Chapter 47
ASHERS PON
The rogh
chained to the wal their boches eacuted and their eyes sunken in. They haven’t been fed properly in weeks. I feel a twinge of the sight. They had it coming, breaking the laws of our pack
“Are you ready to talk” lask my vower harsh and unforgiving
They remain
the only wound in the room being the rattling of their chains. I shake my head in disgust, my pat trom a nearby hook and the rogues start to beg
patience wearing thin. I grab a
task them who sent them to attack our warmors, but they claim nobody sent them. Wolers don’t usually act alone, and I find it hard to believe. I
whipping them, and they yell out in pain
1 pause for a moment, taking in their suffering. A small part of me feels sorry for them, but I quickly squash that feeling down
I raised the whip, ready to strike the rogues once again. But then, they spoke up, ading me to wait. I gritted my teeth, the anger burning inside me
I waited for their explanation
“We weren’t sent by anybody, we acted on our own” one of them said, his voice trembling with fear
I narrowed my eyes, not believing their words. They had killed innocent guards, and yet they expected me to believe they acted alone! The anger within me grew, and 1 tightened my grip on the whip.
“You expect me to believe that?” I spar out, my voice laced with fury. “You killed those guards, and for what? Your own selfish reasons?”
The rogues, though clearly scared still had the audacity to talk back to me in a rude tone. Their disrespect towards me only fueled my anger
that you believe, we’re telling the truth,” one of them sneered
That was it. I couldn’t take it anymore. They had crossed a line, and I raised the whip, ready to lash out at them with all the anger I had been holding since the death of the guards.
I could feel the anger boiling indide of me as these rogues refused to tell the truth. They were being so stubborn, so uncooperative. It was as if they had a death wish. I walked away from them, trying to calm myself down, but it was no use. My rage was too great
Perhaps they wanted to play some games before we delved into the real thing. I thought before walking back.
I turned and grabbed the iron whip from where it was kept. This whip was like no other. Its jagged and serrated fangs could tear flesh from bone. It was a weapon of torture, and I was not afraid to use it
I looked back at the rogues and asked them if they were ready to talk. They stuttered and mumbled, but said nothing. They were still being difficult.
refusing to give up any information. I could feel my anger rising even higher.
I glared at them, my grip on the whip.
The rogues screamed at me with defiance, their eyes filled with a fire that showed they were not going to back down. They yelled that they would rather die than give me the satisfaction of knowing who sent then
I walk over to the door and call out to one of my guards. “Get in here and make a fire.” The guard nods and quickly moves to gather some logs and kindling, setting them up in the center of the room. I stand back, arms crossed, watching with a dangerous look on my face as he strikes a match and sets the fire ablare
Turning my attention back to the rogues, I see fear etched on their faces as they realize what’s about to happen. I stride over to the fire, snatching the iron whip from its place on the wall. The metal hisses and glows with the heat of the flames.
With a flick of my wrist, I bury the whip in the heart of the fire, the coals sizzling and popping as they lick at the metal. The sound alone is enough to make the rogues whimper in terror.
1 turn back to face them, my eyes cold and hard. “Now,” I say, “let’s try this again. Who sent you?”
As I draw closer to the flames, I can feel the heat emanating from the fire as it dances and flickers around the logs. My grip tightens on the whip, and I stare into the glowing embers, watching as they caress the metal
The heat is intense, and I can feel the sweat starting to bead on my forehead. The fire has transformed the whip, turning it into a weapon of scorching destruction
1/3
Chapter 47
I watch as the incial slowly changes color, from its original silver late to a deep and fiery red. The whip hisses and spits as the metal reacts to the heat, and I can hear the rogues whimpering and crying out in terror.
The sight of the burning whip sends shivers down my spine, and a sense of power courses through my veins. The heat of the fire is a reminder of my donnance over the mgues, and I relish in the fear that it instills in them.
1 pull the shops out of the flames, and it glows with a fierce intensity. The metal strands are now glowing red–hot, and I can see the sweat dripping down the faces of the augues as they anticipate the pain that is to come.
With a menacing grin. I crack the whip, and it emits a sharp and piercing sound that echoes throughout the dungeon. The rogues cry out in agony as the metal strands tear into their flesh, leaving behind bloody welts and scars.
The burning iron whip is a symbol of my power and authority, a tool that I use to maintain onder and control over my Pack. And as the rogues continue to surram and cry out in agony. I know that my power over them is absolute.
As I raise my arm, the iron whip gloss in the dun light, and I can feel the
wright of it
of it in my hand, a weapon of justice and retribution. With a flick of my wrist, the whip lashes out, cutting through the air with a deally hiss. It strikes one of the rogues, leaving a mark on his skin, a deep red welt that rises from the flesh like a serpent uncoiling from its slumber.
The rogue howls in agony, his voice echoing in the dungeon like a demon’s scream. I raise the whip again, bringing it down upon the second rogue, the iron biting into his skin like a viper’s fangs.
