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Milo takes a deep breath to steady his nerves.
His arms are chained above his head, the iron burning into his wrists. The rough, dirty stone floors press into him. Their cell is dark, and large enough that they can’t touch each other from where they are chained.
The loudest noise is Zack’s panicked, hysterical breathing. Milo feels really bad for the guy. He has clearly been horribly brainwashed by human society- by his parents, teachers, priest, whatever. And he isn’t used to this kind of thing, while Milo and Melissa are.
Although, Milo is not used to this exact situation. They have always escaped before getting this far, before being thrown in a dungeon.
“It’ll be ok.” Milo says, his voice echoing around the cell. His chest feels tight with nerves, but he smiles anyway. “We’ll get out.”
“How?!” Poor Zack sounds terrified. “We’re trapped in a dungeon, underground, and we’re in iron! There’s no way out!” His voice is high and squeaky, his breaths come short and fast. He is clearly trapped in the throws of a panic attack “There’s no point trying, we- we should just accept it. We’re wicked, we’re evil, so it’s justice, I- this was always gonna happen, I should’ve known, I deserve it, I deserve this…”
“Whoa. Chill.” Melissa says. “We literally just talked about it, it’s not justice. You’re not evil. And we’re gonna break out of here, ok?”
Zack makes a strange, high pitched noise. Milo writes off getting any help from him for a while, and tries to plan with Melissa.
But after a while, the door slams open. Immediately Milo and Melissa fall silent, glaring at the figure in the doorway. Zack’s panic attack only gets worse, tiny squeaks and sobs that burrow right into Milo’s soul and tear it apart.
“Shut up!” The figure roars at Zack, who squeaks and shrinks backwards. “Stupid mage brat. I’ll give you something to cry about.”
“Leave him alone.” Milo draws himself up to glare at the doorway. “He doesn’t know anything.”
“Oh, believe me, mage.” The figure crouches right in front of him, leaning into his face. “I’ll be focusing on you, you and the redhead. You two are very well known.”
“Oh, well, I’m flattered.” Milo says. “You want an autograph?”
“Because if you do, you’ll have to unchain us.” Melissa adds. “I’m obviously a brilliant prodigy, but I haven’t yet mastered writing with my feet.”
“Very funny.” The figure growls. “But I wouldn’t be so quick to laugh. I want information, and I’m gonna get it. And if you don’t give it to me, you’ll wish that your execution dates were sooner.”
“Does this guy think he’s scary?” Milo wonders out loud, his heart pounding.
“Looks like you’ve volunteered yourself to go first.” The figure says viciously. “Right, mage. Where’s your hideout?”
“We don’t have one.” Milo says.
Pain explodes through his face. He bites his tongue to stop himself from crying out. “Now, that wasn’t very nice.” He says brightly. It hurts, but he has had much, much worse than a slap. “My mom always taught me to communicate with my words, not my hands.”
“Your mom is a wicked demon who deserves to rot in the fires of hell for eternity. She taught you to brutalise the innocent and murder the good.” The figure says. “But since you want to talk about your mother, we can talk about her. Where are your parents?”
“I don’t know.” Milo says.
“Liar!” The interrogator kicks him, right in the ribs. He cries out, trying to double over. But he can’t, as he strains against his chains. The iron burns against the existing, tender burns. Oh gods, it all hurts so much.
But needs to stay strong. He takes a deep breath, and flashes a wicked smile at the man looming over him. Milo isn’t scared of mage hunters. Nor is he scared of adults, of people who can loom over him, threaten him with their height alone. That doesn’t mean that he wants to be hurt. “I’m not lying. I would know, but we’re all on the run for… for a reason that I can’t quite remember, what was it? Can you remember why we might all be on the run?”
His interrogator kicks him again. This time, Milo hears a crack coming from his ribs. He groans, straining against his chains. Despite his best efforts, his eyes water. This hurts. “One more chance, wicked brat.”
“Orrrr what?” Milo grins through the pain. “You’ll chain me up in a dungeon? Maybe schedule me in for a little death by fire? Oh, wait.”
His interrogator growls. “Where. Is. Your. Hideout?”
“We. Don’t. Have. One.” Milo repeats, slowly, like he is talking to a toddler. Actually, he would probably show a toddler more respect. “Do you think this guy has hearing problem? Or maybe-“
He is kicked in the ribs again. And again. And again.
He squirms and fights, straining against the chains, but he can’t get away from the overwhelming onslaught of pain. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts so much. He is aware that yelps and cries are being forced from his throat, but he can’t stop it.
“Stop it! Stop hurting him!” Melissa yells, struggling against her own chains. But they are both entirely trapped, utterly helpless.
And the pain is relentless. Milo is kicked and kicked, his entire body throbbing with pain. He struggles, he pulls on the chains, he tries so hard to fight. But nothing can stop the onslaught, nothing can stop how much it hurts.
Questions are thrown at him, questions bombard his ears. Questions about him, about Melissa, about his family, about his plans. He clamps his mouth shut, closes his eyes, and braces himself. He won’t answer. No matter what they do to him, he won’t answer.
