Chapter 221 Scene : Punishmen (1/2)

✿ Note : Movie Scene (written like a book. haha) ✿

It was a small room. A dark room. There were no windows and only one lamp was above the ceiling, barely illuminating the room. A boy was sitting on a chair, his head bent down. His hands were tied together behind the back of the chair while his legs were closed and tied together to the legs of the chair.

He was unclothed and his upper body was full of whip marks. Some looked fresh, some were obviously old from the scabs that had formed over it. The figure wasn't moving and just sat there. One might have thought he was dead, if it wasn't for the fact that the chest was barely moving, indicating his shallow breathing.

The door creaked open and footsteps were heard entering.

Jack stood there, looking at the immovable figure in front of him. He knew very well that the boy was awake but merely ignoring him. No matter what had been done to him, he hadn't uttered a single word. Not even a shout. All he had was a single smirk as he took in every single slash of the whip.

They didn't go all the way, of course. Only the normal whip had been used and not the barbed one. They wanted to punish him, not cripple him.

Problem was, the boy knew that very well. That's why he just sat there with his smirk. It aggravated the torturers, who wanted nothing better than to increase the punishment meted out. Just to get wipe that smirk out of the way.

Jack inclined his head towards the Zenith.

The goons beside him nodded and poured a pail of salt water onto the boy.

Zenith's lips were already blue from the cold and his body was shivering. He had been concentrating on other things and using the least amount of energy so that he wouldn't be too caught up in the cold that was seeping into his bones.

As the cold water hit him, his teeth started to chatter so he clenched on them, refusing to show any sign of weakness. However, he still couldn't stop the small hiss that escaped his lips when the salt water entered his wounds. It felt like his body was being pierced by a thousand needles. No, not needles. Sliced like paper cuts.

Stinging pain.

Zenith slowly brought his head up, his eyes full of hatred as he glared at his tormentor. His 'Mentor', Jack. The one that had been in charge of him since he was young. The one that trained him and told him all about his 'father'.

The one that made him watch as all of his siblings were killed right in front of him.

He had been tied to a chair just like this one, and his throat had gotten sore from all the screaming he had done. As each child lay dying, they were forced to face Zenith and then, the killer would whisper in their ear why Zenith was alive and why they were killed.

Each and every single one of them died while feeling anger and dissatisfaction, unfairness and blame reflected in their eyes as they stared at Zenith until the life left them. None of them wanted to die. None of them could accept the reason for their death.

Each of them was unhappy that Zenith was the Chosen One.

Each glare hit Zenith's soul and every time, a part of him died.

His innocence, gone.

Zenith might hate his father, but he hated Jack even more. And he hated the High Table the most.

Jack looked at Zenith's cold expression and he involuntarily shuddered.

The boy in front of him was getting out of control. Jack cursed the higher-ups for their orders about the other kids. Not about their elimination, but for making Zenith be a part of it.

The management had wanted to assert their dominance and control over Zenith. They had wanted Zenith, who was only 9 at the time, to be so traumatised that he would latch onto Jack. Then, Jack would have control over the boy and thus, so would the management.