"Urgh… My back!"
The jailer, Lesley, gently stretched his back, arching it backwards until a satisfying crack rang out in the room.
He let out a long breath, then turned his eyes back to Hector—who was hanging from the wall, trembling uncontrollably. Blood streamed down from his torso to his legs.
The air reeked of blood.
Anyone who saw Hector in that state would've vomited on the spot. His skin had been completely flayed off—but disturbingly, it kept regenerating at an unnatural speed.
"Alright then, I'll take a break. That's enough for today."
Lesley casually placed his knife—still stuck with a strip of torn skin—onto the torture table, which was already cluttered with tools.
He stepped toward the prison door with a pleased look, glancing back at Hector and flashing a smile.
"See you tomorrow. More fun awaits. Don't get mad—I'm just following orders."
Despite his light tone, a twisted smile crept behind his words.
Day Two.
