White powder rained from the skies that kept the sun’s glow faint behind a veil of fog and clouds. The winter draft washed by like gliding scarves through a forest serene, coated in ice and snow. In the deep woodland, a small herd of deers scoured for twigs, berries that had bested the cold, and anything else that would keep their bodies warm and blood flowing. They scavenged and chewed peaceably as the early arrival of the fourth season had forced their neighbor creatures to take refuge and hibernate until spring. Their ears twitched when they heard a scream echo over them, and their heads turned up in unison. Sniffing the air out of curiosity, they could not locate the source of the sound nor did it come from anything that they could see. When a second cry followed, the herd was spooked. Dashing off, they scattered, believing that they being hunted by a predator. But the sound came from one who was prey also.
Behind the thicket, there was an opening, The earth under a thinner canopy was brighter and more radiant from the light unstopped by a roof of naked branches and some evergreen trees, and there a lone hunting shed stood. Its roof was strongly slanted for the thicker snow would slide off, without the laborious work of manual shoveling, into piles beside its walls. From the outside, the hut appeared derelict. Moss had formed on its logs and winter vines had overgrown around its entrance whose sprawl of bluish flowers had been upkept by nature alone. But the door was remarkably clean. The ground before the entrance had been cleared, revealing the depth of the sea of snow that compressed the frozen earth beneath. Half way between the shed and the treeline, an unnatural mound had formed. As two figures crept past it, a gust of wind blew, shaving off a light dusting over the object that was buried under the fresh litter of snow. The handle of a knife was revealed, poking out from a pool of red ice. Further along the shape that grew clearer, a face laid sideways. The corpse’s skin had grayed and its eyes had been plucked out, however, it was not by the work of crows but by humans hands that scarred its sockets. Ignoring the perished, their crunching footsteps slowed with care despite whatever noises they made were muted by the unending screams of agony. The voice which produced these horrid sounds began to break. The two figures came beside the door and positioned themselves against the front wall. Kneeling quietly, they found a gap between the logs and peeked through it. However limited their vision was, what they found was enough to drive their belief that there was a hell beneath their feet.
Within the shed, a hearth was alight. The fire was crackling and a whiff of warmth occasionally escaped from the interior. The chairs and tables were coated in dust in an only room that resembled a living space. Otherwise, it was just a regular hut that had long been abandoned. There were few tools in sight, aside from the sort of traps and knives, there was not much else. Its previous occupier had done away with anything valuable, perhaps fleeing with those he could sell. All that was left was an empty shell for its next residents. Needing nothing more than space for their atrocities, half a dozen men were stationed within. They were armed soldiers, elite to the core, yet their faces were in disgust upon witnessing an act that paled in comparison to what they had ever seen on the battlefield. They tried not to reel back in horror and to maintain their professionalism, but the humans emotions that they were supposed to suppress had been forced out by an inhumane display. Feeling their throats constrict, the soldiers pulled on their collars to let air into their lungs. At their helm was a young lady, her attire denoting her officership. She stood at formal ease with her hands behind her back and was the only soldier among the six who could withstand the sight without ever flinching. But within, her heart felt pinched. The noises which she had heard come out of their prisoner were random and maddened with pain. Trembling, the tortured coughs and cries were emitted out of a mauled man tied to a chair that was bound to the hut’s central pillar. The captured soldier was in a uniform unlike theirs, and for that reason, he had to bear the agony equivalent to the hell circle of violence.
