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Men, Women, and Children... None were spared the Master's Wrath

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Outer Rim Territories
The Blade of Fate

Ever since the fall of the Dominion there had been a mad scramble to detain and incarcerate members of its failed government, agents of the Sith Empire scouring the stars in their hunt. Many had been captured, but a great deal had managed to escape the Empire's grasp. Those that had fallen into their net were transferred to various black sites all over Imperial Space to be interrogated, tortured, and, for many, executed. The ultimate fates of these enemies of the state were never released to the general public, their deaths shrouded in secrecy to disavow any notions of martyrdom by those who still believe in the defunct regime of the Dominion.

Months had passed since the fateful Battle of Krayiss II, yet the search still continued unabated. Often agents would find lesser officers who didn't have the resources at their disposal to flee to distant parts of the galaxy, young men and women who had been fed false ideals by their Dominion masters. If these wide-eyed youths thought that they would receive mercy because of their age, they were sorely mistaken.

The Dark Lord's edict was unequivocally ruthless -- There was to be no quarter given to the Dominion.

Carnifex had decreed it, and so it would be done. And thus these youths, children truthfully, were tortured and maimed beyond all recognition before ultimately being incinerated and their ashes scattered to the stars. Rumors of such brutality began to spread among those still hiding out in the Tingel Arm, possibly spread by the Saaraishash as a tactic of terror to incite willful surrender for greater leniency. In some cases it worked, those terrified of a grotesque end gave themselves up to the Inquisition on their own volition and often fared better than those who were rooted out and destroyed.

Unfortunately for beings like [member="Cairyn Midore"], the chance to surrender was not a viable option. As one of the 'Sith' who had sided with the Dominion during the Dominion War, he was looked down upon as a Zati Tsis, a False Sith, and was branded as the most despicable brand of heretic in the eyes of the Sith Empire. When he was captured attempting to flee the Tingel Arm, he was not dragged off to some black site, he was instead taken directly to the top and delivered into the care of the Dark Lord himself.

Beaten and bound in the Blade of Fate's detention center, the lad would languish as he awaited the arrival of his tormentor.
 
This was a mistake. Surely it had to be. All he had wanted were some snack foods, it wasn't his fault ever since the Dominion had fallen, funds had been considerably lacking. Okay, it was a bit of his fault, but they should've known better than to mess with a Sith of his caliber. Granted, that'd require him to be a Sith of any caliber but that was a minor detail in the grand scheme of things.

That was what he was here for, right? If not, that would make for a very awkward conversation with whoever was in charge. Beaten and left in a cell, he waited impatiently for this whole ordeal to be over with. His person, bruised and bloodied, protested with each swing of his legs as he waited. He did not appreciate the beaten he'd received, could hardly see the point in it. Seriously, all this for some snacks? This certainly made for a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

That was the boy's initial thought process, at least.

Now left to wait with nothing to entertain him other than himself, his mind began to wander. The escort that brought him upon this ship had been way too much for a simple thievery. What little he'd seen in the trip to the cell itself far too expensive looking for a run-of-the-mill law enforcement. No, there was something he was missing, something big.

Was he being scouted? No, that made about as much sense as his original theory. Guessing games really weren't his forte, nor were foreign languages. Whatever Zati Tsis meant, he sure hoped it was something good. Something he could use later, hopefully, maybe even get some snacks if he waved the title around some more. Sure, that wouldn't explain the beating he'd received but hey, mistakes can happen. No, this all had to be a mistake. Nothing could possibly be truly wrong, he wasn't in any real danger. He had his pets, orbalisks that clung to his form and offered both company and protection, he had his charming personality, his lightsaber had been confiscated but surely it'd all work out. He just had to wait.

