𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

𝟑𝟔. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

Author's POV

There was a dark, ominous room, where a man was tied to a chair, surrounded by hulking figures. The air was thick with tension and malevolence.

Suddenly, a bucket of icy water was dumped on the man's face and body, making him shudder and cry out in agony. His body was a canvas of deep wounds, with dried blood staining the walls around him.

The man's eyes were sunken, his face pale, and his body trembled with each breath. The ropes binding him seemed to cut deeper into his skin as he struggled against them.

The bulky men surrounding him seemed to take pleasure in his suffering, their faces devoid of empathy or compassion. The room was a chamber of torture, where pain and fear reigned supreme.

As the man's cries echoed through the room, it became clear that he was being subjected to unimaginable suffering, his body and mind pushed to the brink of collapse. The question was, who was this man, and what had he done to deserve such brutal treatment?

The sound of footsteps outside the room sent a chill down the spine of the man tied to the chair. As the seconds ticked by, the footsteps grew louder, more deliberate, and more menacing.

The door creaked open, and two figures loomed in the entrance, their faces shrouded in darkness. The man's eyes widened in terror as they stepped inside, their slow, calculated movements eerily reminiscent of predators stalking their prey.

One of the men grasped the prisoner's hair, yanking his head back with a vicious jerk, forcing him to face his tormentors. The other man's fist flew through the air, connecting with a sickening crunch to the prisoner's face.

The sound of the punch echoed through the room, followed by the prisoner's anguished cry. His body slumped forward, his head dangling limply, as if the blow had drained the last vestiges of strength from his battered frame.

The two men stood over him, their faces still hidden in the shadows, their presence radiating an aura of malevolence and cruelty. The prisoner's fate hung in the balance, as he trembled in anticipation of the next blow, the next torment, the next agony to be inflicted upon him.

The man's body crumpled to the ground with a sickening thud, his limbs splayed at odd angles. The second figure pulled the chair closer, its wooden legs scraping against the floor, and sat down in front of the helpless prisoner.

The man's face was a gruesome canvas of wounds, with deep cuts and gashes that seemed to pulse with a life of their own. His eyes, sunken and bloodshot, darted between his tormentors, pleading for mercy.

"Where's my sister?" the one holding his hair growled, his teeth clenched in a snarl. The prisoner's voice trembled as he replied, "I... I don't know."

The other figure rose from the chair, its movements deliberate and menacing. It walked towards a nearby table, where an array of sinister tools lay waiting. Knives of various sizes, blades, knuckle dusters, and other instruments of torture gleamed in the faint light, promising unspeakable agony.

The prisoner's eyes widened in horror as the figure began to select its tools, each choice more terrifying than the last. The air was heavy with anticipation, the silence punctuated only by the prisoner's ragged breathing and the soft clinking of metal on metal. The darkness seemed to closing in, suffocating him, as he awaited the next wave of torment.

Yuvaan Sharma and Aayansh Malhotra, two names that had been synonymous with friendship and camaraderie, now stood as harbingers of terror and vengeance.

The tied man cowered in fear as Aayansh, his eyes blazing with fury, advanced towards him with the sharp knife.

"Tell me where my Angel is!" Aayansh bellowed, his voice dripping with malice. "Otherwise, I'll pluck out your eyes from their sockets!"