A curved, metal pipe was pushed into his mouth and was carefully slid down his throat. The torturer had meticulously arranged his device so that this captive would not die. Out of childish excitement, a wide grin befell him as he turned around and gestured for his aide’s help. She marched around the fire and lifted a bucket, a quarter full, by her commander’s feet, Pouring the water unhesitantly into a funnel at the mouth of the pipe, she did so reservedly. As the stream trickled and wetted the metal, the torturer held onto the pipe and the metal around his hand steadily glowed. Droplets condensed on the surface of the pipe which began to freeze. The cold spread quickly and the tongue and throat of the victim that became stuck to the metal burned. He noiselessly screamed but there was not a part of his body which he could move freely to dispel the torment. Trembling with intensity, his seat began to shake. The soldiers steered their eyes away, revolted by such cruelty that they could not bear to watch any longer. As the captive’s eyes reddened from dried streams of tears, he hoped that any gesture he gave could signal his surrender. But the sadist simply ignored him, enjoying his torture for another six minutes, until blood bubbled out of the captive’s mouth. For any longer he was subject to the maltreatment, he would lose his speech, and the torturer was at least bright enough to understand this.
The ice retreated and melted away. The water became liquid again. His eifer relented, and the torturer, who was a young Rus man in the garments of a boy that was unsuggestive of the rank which he held, removed the pipe from his prisoner’s throat and mouth. It tore away chunks of his throat and the top flesh of his tongue, plastered to the metal. Slowly and carefully, he was released from the device that was tossed onto the ground, clanking. The Aelon soldier slumped over, exhausted from his excruciating endurance, with blood pouring from his mouth. He choked and coughed, his hair greased. His head was drenched in cold sweat that dripped from his nose with each droplet shaking as his body was.
Having bore a warm smile that was but haunting to his prey, the Rus leaned over with his hands on his knees. “So, what do you have to say?” He tilted his head and faced the soldier judgingly.
The scout of the Aelon looked up and coughed, spewing a mist of blood over his captor’s face. However, he seemed to appreciate his gesture.
Knowing that he could not outthink this fiend, the scout lowered his lifeless eyes again. “W-We’ve…information…” The cold of the weather and the cold in his lungs had slurred his words, barely able to form a sentence as blood pooled in his mouth and dribbled out. “Your horde…is to assault Seding…come spring…” Wheezing, hie voice was raspy, losing any of sense of speech on the verge of death.
The young Rus sniggered, then suddenly broke out in a fit of laughter. Righting himself, the amusement he found in his confession forced him to pace about. He somehow found his answer hilarious, without any apparent reason, covering his mouth with a hand. His blood-stained face tried to contain his joy, but in the moment he attempted to return to civility, the boyish officer burst out giggling again. Never have his guards ever seen him act this way, believing that the stories their comrades told were just baseless rumors, but they have come to realize that indeed, despite their disbelief, this man had the manner of a devil. Frightened by their commander, the soldiers could only turn away and ignore him. However, the adjutant who had grown accustomed to her commander’s sinful childishness batted not an eye. She kept wary of the Aelon in case he dared attempt an escape. But he was already drained of strength, enough so he could not lift a single finger.
Marching back towards the captive with spring in his step and his heels knocking on the floorboards that produced the only sound beside the snapping twigs in fire, the torturer stood before the scout and bent over until they were eye to eye. “Not quite.” He corrected him.
However, the fiend had long sensed two pair of eyes spying into his domain and it was then when he finally returned a response. The torturer stood upright and turned around, glaring at the gap in the wall where the shadows had hid behind. In panic, their clothes rustled as they fled from the hut, disregarding any effort to cover their tracks as snow crunched beneath their burdened feet. Their legs sunk deeper the more they hurried and soon, every soldier present in the shed had heard the obvious noises that came from no other creature beside the human. The men armed themselves and cocked their rifles, filing into formation towards the doorway. Unholstering her revolver which was held up by her head, the adjutant tread around the fire and guarded a position closest to the entrance. She placed a hand over its handle and primed her firearm’s hammer, prepared to unveil the agents of shadow, when she felt a hand hold her shoulder back. Looking back, she was surprised to see her superior, who was often so reluctant to perform any act of duty except for the torture of his prisoners, give her a smile of assurance. His aide stood down, as did his troops, and swung awide the door, its hinges screeching. A burst of the harsh winter wind flushed out the warmth within and the young Rus stepped out, unbothered by the cold.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0OltArATAt