[member="Darth Carnifex"]
 
Another hour would pass before the light above the cell door would finally change from red to green, heralding the entrance of the one who had imprisoned [member="Cairyn Midore"]. Three figures preceded him, two of which were hooded and wore the trappings of the cultist with golden runes emblazoned upon their billowing violet sleeves. The other was a man who walked with a mechanical gait, the soft whispering and clicking of servos announcing his movements as he entered the room. His face was hidden behind a Mandalorian helmet, but it was obvious that the man himself was not a member of the nomadic warrior culture to which the helmet belonged to. Various tools and covered syringes hung from the belt at his waist, many of the instruments carrying the distinct discoloration of dried blood across their bladed edges.

Then came only being who could possibly be the leader of this insidious troupe. He was a titan of a man that towered over the young boy, his body muscular and weathered by decades of war. He wore the black vestments of the Sith, a simple tunic and trousers with a cloak of crimson armorweave draped over his form like a specter's shroud. He carried no weapon, no lightsaber dangling from his hip, but it would go without question that if he truly wanted to murder the young man he would require no weapon.

Once all four had entered the door closed and locked behind them, leaving poor Cairyn to face the beasts in the ever darkening claustrophobic confines of the cell. A single voice from the shadows called to him, a hollow voice; swallowing, engulfing. As the darkness seemed to devour him, the blackest speech seeped into his soul and proclaimed: "Do you know why you are here? Do you know why injuries have been inflicted on you? Why you have been left to wallow in shadows?" A great cacophony of thundering, roaring sounds accompanied the voice and continued to escalate in aural intensity until they were almost entirely unbearable.

Then, all at once, the darkness and the droning keels disappeared and Cairyn found himself face to face with the titan. Perhaps he would recognize his features, his hellish eyes that burned with seething hatred, or the symbol that was burned into the flesh of his forehead.

The Dark Lord of the Sith had him in his clutches.
 
As the time passed, the boy found himself increasingly bored. What was taking so long? It was incredibly rude of them to keep him waiting. In an effort to entertain himself, he hummed a tune, varying between being off pitch and off key. His little song was cut short by the group's entrance, him watching with wide eyes as each person processed in, each with their own...charm. He had the strangest feeling these weren't exactly the friendliest of folk.

The apparent leader of this group of four bore a stark contrast to Cairyn. Where this one stood tall and muscular, Cairyn was comparatively tiny, aside from the injuries recently suffered, his person was warn perhaps only by years of feats of flexibility and gymnastics, fresh and new in comparison to this other. On the other hand, there was a clear distinction in attire as well. The Orbalisks seemed to sense the clear difference in persons as well, their tightening their grip in his flesh giving Cairyn a little shudder of pain.

Stuck with the four, it became more and more apparent that this wasn't quite what Cairyn had been hoping. Quite the opposite, probably, but he couldn't think of what he'd done that'd warrant...whatever this was. His head whirled about, trying to identify the source of the voice and perhaps more importantly, the background noise. It was an uncomfortable sensation, hearing so much yet not knowing where it came from.

When his senses cleared, the boy leaned back as far as he could, taken aback by suddenly being face to face with the much larger man. He blinked several times, eyes large behind the thick frames of his glasses, before it dawned on him that questions were meant to be answered. "Uh, yeah, no I have no idea what's going," he drawled, shrugging, "but I'm here now so, hi, I'm Cairyn!" As he finished, he flashed his signature grin. If he had any idea who any of his captors were, he gave no indication of it.

[member="Darth Carnifex"]
 
The Dark Lord's brow narrowed, and his nostrils flared as he let out a puff of air in annoyance. However, he seemed to back away from the smaller man for the moment, gesturing to one of the beings behind him with his right hand at which one of them neared and produced a small data-pad from the confines of his robes and handed it over to the Dark Lord. Carnifex took it and powered it on before opening one of the inmate files logged in the pad's databank.

"[member="Cairyn Midore"], former Sith Acolyte of the Dominion. Wanted for sedition against the Sith Brotherhood, and crimes against the Sith Empire as an enemy of the state. Age -- Middle teens. Height -- One-point-six meters. Gender -- Ambiguous."

