~ Powers of Nations: A Countryhumans Chronicle

▶Chapter:12◀

Here we go again.

If u don't like it, don't read it, there is a warning.

To the chapter.

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Warning⚠.

3rd person pov:

The room was an unforgiving expanse of cold concrete and dim light, where the only occupant was Russia, lying in a pitiful heap on the floor. His once powerful body was now a mere shadow of its former self, ravaged by months of relentless abuse. Scars bruises, and bite marks marked his skin, each one a testament to the torment he had endured. His eyes, once fierce and proud, were now hollowed out, reflecting a profound weariness and despair.

The small, barred window high on the wall cast a meager glow into the room, its light barely reaching the broken figure on the floor. The oppressive atmosphere was thick with the weight of Russia’s suffering. The silence was punctuated only by Russia’s ragged breaths, each one a struggle against the overwhelming pain that seemed to consume him.

TR stood at a distance, his presence a dark silhouette against the dim light. His face was a mask of cold detachment, an unfeeling observer to the suffering he had orchestrated. He had achieved his goal—Russia was completely broken. There was no sign of guilt or remorse in TR’s demeanor; only the cold, unyielding conviction that his methods, however brutal, were necessary.

Russia’s eyes, barely open, met TR’s gaze with a flicker of desperation. Each breath was an ordeal, a harsh reminder of the relentless pain that TR had inflicted upon him. His voice, when he managed to speak, was little more than a whisper, strained and desperate. “Please,” he rasped, his voice cracking with exhaustion. “I can’t take any more. Just—please, let it stop.”

TR’s expression remained unchanged, his gaze as cold as the concrete floor on which Russia lay. “The pain is necessary,” he said flatly. “It ensures compliance.”

Russia’s eyes flickered with a mix of bitterness and resignation. “You call this c-compliance?” he asked, his voice trembling. “This isn’t compliance. This is cruelty. You’ve destroyed m-me. I’m nothing more than a shadow of who I was.”

TR’s gaze was unwavering. He had long since dismissed any notion of empathy or remorse. “You are mistaken,” he said. “This is not cruelty; it is a meaning to an end. Compliance is required.”

The room was filled with the heavy silence of Russia’s suffering. The liquid TR forced upon him was a dark, viscous substance that intensified his pain, turning even the smallest discomfort into a blazing inferno. Each dose was administered with clinical precision, a deliberate act of torture designed to break Russia’s spirit.

“You don’t understand,” Russia continued, his voice barely audible. “This isn’t control. It’s barbarity. AH! I’m begging you—please, show me some mercy. I can’t endure this any longer.”

TR’s eyes flickered with a brief moment of something—perhaps a hint of recognition or a fleeting acknowledgment of the suffering he had inflicted. But this moment of humanity was quickly buried beneath his usual mask of cold determination. “Mercy is not an option,” he said. “Not until you are fully compliant.”

The air in the room was thick with the weight of Russia’s agony. Hours dragged on, each moment stretched out in excruciating detail. The liquid continued to wreak havoc on Russia’s senses, amplifying his pain and leaving him gasping for relief. His cries of anguish filled the room, a haunting melody of despair that reverberated off the walls.

As dawn broke, TR approached the small table where the liquid was kept. The dark substance glistened ominously in the dim light, its presence a cruel reminder of the torment it caused. TR poured a fresh dose, the viscous liquid reflecting the cold morning light. The sight of it filled Russia with a deep, overwhelming dread.