GAME ON - GoM 2

1

The demons dragged Harry across the basement to the cell and dropped him on the cold stone floor. The hunter didn't move from where he fell. He was too busy, trying to keep breathing despite the excruciating pain stabbing his body through a through from a hundred wounds. He couldn't care less about the hoarse groans escaping his mouth. He let them out as they came. As long as he didn't give in to the Keepers, hell if he cared whether he was crying, burking, pissing or shitting on them while they tortured him.

Harry heard them talk-something about dinner. Was the day really over? Had he made it through a whole day on the demons' slab? Well, who knew. That was longer than he'd ever expected to endure. On the con side, time worked against him. The longer he survived, the weaker he'd grow, increasing their chances of breaking him. He needed to die as of hours ago.

His bruised, swollen eyelids moved up only enough to let him have a look at his cell. It was a cube of concrete and stone. Absolutely nothing but him in there. He could try banging his head against the wall until his skull broke. That is, if he had any strength left to reach the wall-let alone kneel and hit it hard enough. Not until further notice. Maybe the next time he was tortured, which he suspected would be sooner than he expected. Maybe then he could piss the demons off enough to make them be even more ruthless than they'd already been, and they'd hurt him beyond repair.

Shit. Charlie and the other Protectors who died in the bunker had gotten it so cheap. No matter how vicious Ritmann had been at killing them, he was but a human butcher. There was no comparing him to the finesse the Keepers displayed.

He would've liked to curl up, but he couldn't move even a finger. So he lay there, trembling from head to toes, in a growing pool of his own blood.