Extracting Confessions (2)

Content warning! This chapter contains blood and violence.

...

"AAAGHH!" 

The suspect's anguished cry tore through the dungeon, a raw expression of agony tearing its way out of the depths of his core.

His body convulsed as each limb rebelled against the severe pain coursing through his injured knee. His face twisted grimly as he suffered, and his eyes clenched shut as if trying to escape his reality.

"H, Huu… Aghhk." 

Teeth gritted together, he fought a silent battle to stifle the cries that threatened to break free from his lips. Clenched fists now trembled to bear the unendurable.

The condition of his knee was nothing short of gruesome. The brutal impact of the mallet had left it visibly swollen beneath his pants, causing it to appear as though it had been subjected to a painful limp.

A searing pain throbbed through his injured joint, each attempt to move it sending electric jolts of suffering coursing through his body.

While he continued to writhe in agony, the fabric of his pants revealed a dark stain, like blood was slowly seeping through. It was a grim reminder of his cruel fate that he would die today.

Nicolaus, his face an unreadable mask, did not waver. Leaning closer to the struggling suspect, he exuded an unsettling sense of composure.

His voice took on a sinister edge as he whispered, "Spare yourself from more suffering. Just answer my damn question. Who gave you the orders?"

Clouded by pain and desperation, the suspect's eyes darted about the dungeon, following the flickers of the torch. His mind swirled, wrestling with the consequences of his decision. 

Though he felt he would succumb to unconsciousness with the undeniably agonizing pain in his knee, the suspect still feared revealing his employer's identity was a risk he couldn't afford to take.

The seconds dragged on, stretching into interminable minutes. Nicolaus, sensing the mounting anger within him, drew back slightly. He composed his tensing shoulders, his jaw clenching to contain the seething frustration that threatened to consume him.

Simultaneously, the suspect's struggles grew more frantic. His breaths came in ragged gasps as the potent force of the pheromones tightened around his throat like invisible hands, suffocating him with an unrelenting grip.

Nicolaus clenched his teeth, muttering under his breath, "This fucking death meat–" Turning away from the scene, he knew he was about to lose control.

Therefore, he pressed a thumb firmly against the bridge of his nose, seeking solace in slow, measured breaths that became his lifeline. Every ounce of self-control was summoned to keep his anger in check.

As he examined the mallet he held in his dominant hand, it bore crimson evidence with blood droplets clinging to it.

It was a relief that the House of Renard had already been compensated for the false goods this suspect had attempted to smuggle in. 

The situation could have spiraled into disaster, potentially tarnishing their longstanding relationship with one of their most valued customers. 

Thankfully, the House of Renard had been understanding. Nicolaus could only be grateful for their leniency in this matter.

"M, My lord, please spare me!" the suspect begged. "H, Have mercy! I h, have a family to look a, after!"

Nicolaus paused momentarily, his mind racing as he contemplated the wider involvement of this sabotage.

It raised the unsettling possibility that other individuals who had infiltrated his business, sought to undermine him, and possibly were involved in this plot.

Nicolaus' growl resigned as he confronted the unyielding suspect. "You're not going to reveal who ordered you, are you?" His question hung heavy in the air.

The suspect's eyes locked onto Nicolaus, wavering in the struggle. Beads of sweat glistened on the suspect's forehead as his chapped lips remained sealed shut tight like a vault.

Closing the gap between them with a measured step, Nicolaus firmly clutched the mallet. "But you see," he continued, his tone oozing with menace, "I have methods of making people talk."

As he uttered those ominous words, Nicolaus' gaze bore into the suspect's soul, a chilling reminder of the serious intent. His very presence commanded danger, like a predator closing in on its prey.

And with no hesitation, Nicolaus held the mallet high, muscles coiled as he was about to strike. The suspect watched, eyes wide with sheer terror, his breath catching in his throat as he anticipated the impending hell.

Swiftly, Nicolaus brought the mallet down with a bone-crushing force, causing a gut-wrenching crack to echo. Immediately, a scream tore from the suspect's lips as pain engulfed him.

"HAAGH! MY FINGERS AR–GH!"

The suspect's once-intact fingers now looked grotesque, mangled, and twisting, jutting at unnatural angles. They bore the marks of the merciless pounding they had undergone.

The suspect's trembling hand released a continuous stream of viscous blood dripping, forming a gruesome puddle beneath the chair he was shackled.

Nicolaus showed no emotion, remaining impassive, as he withdrew the mallet, the head of the tool now stained with blood. He maintained an unwavering gaze locked onto the suspect as he waited.

"AAAHHG!" 

The suspect's cries had evolved into a cacophonous of despair and dread. His snot ran uncontrolled from his nose, and saliva dribbled down his chin in a pitiable display. 

"I, I, I speak!." 

Gradually, the suspect's demeanor shifted. His words now stumbled out in a disorganized and desperate manner.

Nicolaus maintained a cautious distance, standing a meter away, waiting for the suspect to reveal the crucial information.

"Is, Ish za guild!" 

Uttering shaky words, the suspect let out his secrets, only to witness a terrifying turn of events before he could share more.

"They za Black! HUAAK–" 

Black, oozing liquid spewed uncontrollably from the suspect's mouth, nose, and ears. It flowed uncontrollably, drenching his face and clothes while his bulging eyes reflected sheer panic.

Soon, the vile liquid began emerging from every available opening in his body.

Nicolaus was taken aback. The liquid splashed on his face, and he hastily stepped back, using his sleeve to wipe the scalding black substance from his skin.

'What's happening?'

With an arm shielding his face, he watched helplessly as the vile liquid tainted his clothes, leaving behind an acrid smell.

As the inky torrent continued to pour, Nicolaus' pheromones ceased exuding. He was stunned, his eyes widening with shock from the sight before him.

"Aghh! Haak! Gugh!"

Violent seizures wracked the suspect's body, convulsions induced by the endless assault from the inky, viscous liquid. It poured ceaselessly, like an unstoppable tide, until it had completely overwhelmed the struggling suspect.

When it came to an end, the person slumped into the chair, seeming lifeless.