Boy Do I Like Torturing Fictional Characters

“You!-” The man yells, yanking his horn back and using his other hand to wipe his face before roughly grabbing Sasha's chin, "You little shit!"

"I told you to let go," he responds through grit teeth, eyes pulling into a glare while forced to stare in his direction.

“And I told you that you're not in control.” The man says, readjusting his grip when the demon tries to pull away. He lets go of the horn, pushing his hand into his pocket and rummaging through, finally pulling it back out after a few seconds.

“But if that's how you wanna play this,” He chuckles. A glint of light shines off of his hand, and Sasha realizes then that he's adorned a set of brass knuckles. "Let's begin round one."

Before Sasha can say anything, the man's arm flies toward his stomach. A burst of pain blooms through when the metal makes impact and his body jerks forward, stopped abruptly by his chained wrists. He lets out a strangled grunt, lifting his head back up to glare at the man.

“Is that all you've got? My dog could hit harder than tha-” He huffs, cut off by the slam of a fist to his face that knocks his head to the side. The echo of a crack sounds throughout the room, it stings in a ripple through his whole face, followed by a river of blood from his nose.

He curses as he feels it leak down his face and off his chin. He can taste copper in his mouth, but his position doesn't allow him to do anything about it, so it stays, rolling over his lips and staining his teeth and shirt with deep crimson.

Another blow to the stomach steals his breath away, he can feel the points of the metal puncture his skin underneath his shirt. His legs wobble underneath him, but still, he doesn't let out more than a grunt.

“What is your commander's name? His real name.”

“You must be really stupid,” Sasha wheezes, spitting blood at his captor's feet, "If you think… I'd tell you that."

The man grabs him by the neck, wrenching his head upward so he's facing the ceiling, “You will eventually, stupid thing,” He says, squeezing his hold until the demon's ability to breathe is nearly completely gone.

Sasha can feel the blood from his nose seep down the back of his throat in this position. He snarls, baring his teeth, “I’d rather die,” he chokes out.

The man huffs, tightening his hand the rest of the way, the metal on his knuckles cold against Sasha’s skin. "You better stop that before I rip those fucking fangs out," he threatens.

The demon gasps breathlessly, unable to make a response, fighting for air that won't come and aspirating on his own blood as he does so. He tries to jerk his body away from the other man's hold, but he doesn't let go until well after Sasha's chest feels tight and his vision is spinning and dark on the edges. The shackles restraining him rub his wrists raw as he tugs them, his lungs burning for reprieve.

At some point, Sasha thinks the man won't even bother letting go, the only noise he can make is an ugly gurgle, kicking his legs out weakly until finally, the pressure eases. The hand leaves his neck and he jerks his head back downward, coughing the blood from his throat and sputtering for breath. The man hardly gives him any time to recover though, before swiping his feet out from underneath him.

A scream tears through his lips as he falls, sending a searing pain through his shoulder before he can catch himself.

"Pathetic," The man mutters, walking back to the wall of weapons as the demon struggles.

Sasha's legs thrash, trying blindly through the pain to regain his footing. He stumbles, feeling like lightning pulsing through his whole body with every movement. When he finally gets himself sturdy on the ground again, he avoids looking to his right.

It feels wrong. Very wrong.

The man is standing back in front of him again now, something close to a bored look on his face. Sasha grinds his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut.

“What, can't take it anymore? Ready to talk?” His tormenter asks, mock pity lacing his tone.

A sharp, breathy, “Hah–ahh,” is all he gets in response. Sasha blinks his eyes open again and this time, he notices something in the man's hand– a long, black leather whip. His fingers curl into fists above him, eyebrows pulling downward.

He’d been trained for interrogation, just like everybody on his team, but he had hoped he'd never have to put it to use. Yet, here he was, barely standing, face covered in blood from a broken nose, with a dislocated shoulder, among other things– he knew there'd only be more to come. But he knew, more than anything else, that there was no way in hell they could make him talk.

No matter how much it hurt.

He truly would rather die before ever even thinking about it.

The man lets the whip uncurl at his feet, smirking at the red and black haired creature in front of him. “I guess I’ll have my fun, then,”

“Fuck- you," Sasha retorts finally, unwavering red eyes staring back, his mouth mirroring a smile of his own, “Go ahead,” He croaks.

The man nods, chuckling lowly as he cracks the whip in the air. The demon doesn't flinch, doesn't let him get the satisfaction of it. If he was going to take this, he’d take it fighting tooth and nail.

When the first strike comes down, he doesn't move a muscle, stubborn to frustrate his tormentor as much as he can. He keeps his scowl even through the tenth strike, eyes twitching and glare sharp. On the next lash though, it hits his side and wraps all the way around his back, crossing over two other marks, tearing straight through the fabric of his shirt and splitting his skin. He lurches forward, the shackles stopping him and pulling on his dislocated shoulder. He chokes back a scream, but the pain doesn't stop. Each hit seems to get worse after that, the man swinging his arm as hard as he can, blossoming red stripes all across Sasha's back.

