us alive. I just hoped it wasn't made by the chef back at the Invader's Gate.

It crossed my mind more than once to use my mana to suppress the gnawing hunger, but each time, I decided against it. With too many unknown factors in play, risking depletion of my mana was foolish. I needed every scrap of it if things turned from bad to worse. If starvation became imminent, I'd reconsider, but thankfully, Sebastian's arrival saved me from making that choice.

"Good, you're awake," Sebastian said coldly as he entered the chamber, carrying a bundle wrapped neatly in cloth. He placed it carefully on a table to my right, well within view, clearly intending for me to see its contents. As he unwrapped it, a sickening assortment of metal implements caught the flickering torchlight, gleaming ominously in my vision.

Knives of every imaginable size—thin, precise blades alongside thick, brutal ones. Scissors with wickedly pointed edges, metal clamps meant to twist and squeeze, even a small but heavy hand axe. My eyes widened involuntarily as he revealed a file, a serrated saw, and a selection of cruelly curved blades, hooks, and heavy hammers. Sebastian's kit was the stuff of nightmares. It was everything I expected when I thought of a torturer's kit.

"You almost got away, you know," Sebastian mused softly, his voice deceptively gentle as he selected a cruelly curved blade from his meticulously arranged collection. He held it up for me to see, letting the torchlight dance menacingly along its razor-sharp edge.

Despite my attempts at staying calm, my throat tightened and I swallowed hard, unable to disguise my growing fear. Maybe Amerigo had been lying about vampires and mana gates—maybe all of it was nonsense—but what stood in front of me now was undeniably real. I wasn't going to leave this room without pain. Instinctively, my wrists twisted once more against their restraints, desperate for some hint of escape. But just like before, the chains held fast, mercilessly tight, leaving me dangling helplessly as Sebastian approached, eyes glittering with cold anticipation.

"I don't mean when you murdered my brother," he continued casually, stepping closer. With a sudden flick, he sliced through my tunic effortlessly, the tip of the blade grazing across my chest. The cut was shallow, barely more than what you would receive from rough paper, yet sharp enough to draw a thin red line that wept slowly downward.

"No," he said softly, eyes glittering dangerously as he peeled back the ruined fabric up to my shoulders, making calculated cuts wherever the cloth resisted. Every flick of his blade left an identical shallow wound that was painful enough to make me flinch, but never deep enough to cause real damage. I knew he was savoring the experience, each nick another brushstroke on his twisted canvas. Each one perfectly controlled from what must have been years of practice.

"What I mean is that I honestly had no idea you had powers," Sebastian continued conversationally, moving down to my legs. His posture turned slightly awkward, forced to twist his body due to how I'd been suspended, but it did nothing to hinder the precise cruelty of his blade as it opened up lines throughout my lower half.

"It was good old Tom who pointed it out," he said with a mocking smile, shaking his head as though remembering an amusing anecdote. "You see, he knew something about you was suspicious. You had survived too many close calls, emerged from too many incidents without any real harm. Especially," Sebastian paused, his voice taking on an icy edge, "after what you did to my brother."

His next set of cuts were harsher, angrier, though still carefully controlled, tracing a deliberate, painful pattern along my thighs. Each slice made my body tense involuntarily, the chains clinking softly as I strained against them.

"I admit," Sebastian sighed, almost theatrically, "losing Grian did send me into quite a rage. I wasn't thinking clearly as I punished you. And so I went a little overboard. By the time I was finally finished, I was convinced you were dead. Such a disappointment that would have been. I had intended to leave your corpse there as a message while Tom and I attended to my brother's body."

He let out a soft chuckle, more sinister than amused, then finally stepped fully into my line of sight. His eyes, cold and merciless, locked onto mine, and his lips curled into a malevolent smile. Reaching out, he gripped a fistful of my hair, pulling my head roughly upward, forcing me to stare directly into his face.

"But Tom—clever little coward that he is—he caught on. He noticed how extensive your injuries were. He noticed how thoroughly you had been destroyed. And yet somehow, you were still breathing. Still healing." His voice dropped to a whisper, brimming with dark satisfaction.

"I went back to check myself, and there you were. Wounds closing right before my eyes." His grip tightened painfully in my hair, pulling sharply enough to send jolts of pain down my spine. A wicked joy sparkled in his eyes.

"You would not believe how happy I was to see that."

His next cut was so close to my scalp, I genuinely thought he was going to peel it away entirely. A flash of panic must have crossed my face, because Sebastian's twisted smile widened into something truly wicked as a small tuft of my hair floated down to the ground.

