][Malice][ =One Piece=

:: Chapter Thirty Nine ::

Rage, boiling unfettered rage coursed through the emaciated girl as she found herself restrained to the metal table. It was propped up so the monitor’s could see everything that was going to happen to her, but her torturer, the swordsman, had disappeared. She was no stranger to torture, it was a common tactic. It let the mind wander and would allow the victim to fall into despair.  Usually this tactic worked. However, Malice had hardened herself, she couldn’t be broken.

Her filth ridden clothing had been cut away from her leaving her in nothing more than her old black bra and underwear. Rage boiled over humiliation; she was exposed for the entire criminal underworld to see.  The door creaked open and Malice glared as she spotted the swordsman.

“You can forego the torture and skip to the killing, you know I won’t scream.” Malice sighed in a bored tone.

“I know it’s not going to be easy.” The swordsman noted as he approached her with a syringe in hand. “But I’m up for the challenge.” He reached for her arm.

“What’s that?” Malice asked casually.

“A paralytic.” The swordsman smirked.

“ Doesn’t that defeat the purpose? I highly doubt you’re being merciful, so what’s the catch?” The cryptic girl feigned disinterest.

“I have a theory.”

“This ought to be interesting.” Malice smirked as he inserted the needle into the crook in her arm injecting the strange paralytic substance into her bloodstream. It burned for the briefest of moments as it circulated through her circulatory system before the numbness began to take over. Her throat tightened before becoming entirely lax leaving her completely incapable of speech.

“My theory is that the reason you are so tolerant to pain is because after each dose you make yourself that much stronger, but what if you receive every dose all at once?” He noted as he retrieved a simple scalpel from the table of tools next to her.

Malice only had the ability to glare back at him in defiance; her entire body was numb and immobile. It was a lie when he said he didn’t like torture. He loved it. Loved it so much, he researched everything about it.

He cut various deep gashes along her arms and legs in the exact flow of her circulatory system hovering just over her veins. His cold eyes flit to her gaze and he smirked at the exasperated look in her eyes. “Believe me; it’s going to hurt a lot more than you think it is, my dear. I know surface wounds mean absolutely nothing to you, not much more than a mosquito bite. You know how I love my toxins.”

Malice’s heart dropped. What did he do to the blade?

“It’s a lovely toxin, much like the one I used when I gave you this.” The blade slashed across her old red scar turning it into an x. “If you by some miracle manage to escape your fate here, these scars will stay with you always, but the beauty of it is they’ll never stop aching. Even when they’ve finally healed they feel fresh as new.”

Malice’s eyes widened for the briefest of moments. She could take it. If it was for Kid’s sake, she could endure anything.

“What a peaceful expression.” The swordsman snickered. “You’ve always been self sacrificing, little girl.”

He abandoned the scalpel and retrieved a vial with an odd ember substance that oddly reminded her of napalm. The swordsman plucked a platinum tool that looked similar to a putty knife from his table of barbaric instruments. His canvas was already limited on space due to the plethora of scars lining the weakened girl’s body. As he prepared to pour some of the contents onto her abdomen a thought crossed his mind and Malice felt a spark of fear at the wicked grin on his face.

“I’ve always been more of a fan of splatter painting.” He smirked and tilted the table she was restrained to so that it was more upright. With a few quick as lightning lashes, the ember substance flung across the room spattering the cryptic girl at random.

A particularly long splatter hit across her collarbone stretching onto her unscathed shoulder. Another somewhat longer one cut diagonally across her ribcage. Small splotches spattered her legs and feet. What had Malice more concerned than anything was the splattering now covering her right eye and part of her upper cheekbone. It smelled similar to napalm and she was sure with his obsession with toxins he’d made some modifications.

“Let’s hope you don’t survive this.” The swordsman smirked. “That’s not going to be pleasant if you do.”

Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw movement in one of the monitors of the many underworld villains watching her. One of her spectators had left; perhaps unable to stomach what came next. Napalm was a pretty gruesome substance, especially when it was on fire.

“Such a shame to ruin such a pretty face.” The swordsman sighed as he retrieved a book of matches, “Well shall we have some fun?”

Malice silently wished that when she regained feeling the pain would kill her.

He struck the first match and lit the slash across her collarbone. It ignited immediately, crackling and sizzling. But worse than the sound of her flesh being charred, was the smell, the wretched smell of burning flesh. It was enough to make her empty stomach turn. The swordsman continued onward, lighting each patch of the ember substance and each time, Malice felt her stomach churn unpleasantly.

“I assure you, if you somehow miraculously survive, these will make you want to put it all to an end.” The swordsman smirked. He casually retrieved another syringe from the table at her side, “Ready to feel again?”