He turned the datapad around so Cairyn could see the data they had compiled against him, a clear picture of his face plastered above a stream of personal data. He then handed the pad back to the other man, and then reached out to grasp the smaller man by the cuff of his shirt and lift him up so he was roughly eye-to-eye with the taller Sith Lord. "It is a shame that you do not know me, perhaps such knowledge would have given you the insight to fall to your knees and pray for forgiveness, worm. I am Darth Carnifex, Dark Lord of the Sith, and it was I who orchestrated the destruction of the Dominion, it was I who ordered their fleets to be annihilated and their people to be slaughtered like animals."

He threw the boy against the harsh metal wall of the cell, his callous nature towards his well-being grotesquely apparent. "What say you of your crimes, meat?"
 
In the awkward moments of waiting for the datapad to power up, Cairyn sat up, taking those short moments to observe the other fellows a bit more closely. Yeah, he really had no idea what was going on. He gathered that at least the man currently handling the datapad was someone important. How important, and whether or not he was important on a scale the boy would actually care about was a different question entirely.

As the data was announced, he went down a mental list of check marks, a puff of a chuckle clearing his throat at mention of his gender. It amused him to no end that people couldn't quite pen whether he be male or female, nor did he have any intention of making it any easier for them. When he had the chance to view the datapad itself, he couldn't help but grin at the picture they had of him. It wasn't a bad one. Not the best, of course, but good enough. Better yet, he was impressed with just how much information they had on him, especially giving how little he'd actually been a part of Dominion affairs.

With a choked gasp he was pulled to more Carnifex's height. Struggle as he did, the bindings and his comparative lack of sheer strength did him no favors in freeing himself. This whole picking him up by the collar thing was completely unnecessary in his eyes, and entirely uncomfortable. Why, even he knew that personal space was a thing.

Thrown against the cell wall, he struggled to get up, part in due to the bindings but also partially because ow. Whether it be the pain in his head interfering with his ability to think straight or just Cairyn being Cairyn, he seemed to struggle to answer [member="Darth Carnifex"]'s question. Was this the part where he started begging for forgiveness, despite still being unclear as to why he was begging in the first place? No, somehow he doubted that'd do anything. So, taking a breath, he launched into his response, sentences blending together as he wasted no time for breathes in between.

"Well, uh, first off, I had no idea I was important enough to have a profile on me so, yeah, this is great! Don't quite get how anything I did counts as sedition but I guess it's whatever. Is this the part where I say it's so nice to meet you or has that moment passed? Either way, hi, I like what you did with the invasion-thing. Well, save for that getting out of there was an absolute nightmare. Geez, this is a great talk but I'm kinda hungry so when can I go?" He shrank back closer to the wall as soon as he finished. Under any other circumstances, he'd be very interested in knowing more about this fellow, especially with that 'Darth' title. Now, however, he wouldn't mind if this whole thing would just blow over a bit.
 
The Dark Lord snorted derisively, the boy before him had more mouth than brains.

He waved his hand and the bindings around Cairyn's wrists unlocked and fell to the ground with a clatter, but no sooner had his arms been released were they then seized by the two hooded individuals who rushed from either side of the Sith Lord to restrain him. Despite their own frail appearance beneath the robes, the two men were abnormally strong and managed to manhandle him with little difficulty. They yanked him over to the poor excuse for a bed the cell possessed, which in reality was more like a durasteel slab that extended from the wall and had little in the way of comfortability, where he was forced to lay down on his back as the Dark Lord and the faux Mandalorian neared.

"I don't think you truly understand the severity of your situation. It will become abundantly clear soon enough." One of the hooded servants slipped on what appeared to be a glove over Cairyn's left hand, although the material was rigid like metal and more-or-less looked like an armored gauntlet with various screws extending from various points around the hand and wrist. "The device you are wearing is known colloquially as the Joint Crippler. I will let you experience how it earned such a name firsthand."