The man doesn't even talk anymore, focuses all of his energy on delivering as much power into his strikes. In the same vein, Sasha focuses everything he has into keeping silent and standing. His strength was already sapped from the fight before all of this, and he was sure whatever was stopping his powers was leaving an effect too. It was much harder to keep his composure now. With the whip shredding his back, he couldn't help the noises that managed to escape, panting gasps, hissing, and the occasional whimper.

“I'm not stopping until you give me something,” The man says calmly, words interrupted by the swish and crack of the whip in between. Sasha growls back at him.

He loses track quickly though, his hands gripping the chains above him so hard his knuckles are paper-white, and soon enough, a scream rips through his throat. He feels there's been hardly any place on his back left untouched, and now the whip crosses many gashes every time, tearing scream after scream from him.

He barely realizes when it stops, head hanging low with his chin to his chest, sweat and blood covering his trembling form. His mouth hangs open, breathless, his fangs bloody from biting his own cheeks and mouth.

The shackles release with a click, and as soon as they aren't there to hold him up, his knees buckle, crumpling him to the cold concrete floor. He groans softly, fingers curling against the rugged ground until a rough calloused hand buries itself in his hair and tugs. Sasha wails in pain, the man using his hair like a handle to pull him to the middle of the room, scraping his injured shoulder along the way. He kicks the demon onto his back, setting the fresh wounds there ablaze. Sasha bites his lip until it bleeds just so he doesn't scream another time.

“Oh… What's this?” The man asks, crouching down above his beaten form, grabbing him by the horn and wrenching his face toward him to reveal a few tears streaking his cheeks. “Bit off more than you can chew, huh? Has the tough little monster reached his limit?" He asks, laughing.

Sasha's chest heaves, breaths coming out erratically. He manages to mutter an, "Asshole," his voice coming out wrecked. He could feel the anger in him boiling under his skin, he wanted so badly to punch the man, kick him, burn him– something– but his body felt so weak now he was scared he might even melt into the floor.

"You know this could all stop if you just gave me what I wanted, Red," the man says above him, voice evening to a softer tone. His fingers slowly move the sweaty hair from the demon's face, "It could all be over. No more pain. We could get you cleaned up and out of this cell,” He murmurs, hands gliding through his hair and softly rubbing the base of his horns now.

“You think I’m fucking stupid,” Sasha growls out, “Like I don't know what you're doing, how this shit works.”

Like you wouldn't kill me the second my mouth closed.

“Maybe," the man responds, hands pulling a little tighter, "Must be to have ended up here," he taunts.

Sasha rolls his eyes, huffing hard through his nose. He can feel the blood leaking from the wounds on his sides and back has started to pool on the floor beneath him, soaking into the remnants of his tattered shirt. It’s begun to feel sticky on his face and neck, he can still taste it in his mouth.

"I’ll kill you, first," he says, throat burning still even through the smallest words. Every breath taken feels like broken glass scratching its way up his windpipe. He tries to slide his head away from the man's touch, but a yank on his hair pulls him right back.

"If that's how you wanna go about this," The man chuckles lightly, standing up from his crouching position and filling the room with the noise of the cracking of his knees, “Then who am I to refuse?”

Sasha wants to tell him how annoying his voice is, how he'd much rather him not talk at all, but instead, he closes his eyes, trying to drown out the pulsing agony all over. He brings the hand of his good arm, with new screaming red stripes around his wrists where the shackles had held him up, to his face, shakily wiping under his eyes. When he opens them again, the man is back above him, a sledgehammer dangling right over Sasha's face.

“What now? If you still can't seem to think of any information… maybe you need a reminder? You think a hammer to the knee might do the trick?” His gruff voice ponders mockingly, and before Sasha has any time to react at all, the hammer cracks onto his knee.

“Fuck!-- No,” He yelps, flashing pain down his leg.

“No? How bout’ somewhere else then,” The man responds. He grabs hold of the neckline on the back of Sasha's shirt, yanking him back onto his stomach through moans of pain, tearing the shirt more in the process, “How about here?”

Sasha completely freezes when he feels the cold steel against the back curve of his horn. A lump forms in his throat, blood running cold and heart stuttering.

“N-no… pl–” He stops himself short of begging, “Don’t.”

The man delivers a testing tap, causing a violent flinch from the demon beneath him. He wrenches a hand in his hair again and pulls him back when he tries to move away.

“You’re sure? How about I test and see,” He says. It feels like time has stopped in the moment after, his head pounding. His head is pulled back harder and he feels the hammer smack into his horn hard, the loud crack pulling a guttural whimper from him. It comes down once more, even more force this time, sending splitting hot pain through his head like a migraine. He cries out, but when he hears the thud after, his eyes blow wide.

When he sees it in front of him, he feels bile rise up his stomach, suddenly so dizzy he might pass out.

He knew his team was looking for him. He knew they were probably losing their minds– he knew he had to hold out until then. So he tried not to focus on the broken end of his horn on the concrete in front of him, tried to ignore the sharp sting where it used to reside, and mostly, tried not to let it get to him. He purses his lips as he tries not to let the broken noise escape him, even as he feels his eyes water slightly, and waits a few seconds until he thinks he can bear it.

With blood dripping from the new hole in his head, and pain coursing through his entire body, he rasps, “Guess… you’ll have– to start round t-two.”