The sound of the whip cracking is like thunder in the small space, and the rogue writhes in pain, his skin already starting to blister and peel under the heat of the whip. The marks that the whip leaves are like a roadmap of agony, a testament to the pain and suffering that I can inflict upon those who cross me. Each strike leaves a new mark, a new scar that will serve as a reminder to these rogues of the price of their defiance.
The whip cuts through the air again and again, the sound of it ringing in any ears like the roll of a bell. As I continue to lash the rogues, their screams become more and more frenzied, their pain becoming my pleasure. 1 revel in the power that I hold over them, the ability to inflict such pain and terror with nothing more than a flick of my wrist. The marks that the whip leaves are like a signature of my wrath, a symbol of the fire that burns within me, a fire that I will use to consume anyone who dares to stand in my way.
“Are you ready to to talk!!” I yelled, smiling.
“Never!! Argh!”
The pain in my hand is throbbing, yet I refuse to let go of the whip. I can feel the heat emanating from the metal as it radiates against my skin. causing it to sting and burn. The sensation is excruciating, but the anger that boils inside me is enough to hold back the pain. I grit my teeth. refusing to show any sign of weakness.
My lingers are now numb, and my grip is slipping, but I cannot let go. The whip is my only weapon against these rogues who dare to trespass on my territory. They must pay for their insolence, and I am the one who will make them pay. I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the pain that is shooting up my arm, and focus on the task at hand. I need to teach these rogues a lesson
The pain in my hand is now unbearable, but I refuse to stop. I continue to strike the rogues, one after the other, leaving a trail of bloody marks in my wake. The whip becomes an extension of my arm, an instrument of punishment, and I wield it with a ferocity that leaves even me shaken.
I continue to whip the rogues, relentlessly punishing them for their crimes. Their screams and cries fill the room, echoing off the cold stone walls. The anger inside me burns hotter with rach strike of the whip, driving me forward despite the pain in my hand.
As I strike them again and again, the flesh on their backs begins to peel away, revealing the raw red tissue underneath. The smell of burning flesh fills the air, mingling with the sound of their agonized screams. But still, they refuse to talk. They spit curses and insults at me, telling me that they would rather die than betray their comrades
Their defiance only fuels my rage, and I lash out even harder. It isn’t until I see their rib bones begin to show through the torn skin on their backs. that I finally stop. The rogues are barely conscious, their bodies wracked with pain and exhaustion. I order my men to tie them up and bind their hands and legs, making sure they can’t escape or harm anyone else
1 also order them to blindfold the rogues, depriving them of sight and leaving them in a state of disorientation. As I leave the dungeon, I can still hear their screams echoing behind me. But my anger has been sated, for now. I know that the rogues will talk eventually, and when they do. I’ll be ready to make them pay for their crlines.
As I turned to leave the dungeon, I could hear Calen’s voice ringing in my ears. “What are we going to do with them! They may not survive this” His voice was filled with concern, a stark contrast to my own ruthless anger.
words
“Feed them to the rats in the sewers, and make sure they w” I replied, my voice cold and emotionless. The rogues screamed at my their terror palpable. Caden’s eyes widened in shock, his mouth agapr.
“Asher, that’s too cruel,” he protested weakly, but I could see the fear in his eyes. Fear of me, fear of what I was capable of. I ignored him and walked out of the dungeon, taking a deep breath of fresh air. As I walked, I looked down at my hand, which was still healing from the wound that Raya had given me..
10 10 PM d
Chapter 47
The scar was still visible, a constant reminder of my weakness. I flexed my hand, feeling the pain shoot up my arm. It was a reminder of my humanity, of the fact that I was not invincible. But my anger burned brighter than the pain, and I pushed it aside. I looked around, taking in the beauty of the forest that surrounded me.
The leaves rustled in the breeze, the birds sang sweetly. It was a moment of peace, a moment to gather my thoughts and emotions before I returned to the reality of my duties as alpha. I took another deep breath, feeling the anger and tension slowly cbb away.
I looked down at my hand again, focusing on the scar. It was a reminder of my weakness, but also a reminder of my strength.
But I couldn’t dwell on that now, I had duties to attend to, responsibilities as alpha. I turned on my heel and began to make my way back to the packhouse, my mind racing with plans and strategies. As I walked, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt at the thought of feeding the rogues to
the rats.
It was cruel, yes, but it was also necessary. I couldn’t afford to show weakness, not in front of my pack. My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of my name being called. I turned to see Caden jogging up to me, his expression still filled with concern.
“Asher, one of them is dead already. What do I do with him!” he asked, his voice soft and tentative. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I couldn’t let him see the doubt in my eyes, the fear that lurked beneath the surface.
“Don’t waste him, that’s good meat, Feed him to the hounds,” I said finally, my voice flat and emotionless. “We have work to do.”
Startte him, that’s good meat. Feed him to the hounds,” I said finally, my voice flat and emotionless. “We have work to do
C
