The Tortured

Through his single, swollen eye, Avii watched as Sebastian fought to pry open Ostave’s mouth. The orc groaned and struggled, bucking against the restraints of his chair in the frantic moments leading up to the extraction. His muffled roars echoed through the room as he resisted with every bit of strength that Avii envisioned he had left.

It had been three weeks since they had been brought to Camp Stuartar, and in that time, their agony had been unending. They were beaten and bruised for breakfast. Ripped and cut for lunch. Tormented and tortured for supper. The only respite they had to look forward to was the relief of unconsciousness when the pain finally became too much to shoulder. It was a peace that came for Aindes, Ostave, and Vivat much sooner than it did for Avii, for he was no stranger to the torture.

“Stop,” Sebastian growled as he drove the rusty pliers into Ostave’s mouth. “Squirming. You foul-blooded bastard!”

Ostave’s roar shifted to an agonizing cry as a cracking sound cut through the room and, a moment later, Sebastian threw the pliers back to the table before them all. As a splattering of blood went with it, Avii watched as Ostave’s orcish tusk tumbled free of the tool, rolling across the table before becoming caught on the soiled instruments of terror. The knight bellowed in agony, his body thrashing against the restraints as blood poured past his swollen lips. He could not cry out with words as his tongue had already been removed piece by agonizing piece earlier that week. But to Avii's surprise, he still had spirit. At least, that was until the torturer picked up the shears that everyone had recently watched him use on Aindes.

With their appearance, Avii could see Ostave’s will shatter as he tried to flee from his seat. But the chair was bolted down, his limbs held firmly to its iron frame by blood-stained leather and rusty chains. The knight’s hands flexed as he tried to hide his fingers beneath his palm, hoping to spare them the coming torment.

“Left, or right?” Sebastian cooed with delight. “Come now, SIRE! Tell me. Left. Or. Right?”

Reaching down, Sebastian forcefully grabbed at Ostave’s face. He drove his thumb into the hole left by the missing tusk as he pulled the battered knight’s face forward. Muffled screams pushed past the torturer’s filthy hand as he continued to ask the question.

“Left, or right?” He laughed maniacally. “Tell me, sire! Left, or right? Left, or right?!”

Avii could hear the man crying through the blood that filled his mouth. With no tongue, torn lips, and missing teeth, Ostave was unable to make words. The question merely served as more torture and was, in fact, pointless. Avii knew this. Knew that when given the option, it only meant which hand the torturer would begin with.

“Left?” Sebastian continued, throwing the man’s face to the side as he reached down and began to extend Ostave’s hand finger by finger. “If you insist!”

With a snip, he began at the tip of the pinky, cutting it off piece by piece at each joint. And as Sebastian worked away gleefully, Ostave’s gargled cries filled the room. His screams were desperate, pleading, all the while his body bucking helplessly against the bindings. Only once the finger had been removed down to a mere nub did the torturer take a moment to breathe before moving on to the next and repeating the process. And as it happened, Avii remained present, unmoved and unshaken. He knew if he turned away, they would only make Ostave’s pain worse or possibly jump to him next.

So he watched as Sebastian worked through the left hand and then the right. He removed fingers and began to take toes, but before he could finish the job on the whimpering Estarian, a scream came from across the circle.

“Stop it!” Vivat spat out through her swollen, unrecognizable face. “L-Leave him be, S-Sebastian.”

“What?” Sebastian growled as he turned her way, pointing the bloody shears to her feet. “Do you wish to take his place? Do you wish to test your mettle, priestess?”

The sound of Sebastian’s blood-soaked footsteps slapped against the stone as he crossed the room to her. Avii’s gaze followed him, crossing over Aindes’ limp form as the man did. Their group had been relocated to a single large room on the same floor for their afternoon torture. It was a popular Kovika method, meant to push soldiers to the limits by forcing them to listen and watch their companions be tortured. For Avii, it had been hard the first time he experienced it. It had been just as difficult the second time as well. But after years, he had grown numb to the screams of those around him.

This was why he watched as Aindes' ears were taken. As he lost his eyes. Had his hands and feet removed, bone by bone. It was why he observed Ostave’s torture with a morbid curiosity, seeing how a strong orc could be broken. Avii knew that if he had turned away, they would turn on him. So, instead, it had been Vivat that broke first, drawing the predator in their midst.

“Let’s start with something more fun,” Sebastian hissed. “After all, without your templed fingers, how will you beg your Gods for salvation? But the nails…those I think you can do without.”

Dropping his shears to the table as he passed by, Sebastian pulled a rusty blade free of its coagulated pool of blood. With eager steps he crossed to Vivat and knelt before her. There he tilted his head, smiling wide, before Avii watched as he pulled the woman's fingers straight.

“No! Nooo!” She screamed, trying to adjust her delicate hands to prevent him from continuing. “Sebastian, stop! Stop!”

“Stop, squirming! Bitch!”

