The Silver Heir

Another one

The room you enter is dark, expect for a single mana lamp which illuminates your subject. Masculine in appearance, a muscular physique that has been softened by time behind a desk. Their light green skin and protruding tusks betray a partial orcish heritage.

It's another rat, another undercover agent that they thought could slip by and lay bear your family's empire. This one lasted the longest so far too, four whole days, perhaps they'll make it past the one-week mark, depending how hard you have to squeeze.

Quietly you hang your jacket and roll up the sleeves of your dress shirt. Annoyance roils in your chest, how many more of these corpses will it take before those pigs finally get the message. Though it is nice of them to keep sending you playthings, maybe you should include a little gift when you send this one back.

When you finish getting yourself dressed for the occasion, you grasp the handle of a solid, cast-iron bat. It instantly reacts to your touch, its enchantment feeding on your innate mana reserves, leaving a slight chill. The spiralling runes along it's shaft start glowing the soft golden light of healing magic. The bat would be too heavy and large for a normal member of any race, however, being a 'freak of nature' has its advantages.

Your subject seems to have noticed the extra light source, as they're now struggling against their bindings.

"How's there! Show yourself, coward!"

Their voice is even rougher than a pure orc' and the reason why hangs thick on their breath. They're a smoker.

You don't say anything as you approach, your bat casually swings in your grip. Their eyes are locked to the weapon and scrunch in confusion when you don't step into their field of view when they expect. Frantically they search where they assume your figure is before their gaze locks unto yours. The panic sets in, the quickened breathing, wide eyes and frozen limbs. You know why of course, your eyes gleam silver. Even if you weren't the only Silver for a thousand kilometres, they know damn well which organization they tried to infiltrate.

"I'm not telling you anything, Sancturio!"

Their voice is flooded with false bravado. Trembling muscles, the quiver that they try to supress, the eyes still glued to yours. The facades people try to put up are almost quaint, too bad they never work.

You remain silent as you finally step into the light, revealing your towering figure. Graceful muscles shift under your shirt as the bat swings above your head. Your captive looks up with a mix of terror and awe, unsure of what to say or even think.

Without hesitation you bring the bat down on his knee. The femur bends before splintering, the tibia and fibula compress before snapping in several places, the muscles that hold the leg together rip from the force until only a few strands remain.

You pull the bat back to a river of curses and blood flow from the half-orc. Ignoring the expletives, you watch the golden mark the bat left at the impact site slowly brighten. After a few seconds it flashes and begins to heal the injury.

The half-orc naturally continues their screaming. You had specifically crafted this enchantment to lack the numbing effect healing magic provides. They feel every brute forced realignment of their bones. Every torn muscle and exposed nerve knitting themselves together.

By the time the skin regrows to a pristine condition, the are sweating and panting heavily.

"You fucking bitch," They sallow dryly, trying in vain to calm their heavy breathing, "you haven't even asked anything."

A sly smile pulls across your lips as you put the bat under their chin, forcing them to look you in the eyes again.

"I prefer to not waste my time, little toy. I simply demonstrated that this is not a situation in which you get to decide whether or not you will tell me what I want to know. It is simply a matter of how many bones I have to break until you do."