"You think I can tell you that?! If I give him up, then not only am I dead but everyone I know will be dead! You think I'll just give the-
"Allan Trite… You have no one." The body winced, erasing away any sort of confidence. "Orphaned from birth you were born as a bastard. Not a lasting relationship to your history and not an acquaintance who isn't associated with your cesspool of cretans." Allan understood that the wisps chilling his body were from none other than the breath of the mask. "You are nothing, then by extension have nothing. All that remains left in your puny life is the importance of how long you have before the icy grip of death swallows your soul." A single large hand was all it took to clutch the face belonging to the body named Allan like a baseball in the starting position to a pitch. Fingers so deep in the flesh of its chubby cheeks that he could rip away the fat if he felt the itch.
"When I hear your answer, it will not be the same as the one I've heard from the others, understand?" The man called Allan, restrained as it was, attempted a nod, a cold sweat slickening the pores on its face. Then, its face was released to speak the truth and so it did.
Allan knew only that it and all the others had underestimated this pest. A couple of pests that were fucking around with those who shouldn't be fucked with. A description told to the man as well as the other echelon of the one who dared to disturb their services. Faced with the very pest itself, the man knew no path in which it escaped without telling the whole hearted truth. It would be lying to the face of gods when they knew full well the contents of its existing soul.
Finished, the flesh engraved in the name Allan slumped over sapped of all its strength. Yet, when it thought it was in the clear, Allan was met by the cold hard stare of a devil upon its bod.
"How do you do it?"
"What?"
"How can you steal lives without a thought?" Allan's sweat came like a hurricane. "How can you kidnap children then dehumanize them? Is that how, do you not even see us as human?" The masked man approached Allan, dropping to a solitary knee taking in the significance of the wide breadth the body's hand covered on the arm to the chair.
Allan shook back then forth in his restraints attempting to now free himself. The presence of the Evolved sunk into his organs. Tendrils of black wafted from the man's hands all while his crimson eyes glowed in the darkness like a wolf seeking its prey.
"You're evil, that's what you are. That's how you are able to commit these crimes without a purpose. You kill because you're told, you steal because it's enjoyable, that must be it." The Devil forthrightly squeezed Allan's hand cracking the bone at the wrist, an action which surprisingly produced a simultaneous sound from the mouth of Allan with the bone as it cracked.
Hunched over its bleeding wrist, Allan with one pleading eye gazed into the face of the Devil finding no sympathy. Before he could react, the Devil's hand rose clutched to the handle of the scalpel, which had been resting in his sleeve amidst the interrogation.
Allan squinted in fear, cowering as low as it could in the chair as the Devil held tightly to the broken appendage. The body cowered for what seemed to be a minute until it realized that the person had not acted out on the threat. Chancing a peek, it saw the hand still raised on high but trembling.
The masked man saw the body of flesh before him, noticing the tears, feeling the beat to its heart, and the emotion of desolation washing over its features. It was a human, a person who was not evil, but had no chance to be led. There's no complete evil to any being, just mistakes.
This person called Allan Trite had no evil meaning to do harm out of enjoyment, he simply knew nothing else and the torturer knew this. What would be the difference between one and the other?
'You know the difference!'
The torturer flinched, gripping the metal even as it bent in his hand.
''He is not evil, but he is lazy.''
'He is the cause for the evil to take root.'
He stared into the unwashed guise of Allan Trite, a man born with purpose yet decided to stop moving.
''They are slothful sinners. Those that could care less and allow the evil to be propagated.''
In the masked man's stare, Allan began to cry out, begging to the figure disguised in darkness. Flopping and flailing in its chains, the sack attempted to flee with no real chance at such an outcome.
'They are worse for they have no purpose, they have no dreams, and if they do, then they forgot them long ago.'
It was the Devil's turn to roar as a glint of steel flung downward into the flesh's hand pooling a gout of blood around its incision. However, one cut was not enough for such sinful misdeeds. For a thing who had such a disgusting face garbling on its own saliva; another followed the first stringing a steady stream on the upstroke from the stabbing which caused an arch of blood to fly across the concrete floor. A result demonstrated time and time after as the man stabbed without end turning what once was a hand into nothing more than a flattened pile of mashed skin, bone, and blood.
Somehow, the body did not pass out in shock from the pain. Remaining awake by its own wailing for help, Allan Trite witnessed its consciousness collapsing around it.
The torturer took stock of the scalpel, noticing that it had been smashed into bits as the final few stabs had just been his own fist pounding into the leftover mash.
Leaving his knelt position, the masked man bent at the core to press the mask into the body's line of sight. With little else other than the three spinning circles winding each other around and around, Allan heard the final words from his torturer before he gave into sleep.
"Remember, I am Overture, and I will continue."