Lyon lay hunched over on the cold, damp stone floor of the cell, his breaths coming in ragged, pained gasps.
The frigid air bit at his skin, mingling with the sweat and blood that matted his disheveled hair to his forehead.
Towering over him, the well-built man in a gleaming knight's uniform dealt another vicious blow, his gauntleted fist connecting with a sickening thud against Lyon's ribs.
"Are you going to speak up now or what?" Vyan's voice cut through the air, as cold and sharp as a blade. He stood behind the knight, his presence a looming shadow of menace.
Lyon gasped, each breath a struggle. "What... what am I supposed to say if I don't know anything?"
"Is that so?" Vyan's face remained a mask of apathy, his eyes glinting with a cruel satisfaction as he watched Lyon, bloodied and broken. "Michael, take the torture up a notch."