Rising

Chapter I - Hugo

This is punishment.

The words echo over and over in my mind as I stare up at The Man. His eyes are devoid of feeling, but his lips are curled up in a bitter sneer. A thin scar travels down his neck, past his collarbone, into his shirt. His hands are flecked with dirt and a dark liquid. I can't help but think that it's blood.

We know each other very well. I know his voice, the way a single word can have my heart hammering in my chest. He knows my screams, how long it takes for my voice to give out. I know his eyes, the disgust and hatred bubbling behind a wall of ice. He knows my mind, what I can endure and what makes me want to die.

I know his favorite ways to break me. He knows what my blood and bones look like outside of my body.

Every bit of me burns in anguish. Bruises litter my body, painting my chest and torso blue and purple. Blood leaks from my right shoulder, coating my arm in red. I refuse to look at my hand. What's left of my hand.

"Are you going to cooperate today?" The Man's voice is silky and cold. I inch away from him, pressing into the rough stone wall behind me. The entire cell is made of jagged stone that digs into my bare feet and scraps at my skin. A bitterness rises into my mouth. "This routine gets tedious after a while."

I swallow back a lump in my throat. "Go to Hell."

It's the same response that I've given every visit. The same response when he chopped off my long hair, when he traced a knife through my chest, when he broke my fingers in too many places to count. Go to Hell.

The Man grimaces. "I dislike this game you're playing, Foxheart." My surname feels like a punch in the gut. "I don't like being insulted."

I smirk at him, suffocating the tendrils of panic creeping up my spine. Choking the pain away. "Go to Hell."

His foot feels like a hammer as it smashes into my ribs. I choke back a scream as a blistering fire travels through my torso. He looms over me, his face cloaked in shadow.

This is punishment.

"I don't want to do this, Foxheart." He bends down to where I'm curled on the ground. His lips twitch into a smile. "And I know you don't want me to either. Just tell me where the Order of Blood is."

I don't falter from his cruel gaze. "Go to Hell."

He sighs. "Dammit, Foxheart. Why can't you play nice?" I don't answer. He looks away, shaking his head. "This is your fault."

I spy the dagger a second before he pulls it out and plunges it into my good shoulder.

I grit my teeth, a snarl slipping through my taut lips. The Man stares at me as he twists the blade, and a tear falls from my eye. He brushes it away with a calloused finger, and I shudder.

"I'll ask you again." The Man rips the dagger out of my flesh. I feel warm blood stream down my skin, and my throat runs dry. "Where is the Order of Blood? Where are the rebels?"

"Go to Hell."

The Man wipes my blood from the dagger. "You keep saying that, Foxheart." He stands up, and I slump onto the floor. "And I'll be there eventually. But for you..." His eyes gleam with sadistic darkness as he raises his armored foot above me. "This is Hell."

I don't feel anything at first when his foot crunches into my right hand. The blackened, scorched mess of bone and flesh that used to be fingers and joints and scar-flecked skin. The hand that The Man had pressed into a bed of embers, had broken and twisted until the pain was omnipresent. The hand that I can't even tell is a hand anymore.