"Yes, I was so very happy to discover that you had a power," he continued conversationally, as if he weren't currently flaying me alive. "A quick death would never have been justice enough for you. For taking my brother from me, you deserve a punishment fitting the severity of your crime. And now, here you are. Gifted with the power to heal, a gift so perfect it feels like the gods Amerigo babbles about personally delivered you into my hands."

He paused, leaning in closer until his mouth was barely an inch from my ear, his voice dropping to a cruel whisper. "The perfect specimen to sate me. My vengeance, my pleasure, and my hunger. Oh yes, we are going to have a great deal of fun together, you and I."

He pulled back just enough so I could see the savage delight burning in his eyes. "But I'll tell you a little secret," he added softly. "At any point, I will happily release you from this burden. All you have to do is beg."

He smiled wider, a sickening grin that showed too many teeth. "A small thing really. All you would need to do to end your suffering is to beg me to end your life. But we both know you won't do that. Not yet at least not yet. I can see it in you, that stubborn streak of strength, that defiance. You'll hold on, at least for a while. You'll resist, fighting with every shred of willpower you can muster. But I'll wait patiently until those cracks appear."

He leaned closer again, whispering in dark amusement, "Then, my little gift, I'll keep pushing, and pushing, and peeling—" a twisted chuckle escaped his lips at his own vile joke "—until you finally break. When the fight leaves your eyes, and the hope drains from your body, I'll empty you completely, turning you into a worthless husk that even the carrion birds will ignore."

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He sighed almost wistfully. "But at least then you'll finally be free. Doesn't that sound appealing? Freedom?"

It did sound appealing—more than anything—but death wasn't the kind of freedom I wanted. Even chained up, utterly helpless, I still had one small choice left to me. A defiant spark lit inside my chest, and with a surge of stubborn pride, I spat directly into Sebastian's smug, satisfied face.

He paused, seemingly unsurprised at my action, and slowly withdrew a silk cloth from his pocket to wipe away my spittle. His eyes hardened, amusement flickering briefly before settling into a chilling, dangerous calm.

"Good," he sneered softly, his voice turning icy. "Let us begin."

Pain exploded across my torso as his knife sliced deeply through the skin, cutting precisely along the shallow marks he'd traced earlier. This time, the wounds were not superficial. Each slice was a burning agony, strategically placed to maximize pain without risking a swift death. My entire body wanted to scream, but I knew that any reaction would only satisfy him further. I bit down hard, forcing my expression to remain neutral even as fire rippled through my nerves.

Despite my efforts, Sebastian could clearly read the tension in my body, the tightening muscles, the involuntary twitches. Every suppressed reaction made his smile broader, darker, more delighted. He continued methodically, clinically dissecting the top layer of my torso, carefully avoiding arteries and vital areas, prolonging my suffering as he stripped away my resistance one layer at a time.

If I had ever doubted Sebastian's experience with torture, those doubts evaporated during the agonizing eternity of his careful work. He knew exactly how much force to use, precisely where each cut would cause maximum pain without serious damage. He anticipated every reaction of mine, no matter how hard I tried to hide it, responding with sickening satisfaction.

By the time he finally paused, stepping back to admire his cruel craftsmanship, my body hung limp, trembling uncontrollably, blood trickling in thin rivulets along my shredded torso. He tilted his head slightly, appraising me like a master artist might study a work in progress.

"You did well," Sebastian praised, his voice dripping with false warmth. "How are you feeling?"

"Fuck you," I spat back venomously.

He chuckled, apparently delighted by my defiance. "Good. I would have been disappointed if you'd caved so easily. Now, your legs are looking a little neglected. Why don't we fix that?"

I barely had time to brace before another round of cutting began, this time directed methodically at my legs. Sebastian's knife-work was impeccable, disturbingly precise, slicing carefully through layers of skin without doing any deeper damage. It wasn't the worst pain I'd ever felt but I knew instinctively that he was merely warming up. I knew it was still the introductory round, and the real agony was yet to come. To keep myself from succumbing, I tried to focus on anything but the blade carving into my flesh. Oddly enough, it wasn't the sharp cuts that nearly broke me, it was the subtle, intermittent draft slipping in from under the door. Each whisper of cold air brushed against my raw wounds unexpectedly, tormenting me with bursts of fresh, sharp pain at irregular intervals.

Eventually, Sebastian stepped back to admire his handiwork. I hung there, shaking and bleeding, legs now covered in crisscrossing wounds, a bloody lattice that painted my skin.

"You know," he began casually, cleaning his blade as though he'd just finished some mundane chore, "ordinarily I would have marked you deeply enough to leave scars over every inch of your body. It's a bit disappointing knowing all my hard work will simply vanish once you heal." He sighed dramatically. "But alas, we can't have you succumbing to your injuries, can we?"