Without further pomp the device was activated, and the first of the screws began to turn inwards on the distal interphalangeal joint and would not stop until it had pierced through to the other side. Once through it would become locked, and could not be reversed except by a specific command issued by the handler. What would be even more horrific is that around three seconds after the first screw began to turn, the others would begin to turn in a cascading fashion with the ones closest to the fingertips starting first and the ones closest to the wrist starting last. The device would continue on until all screws had been driven through the man's hand and wrist.

It was fortunate that the walls of the cell were sound-proof, for [member="Cairyn Midore"]'s sake. Only those in the cell would be audience to his agony.
 
This was a bad idea. This was a very bad idea.

Temporarily freed, Cairyn didn't get far before the hooded figures got a hold of him. Struggle as he did, he simply didn't have the strength to match the two of them, nor the room to outmaneuver. There was nothing in his skill set meant for close quarters scuffles, he'd never felt the need to learn. After all, there wasn't any need to learn when he could simply avoid scuffles in general. No, he hardly stood a chance trying to escape their grasp.

When his back made contact with durasteel, his struggles increased. As dumb as he acted, as unobservant as he was, he had a sinking suspicion that this wasn't some twisted attempt to scare him into nap time. He was still confused as to what was transpiring, especially when the slipped the glove onto his hand. All this for some dumb accessory? It didn't even match his armor.

The grey tint of his skin became ever more prominent when the screws started moving. Uh-oh. This was not good. This was very not good. His head whipped around to stare at [member="Darth Carnifex"] with wide eyes, the purpose of this whole ordeal starting to dawn on him. "Y'know, torture's not that much fun when it's you sitting through it," he started, urgency spurring his words a bit faster than his normal pace. "I-isn't there someone else you can torture? You know, someone we all can enjoy? This isn't all that fun anymore right now, so I'll have to pass."

When it became evident his suggestions weren't going to be taken into consideration, he tried to maneuver his hand out of the glove. That, too, was doomed to fail on accounts of him being restrained and the contraption's motion already dooming him to pain. As the glove's nails pierced his flesh, there was no hope in holding back screams. The agony pushed his vocals to pitches he wasn't even aware he could hit and the machine had no indication of stopping.
 
The Dark Lord's face was a stone wall of impassivity in the wake of the boy's harrowing pleas, his fiery eyes burning into the innocent green eyes just as the screws began to dig their way into the flesh of his hand and wrist. The tips of the screws were purposefully unsharpened to maximize the agony they would inflict as they inexorably twisted down into [member="Cairyn Midore"]'s hand. After several rotations the skin would finally break, a flood of blood welling up to leak out of the glove as the screws continued uninhibited, worming through muscle before finally grinding down upon the joint. Flecks of bone would dislodge as it dug onward, the tendons connecting the joints snapping painfully before the joint itself was either shoved out of the way or was crushed by the pressure.

And when the screws had finally pierced all the way through they would lock into place, preventing themselves from being twisted in the opposite direction and effectively encasing Cairyn's hand in an iron maiden of torment. Throughout it all the Dark Lord did not gloat, he did not smile, his face hardly changed from when they had started to when they ended. Despite his lackluster nature of his reaction Carnifex was relishing in the suffering he was inflicting. The boy's suffering was a delicacy which energized the Dark Lord as he fed upon it, and he drank deeply from it.

"Prepare another glove." His voice was a delicate whisper, but his servants heard him despite that. They produced another Joint Crippler from somewhere out of sight, but this one was designed to fit over the right hand instead of the left. With mummers of glee they moved to strap Cairyn's right hand into the device in preparation for another round of crippling torture.
 
This was wrong. His hand shouldn't be this wet, he shouldn't be able to hear liquid dripping off the 'bed', hitting the floor with wet plops. He shouldn't feel this pain, coursing through his hand and wrist, akin to nothing he'd experience before. He could feel his throat grow raw with screams that ripped through his throat until he couldn't identify just where the noise was coming from. Was that really him?

Through the entirety of his torture, his eyes never closed. A film glazed over the irises, the glossy sheen making them appear even more blank and insincere, as if one was looking at them through a distorting mirror. At the mention of another glove, they snapped into focus, his resolve finally finding a focal point. The pain in his left hand was unbearable, no doubt, something his right hand was far from anxious to experience.