There was a sudden snap and a scream as he broke her first finger. Stabbing the blade beneath her nail, he pried, twisting and cutting into flesh before ripping it from the bed. The shrill cries that came from her mouth were loud enough to call the Gods down from heaven, but even they wouldn't dare step a hallowed foot onto the Kovika hellscape. And as he moved from finger to finger, Vivat's cries only grew more frantic. More pained. Until, finally, her head fell limp.

“Aww, so soon this time?” Sebastian groaned, tossing the blade to the ground behind him. “No matter.”

Avii now watched as he dragged a bloody finger down the side of her slack cheek. His hands trailed down her neck and towards her chest, where he smeared blood over her bosom. Suddenly, the man's sinister gaze grew devious as a smile crept across his cheeks.

“Can’t say I haven’t wondered…” He spoke to himself, his hand tracing down her body to her hips. “What this pious bitch is like in the sack.”

With this comment, Avii’s heart skipped a beat. He watched as hands slid towards Vivat’s waist and down her knees. Instinctively, he flinched. The thought of what Sebastian alluded to churned his stomach.

In the previous weeks, it had come to light that the original Butcher, the very one Avii had once survived, died some time prior. He had been struck down in his bed by an assistant he had been training to one day replace him. That killer, the one more vicious than the Butcher himself, was the very man who now stood before Avii. Sebastian was the newest Bastard Butcher, the new chief torturer of the Kovika nation, and a truly awful man.

While Sebastian's torture techniques were nothing special, he brought a new level of pleasure to the pain he provided. All of his mannerisms and actions reminded Avii of the original Butcher, yet, despite all the horror he had experienced, there were some lines that even that sadistic man would never cross. One such example was that the mule had never seen him assault a woman before. And now, as Sebastian hinted towards his lustful desire to do exactly that, Avii had a choice to make.

“Avii,” Harbinger’s cold voice spoke. “Leave her be…”

As Avii's body froze, he struggled with the words he was hearing. He didn't want to believe them. Harbinger, the very voice in his head that pushed him to be a hero, had ordered him to stop. It instructed him to watch as the torturer forcibly undressed the priestess. As he prepared to violate her.

But Harbinger's words did little more than disgust him. The thought of the entity's hypocrisy boiled his blood almost as much as the lecherous acts that Sebastian prepared himself for. Suddenly, Avii didn't care what it said, his mind made up in an instant. He wouldn’t permit himself to stand by and allow Sebastian the pleasure. Not now. Not while he still drew breath. Not while he still had fight left in his soul.

“Avii,” Harbinger spoke once more. “You must protect your purpose.”

Fighting his frozen form, Avii continued to watch as Sebastian began to tug at Vivat’s bloodied pants, pulling them past her knees before fiddling with the restraints. But he wouldn’t go any farther. Avii would make sure of that. And so he tried to defy Harbinger. Tried to move. To make a sound. But it held his body firm. Clenched his jaw tight. The being in the back of his mind fought to protect him at the expense of the woman’s body. Her sanctity.

“Avii, do not engage. Cease your struggling.”

“Now,” Sebastian began to hiss, removing the first of the leathers binding her legs. “To wake her and enjoy some fight. Or not—”

But the mule wouldn’t allow it. Avii couldn’t allow Sebastian to follow through with what he was about to do. And so, with a trembling body, he forced enough air through his throat and past the hold Harbinger had on him for a single word.

“Avii—"

“Hey!” He mumbled through clenched jaw and tongueless mouth. “Heyyy!”

Sebastian’s hands stopped short, his head turning to Avii as the devious smile he wore grew ever wider.

“Well, well, well…” The man muttered, standing from Vivat. “It appears the mule still has some play left in it.”

Slowly, the Butcher approached Avii, forgetting about Vivat in an instant. With his body slouched and a twisted grin growing, he stalked the mule. Reaching down as he passed it, he drew the rusty blade from the ground before placing it to Avii’s face.

“So, what game do you want to play next, mule?” Sebastian asked, gripping the man's head. “Hmm? What game? WHAT GAME?! Why so quiet now, mule?”

Sebastian reached a hand into Avii's mouth, attempting to pry open the jaw that had been locked shut by Harbinger. But with each passing second, the frustration that clung to the Butcher’s sadistic face grew as he struggled to get his fingers past Avii's teeth. Slowly, he realized that cutting away another piece of the man's tongue may have been impossible, so, instead, he leaned in and slipped the blade to the corner of his pursed lips.

“You seem to be having trouble opening your mouth,” He growled, dragging the knife outward and carving a smile into Avii's cheeks. “Let’s help you open up!”

But Avii merely grunted at the pain of his face being split from the lips to the ear. To him, it mattered not what the torturer did. All that he cared about in that moment was that he didn’t look Vivat’s way. That he didn't pay her any attention. For as long as he kept Sebastian's gaze fixed on his defiant determination, she was safe. They all were safe. And the longer he gave all of them to rest, the more likely it was they would one day escape. That they would complete the mission they set off to do.

So, whether they deserved it or not, for the time being, he would shoulder their burden.