The Heir of Moon-Fire

Chapter 41

IMPORTANT WARNING:

First of all, this will involve a lot of blood. I'm not pretty sure it can be classified as gore. Also, I've never written a scene like this. So sorry if it's shit.
Secondly, I'm going with a third-person POV/narrator, something else I haven't tried before. So let's see how this goes. Hopefully, it's not too horrible.
Again I apologize if it's shit.

Narrator's POV

The stench of blood stained the air as Vincent stood smiling over Malatyr's ruined form. The iron-tipped whip was the cause of the fresh gashes on his starved body. Although, it was the various other tools, the ones lying on a long table, that had created many of the older scars. Obviously, the only reason he was still alive was due to Vincent's desire to draw out the Prince's pain for as long as possible.

Malatyr flinched away from the crack as the whip struck his chest for, what must have been, the fiftieth time that day. The whip left another deep gash, allowing blood to stream down his chest and pool onto the floor.

Vincent grinned viciously as Malatyr closed his eyes, groaning with pain. The blood-drenched whip unfurled again, slicing down the side of Malatyr's face, drawing out a scream as his head turned away. Vincent stood still, head cocked slightly, watching as the crimson liquid flowed down the side of the Terrasen Prince's face. Malatyr sagged forward against the iron chains holding him upright, his pained sobs shaking his entire body. "Please," he begged in a soft whisper,  even as he coughed, trying to rid himself of the blood dripping down his throat. "Please, stop."

Vincent's thoughtful frown shifted into a wide smirk at Malatyr's begging as he hung the whip up before walking over to the table. He looked over each of the tools carefully before selecting a long narrow knife. He lazily walked back over to Malatyr with the knife in hand. "All right, we'll come to a halt..." Malatyr sighed heavily as Vincent stood there watching him. "With the whip," he added abruptly.

It was all that was needed to make the Prince's whole body to become tense, realizing the double meaning behind them as Vincent slowly dragged the thin knife against his broken skin, letting it draw small patterns into Malatyr's skin that had him gasping in pain. He casually circled his prisoner, savouring the agony that he was causing the other male, before stopping in front of his back.

Vincent allowed the hand with the knife to drop to his side as he stroked the bare skin possessively. A chill ran down Malatyr's spine in response to Vincent's touch as he shut his eyes tightly.

Vincent leaned in to whisper in the younger male's pointed ear. "We've done so little with your back," he stated sorrowfully. "How about I..." He paused while contemplating what he could do to Malatyr's back. "...ripping the skin off?" he finished, with a grin as his tongue flicked over his sharp canines. Tears started to mix with the blood pouring down Malatyr's face as he shook his head violently.

"Please," he wailed as Vincent ran his tongue over his lips as if seeing a delicacy. Malatyr's breathing became much more rapid as he tried to avoid the inevitable. "PLEASE!" he screamed as the knife dug into the bare skin of his back. He arched away from the knife, screaming in sheer agony as it leisurely scraped off the skin from the very little muscle mass he had left. Blood began to form from where the chains were attached to his wrists and ankles as Malatyr tried to desperately move away from the crimson knife, joining the streams of blood from the whip that had already pooled on the floor underneath him.

Vincent finally stopped after several minutes, his knife halfway down the Prince's back. Before he walked in front of Malatyr again.

Vincent's eyes roamed over Malatyr's vulnerable body. "You know, Malatyr... You're almost as pretty as your sister," he murmured while placing a hand on Malatyr's cheek, tracing his blood-covered jawline. "However, you're far more stubborn. I'm shocked that you haven't broken yet..."