It was an act of instinct that drove the sudden spike in his connection to the Force. And thus, the chain reaction was underway. The Orbalisks were all to pleased to capitalize on this sudden spike. They dug further into his flesh, releasing adrenaline that, combined with his own, bred a momentary strength meant to wrench himself from his captive's grasps

There wasn't much of a plan beyond just escaping. In that sense, Cairyn was little more than a cornered animal. Escape and maybe try and attack his tormentors? Go for the eyes of one of the hooded servants with his free hand? Force this other glove on them and see how they liked it? No, his efforts were better spent working toward the first option. And try, he did.

[member="Darth Carnifex"]
 
The first servant was caught off-guard by the prisoner's sudden burst of activity, the Joint Crippler knocked from his grasp as he stumbled backwards before crashing into the cold wall. The other attempted to restrain him, but the boy's terror gave him strength.

He too was flung back by a sudden burst of Dark Side power.

Quiroga started to jump to their aid, but he was stopped by the powerful hand of the Dark Lord pressing against his chest. "Let him struggle, it makes the futility of his actions all the more poignant." The torturer cast a masked look at his master, but backed off from interfering.

By now the first servant was back on his feet, rushing at the boy with spindly arms to restrain him. Again he was sent packing, pain giving Cairyn the fuel he needed to resist their advances. He put up an amiable fight as well, but whereas he began to lose the drive that first fuelled his defiance the two servants didn't seem to be breaking a sweat. No matter how hard they were thrown or how many times they were repelled, nothing seemed to work.

But it would be the Dark Lord who put an end to his fruitless rebellion as an invisible hand seized the boy, and slammed him back onto the slab where he was again restrained by the two servants. Carnifex approached, hand outstretched menacingly. "A worthy effort, but pointless in the end. I did, however; sense the Dark Side within you swell, you're not hiding something from me are you?" The Lord's eyes seemed to tinkle with mad delight.

"Strip him, lay his secrets bare."
[member="Cairyn Midore"]
 
As pointless as his struggles may have been, he gave no sign of stopping. How could he, when the thrill of the fight only spurred his actions further. He pushed and kicked with reckless abandon, something that surely looked like a fit of rage to any old spectator. The rage itself was hardly present, merely an act that seemed appropriate giving his situation. Try as he might, each time he pushed back his captors, each time he landed a hit, they just kept coming.

He half expected one of the others to join the fray. Why, he was pleasantly surprised when they didn't. Sure, that meant escape wouldn't be a thing should he miraculously defeat the two servants, but escape wasn't the forefront of his attention. At the moment, his main concern lied in retribution, to do unto others what they did to him.

Flung back to the slab by forces beyond his control, he was stunned into submission as his head made contact with durasteel. His glasses, jostled by the collision, hung uselessly off the side of his face, kept only there by the temple still clinging to his ear. Whether it be the throbbing his head now played a host to, or if he, like an animal, grew docile once his vision was stripped from him, or perhaps even that he'd began to recognize his childish persona was doing him no favors here, his struggles decreased.

"Your files called me an acolyte, don't your acolyte's do it too?" Cairyn hissed, glaring up at the blur that was [member="Darth Carnifex"]. He struggled, doing what was in his power to make stripping him of his clothes way more difficult than what it needed to be, yet fatigue from the previous scuffle kept him from being little more than an annoyance. The loss of clothes revealed little in terms of Cairyn's skin. Rather, the orbalisks and all their glory were exposed to the audience.
 
Carnifex said nothing as the boy was undressed, his clothes practically torn from his body and discarded to the floor.

He was an average male, albeit a tad more feminine that most men his age, but that wasn't what drew the Dark Lord's attention to his bare flesh. It was the fact that orbalisks covered a good deal of his bare skin, acting like chitinous armor and protecting the softer Human physiology beneath.