I didn't dignify him with a response, instead fixing him with my fiercest glare. He smirked, seemingly entertained by my continued resistance.

"Now, I'm going to remove the chains from your feet," he explained matter-of-factly. "That should break the mana-suppressing effect enough for you to heal yourself. Don't bother lying to me about your capabilities. I watched your body repair itself while you were unconscious. This should be child's play for you."

He didn't even bother warning me not to attempt an escape, confident in my inability to pose a threat. And the bastard was right. Fighting him in my current condition would be impossible. Even if I somehow took him down, I had no idea where I was. Logic told me I was back in Achrane, but if I wasn't, the reality could be even bleaker than my imagination.

As the chains around my ankles fell away and my feet hit the cold stone floor, I took a moment to orient myself, fully turning to scan the room. It was a miserable, dingy cell illuminated by a single torch on the wall. There was one heavy iron door, a crude wooden stool tossed carelessly in the corner, and little else of note aside from the man chained across from me that I knew must be Amerigo.

This was my first clear view of him. His large frame hung suspended from a thick hook in the ceiling, his wrists and ankles shackled similarly to my own. He was utterly naked, and his body bore the grotesque evidence of prolonged torture. Scar tissue layered upon scar tissue, patches of raw, pinkish flesh interrupting older, faded lines. His head was roughly shorn, patches of brown hair clinging stubbornly between heavy bruising. Despite his ordeal, his posture remained proud, defiant, the slight trembling his only concession to the pain.

"Marvelous, isn't it?" Sebastian said, approaching Amerigo and laying a possessive hand on his ruined flesh. Amerigo flinched slightly at the contact, a pained breath slipping involuntarily from his lips and I could tell he was clearly ashamed at showing even that small sign of weakness.

"You can understand now why I'm reluctant to lose your marks," Sebastian said to me, his voice tinged with mock sorrow. "But just think of all the wonderful things we'll get to explore once your canvas is clear again! Now, get to it."

Part of me was desperate to rebel and refuse him, but I knew doing so would only hasten my end. Surviving meant playing Sebastian's twisted game. So I swallowed down my pride, reminding myself that staying alive meant an eventual chance at revenge.

With my feet unchained, my mana flowed freely once again. The chains around my wrists remained, but without both sets active, their effect was significantly diminished. It was an important detail I made a mental note of to remember for later. I focused carefully, sending mana throughout my damaged body, meticulously knitting the flesh and tissue back together. It would've been easy to leave the superficial cuts visible, just to spite him, but I wanted to erase every last trace of his efforts. When I finally walked out of this cell, I wanted it to be over his corpse, with a body completely unmarked from his attempts. Proof that, ultimately, he'd accomplished nothing.

Sebastian watched with sick fascination as my wounds closed, leaving smooth, flawless skin behind. His smile widened, his eyes glittering with malevolent glee.

"Good boy," Sebastian said condescendingly, watching intently as the last of my wounds faded away, leaving smooth, unblemished skin behind. "That wasn't so bad for a first session, now, was it?"

I shot him a look of utter disgust and turned my head away, refusing to respond.

"Oh, come now," he chided softly, stepping closer again. "There's still one thing left to do."

Before I could even react, his arms clamped around me, wrapping tightly enough to crush the breath from my lungs. I fought instinctively, writhing and thrashing, but his hold was like iron and I couldn't break out. I panicked, unsure of what exactly was going to happen.

Then the agony began.

A pain unlike anything I had ever felt before stabbed deep into my gate. It was unimaginable to me beforehand, radiating from the very source of my mana and ripping outward through every nerve, every fiber of my body. It was both physical and mental, like an attack on my entire being. My mind and body convulsed under the assault, but I was utterly helpless. I had gone through a lot up to that point. Broken bones, lashings, crushing, and a bout of torture but nothing compared to having my mana ripped from me.

My limbs froze, muscles seizing and locking rigidly as Sebastian greedily pulled mana from me, draining my reserves with merciless efficiency. I felt it flow out of me in a torrent, leaving behind an emptiness that spread through my entire being, a hollow void that made me feel like a shell of myself.

When Sebastian finally released me, my body went limp, sagging against the chains that bound my wrists. I was weak, drained nearly dry of all energy, barely able to keep consciousness with only about ten percent of my mana remaining. Before I could even begin to consider retaliation, Sebastian had my legs chained once more, hoisting me back up until my feet were off the floor again. The chains around my ankles locked into place, immediately activating their mana suppression and once again stifling me as my source of magic was cut off, leaving me feeling utterly violated.

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