Chapter-14

The forest was a maze of shadows, the air thick with the scent of decay. Smoothie's eyes darted back and forth, scanning the undergrowth for any sign of danger. She had heard whispers of scavengers lurking in these woods, their bodies adorned with crude tattoos and their hands clutching primitive spears.

Suddenly, two figures emerged from the darkness, their eyes glinting with malice. They lept at Smoothie, their spears aimed at her heart. But she was too quick. With a flick of her long-thighs, a powerful long legged kick force sent the guards crashing into the trees.

Casually, Smoothie pressed on, her footsteps echoing through the eerie silence. She reached the main hut, a crude structure made of stone. As she approached the entrance, she could hear voices coming from within.

She took a deep breath and pushed open the door. Inside, two men were sitting around a fire. One was a fat, muscular Scar with a shaved head and a thick black beard. The other was a tall, lanky tribesman with long white hair and piercing blue eyes.

"Who goes there?" the fat man growled.

"Smoothie," she replied. "I'm here to end you."

The two men exchanged a glance. "Is that really you?," the tribesman said. "My daughter!"

The silence in the hut was suffocating, thick with the scent of woodsmoke and unsaid words. Smoothie's sigh echoed like a disappointed breeze, swirling around the fire's flickering warmth. Her eyes, sharp as a honed blade, met Enzim's gaze, a storm brewing beneath their surface.

"Father?," she finally spoke, the word laced with a venom sweeter than honeyed poison. "Must this continue? You know I'm here to kill you."

Enzim, a weathered map of wrinkles etching his face, remained stoic. His thick beard twitched, perhaps from amusement, perhaps defiance. "This must be the third time meeting you, you are grown up. Sadly the circumstances!"

"Just play dead," Smoothie snapped, her temper simmering closer to the surface. "You should just go to tribe, I will play it as a random rebel I killed against mama."

He chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "My rebellion is a cleansing fire, burning away the rot. That fat woman will die!"

Smoothie scoffed. "Your 'rebellion' is a pathetic excuse," Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "And you know very well, It's useless to rebel against mama."

Enzim's gaze intensified. "You won't understand it, since you carry her blood."

Her hand tightened around her sword's hilt, knuckles turning white.

A heavy silence descended again, broken only by the crackling fire. Enzim studied her, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Then, he surprised her.

"Leave us, Scar," he ordered, his voice surprisingly firm.

The burly tribesman hesitated, his gaze darting between them. Enzim's gaze turned steely. "Go. I need to speak with my daughter... alone."

Scar mumbled and shuffled out, leaving the firelight to paint long shadows on the hut's walls. Enzim gestured to the space opposite him. "Sit, Smoothie. Let us talk, we can leave the fight for some other time."

Smoothie lowered herself onto the rough log, her eyes narrowed.

***

The guards seized Atlas by the arms, their grip like iron bands. They dragged him across the rough stone floor, his chains clanking with every step.

"Get him in there!" one of the guards barked.

They shoved Atlas through the doorway and into the cell. The heavy door slammed shut behind him, plunging him into darkness.

his body ensnared in a web of cold, metallic chains. The weight of the shackles bore down upon him, each link a cruel reminder of his captivity. His neck, hands, and legs were bound, leaving him helpless and vulnerable.

As the hours dragged by, Atlas's hope dwindled. He had expected Smoothie to come to his rescue, but time seemed to slip away like sand through his fingers.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by the sound of heavy footsteps echoing through the corridor. A door creaked open, and a hulking figure stepped inside. The man was grotesquely obese, his skin a sickly shade of green. His body was adorned with an intricate tapestry of tattoos and scars, each one a testament to a life lived in violence. He had a shaved head and a thick black beard. 

In his hand, the man carried a wicked-looking whip. Its leather strands glistened in the dim light, promising pain and torment. As the man approached, Atlas's heart pounded in his chest. He knew that his fate lay in the hands of this sadistic Scar.

"Well, well, well," the man sneered, his voice a gravelly rasp. "Look what we have here. A little bird, trapped in a cage."

Atlas glared at the man, anger flickering in his eyes. "Who are you?" he demanded.

The man laughed, a cruel, mirthless sound. "My name is Butch, boy. And you're about to learn a valuable lesson."

With a flick of his wrist, Butch brought the whip down across Atlas's back. The leather bit into his flesh, sending a surge of agony coursing through his body. Atlas cried out in pain, but Butch only laughed harder.

"That's just a taste," Butch said. "Now, let's see how much you can take."

Butch continued to whip Atlas, each blow more savage than the last. Atlas's body was soon covered in welts and bruises. He gritted his teeth and endured the pain.

The wheel on Atlas's chest turned, producing a loud heartbeat. Slowly, he stood up and sat on the ground.

At first, the whip had caused him excruciating pain. But as the wheel turned a second time, Atlas's body had adapted. The pain was still there, but it was now a dull ache, something he could endure.

Atlas's expression, once devastated, was now merely uncomfortable. The whip made his body uncomfortable, but it was no longer unbearable.

Suddenly, Atlas lunged at Scar. The chains held him back, but he dropped to the ground and lunged again. Scar stumbled backward, surprised by Atlas's sudden burst of energy.

Atlas's eyes were fierce, his body tense. He tired to crawl to him, causing the walls on the cell to shake.

Scar took out another whip and went even harder on Atlas. But Atlas no longer flinched. He gritted his teeth and endured the pain.

Finally, Scar grew tired of his sport. He tossed the whip aside and leaned in close to Atlas's face.

"You're a tough one," Scar said. "I will have more fun with you."

Atlas spat in Scar's face.

Scar laughed. "Good. I like a man with spirit."

He turned and walked out of the cell, leaving Atlas alone in the darkness.

Atlas lay on the ground, his body aching from the initial beatings.