"I see now. That's where the unusual spike of energy came from, not from yourself but from the parasites that cling to your body." He rapped one of his knuckles against one of the creatures, which vibrated from his touch but otherwise did nothing else. "I wonder how someone as pitiful as you managed to survive the initial bonding. Perhaps once you're dead I'll have my answer." Lightning danced along his fingers, casting wicked shadows around the cell as the energy burst to life and then crackled away into nothingness at the Sith Lord's whim.

Then, he gingerly applied one of his lightning-laden hands to the boy's chest and the current of power was connected to Cairyn's body. It would be excruciatingly painful, but not enough to kill the boy or the creatures that had attached themselves to him.


[member="Cairyn Midore"]
 
A shiver coursed through his person as he became all too aware of just how cold durasteel was. His clothes, as simple and ill fitting as they were, were missed as soon as his flesh was reintroduced to the poor excuse of a bed. For a moment, he wanted to complain, make a big deal about that being his favorite shirt. He doubted it, but maybe he could demand compensation.

His concerns for his own person died down as the Orbalisks faced [member="Darth Carnifex"]'s scrutiny. Sentient or not, he'd grown attached to them, given them names. Why, if anyone asked, he'd say they spoke to him. "That one's Dalin," he said, nodding at the one the Sith touched. "It wasn't easy, lemme tell you. I don't recommend it, but if you really want them, go get them yourself. These are mine." He didn't like the attention being directed to his beloved pets. Torture him to your hearts content, but his pets were off limits.

This sudden attention on them unsettled him, too. At least with the joint crippler, he had an idea of what was going on. Now, especially with his vision severely limited, he had little idea of what trials of pain he was in for. He'd soon find out, though, as electricity coursed through his chest. His muscles flexed and spazzed beyond his control, the orbalisks, Beznik in particular as he rested closest to where the lightning had entered Cairyn's body, shifted in complaint to the unpleasant sensation, only furthering Cairyn's pain.

Words could not describe the agony the boy endured. Nor sound, as his screams grew silent, his throat unable to sustain anything that could equate to the current pain he was going through.
 
The lightning subsided, smoke billowing up from [member="Cairyn Midore"]'s singed flesh.

Random discharges of excess energy would still plague the boy as the air filled with the smell of smoke and burned skin and hair. Confident that the notion of rebellion had been quashed from the boy's mind, the servants moved back in to restrain him. This time they actually bothered to tether him down by his upper arms and legs.

"Sentimentality for parasites is unbecoming of a Sith, no wonder you found your way to the Dominion."

In the absence of lightning, the torture would continue exactly where it had left off. One of the minions would retrieve the fallen Joint Crippler, and work to pull it over Cairyn's right hand to repeat the agonizing process like before.
 
Still twitching on and off Cairyn's limbs shook from the abuse they'd underwent in such a short amount of time. His struggles, if they could even still be considered struggles, were entirely fruitless, his body going limp when it became clear wouldn't be freeing himself. That didn't seem to affect his judgement, however, not in anyway helpful, at least. "And who made you the know-all about Sith?" Probably one of the worst ideas Cairyn could act on at the time, he couldn't resist raising a brow at [member="Darth Carnifex"]'s comment.

The lightning was by far some of the more painful experiences the boy'd endured. That didn't take away from the Joint Crippler's pain. Perhaps worse, it left him without a free hand. If things weren't looking dismal before, they certainly were now. When the machine began its' gruesome work, his agony returned in full force, his body jerking against restraints to absolutely no avail.
 
The gruesome sounds of nails digging deep into flesh and bone accompanied the raspy wail of [member="Cairyn Midore"] as he writhed and spasmed on the table, blood gushing from openings in the device that ran down to the floor before smearing over towards the strategically placed drain at the center of the floor. The floor itself had been purposefully designed to be at a slight incline, encouraging any spilt liquids to gravitate towards the lowest point where the drain was situated.

After several excruciating minutes, the second Joint Crippler would fasten itself around Cairyn's right hand and seal.

