And yet, he was still alive. Still holding on. But for what?
Was it the faint hope of escape? A thirst for revenge? Or was it simply the primal, instinctive refusal to die? He didn't know anymore.
All he knew was that the pain was unbearable.
And he wanted out.
Just then, Leo arrived. His sleek black leather shoes came to a stop just a step away from the man chained to the wall. The prisoner, his heavy eyelids barely lifting, noticed the polished black shoes through his blurry, pain-hazed vision.
These weren't the blood-soaked boots of his tormentor.
For some reason—perhaps desperation, perhaps pure delusion—he felt a flicker of hope. A sliver of belief that the man standing before him might be his way out of this hell.
It felt like he had been in this torture room for an eternity. Every second stretched into unbearable agony, the pain so relentless that time itself lost meaning. But in reality, it had only been twenty minutes.