But it hurts, it hurts so much. And he is helpless, forced to just take it.
Finally, finally, it stops. Milo looks up at his interrogator, looking over him with cold eyes glinting. He flinches.
His interrogator spits at him. Milo winces. “Wicked brat. Are you scared? Because this is just a taste of what you’ll get once we finally cast you down into hell.”
Milo isn’t scared of the hells. He doesn’t believe in them.
But he is scared of this person, and his heavy boots.
His interrogator chuckles. “Have a nice night, demons. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The door slams shut behind him. Milo exhales, a rough, painful sigh that turns into a coughing fit.
“Oh my gods, Milo!” Melissa exclaims. “I’m so sorry, I tried to stop him, are you ok?”
“Been better.” He coughs. All he wants to do is curl up on the ground and pass out. But he is still chained to the wall, and he hates how vulnerable he feels. He hates how easy it would be for their tormentor to continue kicking his fresh, aching bruises, his throbbing ribs which he is certain are broken. “But I’ll… I’ll be ok.”
When he looks up at Zack, there is a strange expression in his eyes. Fear, obviously. Sympathy. But something else too, something like… like an understanding. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs, his voice timid and meek. “I wish that I could hea… that I could do something.”
“It’s ok.” Milo comforts him, wincing as pain rushes through his body. “We’ll get out of here, I know we will. But how about we all rest for now?”
Zack actually manages to fall asleep, his head and body hanging forward while his arms are held over his head. It looks uncomfortable, but Milo is glad to see him looking somewhat peaceful. Peace seems rare for Zack.
Melissa waits until Zack is asleep to speak. “You’re hurt and scared.” She says bluntly. Milo sighs, nodding. Even that motion sends a spike of pain directly into his ribs. “And that’s ok.”
“I know.” Don’t refuse to feel fear. Feel it, acknowledge it, and push through it. “But… we need to get out…”
“And we will.” Melissa reassures him. He can tell from the slight tremor in her voice that she is extremely fearful, although it is so subtle that he thinks that only he would notice it. Only him, who knows Melissa the best, who can read her brain like his own. “But maybe you should try and rest, Milo.”
“I can’t.” Milo admits. “My heart’s pounding, and everything hurts. And every time I think I hear a footstep outside my entire body seizes up.”
“I know.” Melissa says, sounding concerned and sympathetic. “Just try, Milo.”
“I will.” He shuts his eyes. When he does, he sees a figure looming over him, a foot coming towards him. “I wish that I could hug you.”
“Me too.” Melissa says. “Imaginary hug?”
“Imaginary hug.”
Milo tries to pretend that Melissa is right next to him, that they are snuggled up together like they normally are. But sleeps fitfully, and is woken by a bucket of water.
He coughs and splutters. Water drips down his face, seeps into his clothes, makes his bruises sting. His interrogator laughs. “Dirty mage.” He spits. “If only it was so easy to clean your soul.”
“Soap would help.” Milo coughs roughly. He flinches when the man raises his hand, closing his eyes and turning his head to the side.
“I don’t think this guy’s ever heard of soap.” Melissa says suddenly. “He certainly doesn’t smell like he has.”
Her tone is teasing, her eyes hard. The interrogator turns to her, growling. “What did you just say to me, wicked brat?”
“I said,” Melissa begins, glaring, “that you stink of shit. And it matches your shit personality.” He roars, slapping her across the face. She winces, but keeps glaring at him. “Truth hurts.”
“You’ll rot in the hells!” He kicks her, right in the chest. She cries out. “Yeah, that hurts, doesn’t it?”
“I’ve had… headaches more painful than that.” She smirks, even as her face screws up with pain.
“Now, are you smarter than your little accomplice? Where is your hideout?”
Melissa spits at him.
Milo watches, horrified. The man kicks her over and over again, barking questions that he doubts that she can even answer through the pain. She strains against her chains, whimpers falling from her mouth. Tears roll down her face as he keeps doing it, keeps hurting her.
He doesn’t even seem to be trying to get any information. He is just enjoying hurting them.
Milo yells, trying to stop the torture, but nothing works. When he finally stops, Melissa’s head is drooping downwards, and her face is stained red with tears. All of her exposed skin is mottled with bruises.
She manages to raise her head, and spits at the interrogator. Milo is sure that he sees some red in the spit.
And then her head droops back down.
The man leaves. Milo strains against the chains, desperately wishing that he could get to her, hold her, comfort her. “I’m so sorry, Mel.”
“Better… ow. Better me than you.” She grunts, closing her eyes.
“Mel! You did that on purpose!” Milo realises. “You don’t have to protect me, I can take it!”
“Protecting you is… is my job.” Melissa says, wincing.
“And protecting you is my job.” Milo says. “Just… just don’t deliberately provoke him, ok?” He is used to teasing every mage hunter and church or government official he comes across, but right now it is just safer to not. “We’ll get out of here.”
“How?” Zack asks quietly.
Milo takes a deep breath. It makes his ribs sting. “… somehow.”