Bereft of usable hands, the straps were again undone and the boy was hauled to his feet. One of the extra additions to the machines wrapped around his hands were a pair of magnetic connectors, which allowed the devices to magnetically seal like cuffs when the points were brought together. The servants did so with the boy's hands 'cuffed' behind his back, but that was only the beginning of a whole new realm of pain and suffering that the Dark Lord prepared to unleash upon him.

The roof of the cell featured retractable chains and hooks, and at Carnifex's command one of them was retrieved and lowered down to the floor. The hook and chain was then cinched around the conjoined cripplers, and inch by inch the chain was pulled up back towards the ceiling. The higher Cairyn was hoisted up into the air, the more strain would be put on his shoulders as his arms, previously restrained behind his back, were pulled upwards.

Dislocation of the shoulder joints was a certainty.
 
There was only so much strain a body could take. Cairyn was convinced there was little more that could possibly be done to increase his agony. He'd be proven wrong, of course. By the time the joint crippler finally stopped its horrid deed, he couldn't muster the energy to offer resistance as he was unbound and dragged to shaky feet. Would this ever end?

Cairyn was an acrobat of the highest stature. With natural flexibility combined with years of practice, he could bend over backwards and bounce right back up with no problem at all. Never had he expected his particular skills would be put to the test as much as they were now. He could bend and twist and turn as necessary. That didn't account for one important detail, however.

He wasn't a contortionist.

There was only so much he could flex and twist until the strain of his arms being lifted behind his back started to get to him. Under any other circumstances, had he been in a better shape to do much of anything, he'd try and lift his legs, hang upside down for as long as he could take it. Alas, that required skills he was in no position to present. Instead, he was forced to further endure that growing pain in his shoulders, until a sickening pop could be heard in the cell.

[member="Darth Carnifex"]
 
The boy's body hung there, limp and bleeding.

With the exception of his previous outburst, there had been no further attempts at escape or liberation from his agony. The snarky quips had faded away as well, and the only sounds that emanated from his bloodied lips were ragged screams and pained whimpers.

Yet not even this would satiate his captors.

The head torturer would produce a heavy cabled whip from his belt, and with the flick of a switch the cable crackled and spat with electricity. He cracked it once in the air with a deafening whap, and then followed up by raking the electrified cable across the meatiest part of [member="Cairyn Midore"]'s thigh that split open the skin and sent torturous jolts of electricity coursing through the lad's body. Soon enough the sound of a whip cracking would echo continuously throughout the cell as Cairyn was whipped repeatedly, and with little thought for his safety as his skin was split and broken at every conceivable notion by the whip's kiss.
 
Broken and incapacitated in was the boy had hardly considered possible, Cairyn wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. His arms were essentially useless, good only for keeping him suspended for his torturer's pleasure. His glasses had fallen completely off his face by now, clattering to the floor somewhere Cairyn could only hope they wouldn't be stepped on. He didn't have high hopes, however, nor was he too caught on the idea that he'd be escaping any time soon. His legs, having only suffered binding and the overall effects of electricity, were perhaps the strongest of his climbs left but even they were soon to meet his captors' wrath.

There were no words to fall upon deaf ears as the torturer cracked his whip. The tell-tale hum of electricity had the youth whimper. Had he not already been restrained, he would've been backing into a corner. A violent jerk coursed through his person the first time the whip made contact with his skin. While its intensity paled in comparison to the lightning of before, there was still enough of a shock to upset his darling orbalisks, their discomfort being made known in the most painful of ways. Even the blows that struck the parasites that clung to the majority of his person drew forth pained groans and exhausted whimpers. Cairyn couldn't pretend this didn't affect him, either, each crack of the whip sending his body into another spasm, the electricity having yet to completely exit his system by the time the next crack made contact.

"Can we stop, please?" As childish as the question was, it seemed lacking in the lighthearted voice that'd normally accompany such questions. No, the voice shook and cracked under the stress that plagued the speaker, both of the physical and mental dispositions.

[member="Darth Carnifex"]
 

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