The Bloodless Man

Luna awoke to a rhythmic throbbing that threatened to split her skull. Her vision was a blurred mess, but the stench of rusted iron and stagnant dampness bit into her senses instantly. As her focus returned, her heart skipped a beat.

On a small wooden table nearby, a macabre display awaited: a row of daggers in varying sizes, iron pliers, and arrows that gleamed wickedly under the dim, flickering light.

Luna flinched, trying to pull her hands back, but a sharp metallic clink cut her short. Her wrists were bound in cold iron shackles, bolted directly into the concrete wall. Cold sweat began to bead on her forehead as two masked men approached with a casual gait—as if breaking a human being was merely a mundane part of their daily routine.

“Oh, you’re awake?” one of them rasped, his voice a sickening grate. “You slept a long time. We were getting bored waiting. Even the water didn't wake you.”

“Let me ... go!” Luna thrashed, the chains biting into her skin. “You took the wrong person!”

“Better save your breath for the truth, Sweetheart.”

Luna glared at them, her eyes brimming with tears but fueled by a feral rage. “What other answer do you want?! I didn’t kill Michael! I know nothing about that poison! I never even left my room without his eyes on me!”

“Tch. A body this beautiful ... it’s a shame to ruin it.”

The two men whispered to one another, ignoring her pleas. One of them fanned the embers in an iron brazier. In an instant, flames roared, casting monstrous shadows against the wall. He picked up an arrow, heating the tip until it glowed a searing, molten orange.

“What are you doing?! No—stop!” Luna squeezed her eyes shut, her entire body convulsing as the radiant heat crept closer to her skin.

“Hey, not that one,” the other guard intervened, catching his partner's hand. “The Young Master won’t appreciate conspicuous burn scars. Who knows, he might still want to use her.”

“Oh, right. She is the Master’s little plaything, after all.”

Their low laughter sounded like the dry rattling of demons. Instead of the hot iron, they reached for long, slender needles that had been bathed in the flames.

"Well, Lady, it’s time to start the torture. Make sure to let out a moan so we can have some fun."

Stab.

Luna’s scream shattered the air, jagged and raw. But the room was soundproof, a concrete tomb that swallowed her cries whole. One by one, the needles pierced her pores. Tiny, hair-thin punctures now peppered her skin. From a distance, they were invisible, but the pain felt as if a million fire ants were stinging her nerves all at once.

Luna felt her mind fraying at the edges. Her tears had run dry, leaving only a pathetic, raspy sob.

Unsatisfied with her silence, one of the men grabbed a pair of pliers. Without warning, he clamped them onto Luna’s toenail.

“Arghhh! Stop! Please!” Luna groaned, her small frame arching in an unbearable spasm of agony.

“Spit out the truth, now!”

For a fleeting second, Luna considered lying—confessing to a crime she didn't commit just to make the agony end. But she knew better. In this house of devils, admitting to a sin you didn't commit was the same as signing your own death warrant.

“Are you waiting for every nail to be ripped out before you talk, huh?!” the man barked, tightening his grip on the pliers.

Luna managed a jagged smile, then spat directly onto the questioner's mask. The insult provoked an immediate explosion of rage. He backhanded her with such force that blood sprayed from the corner of her parched lips.

“You little whore, let me teach you some manners!”

His partner stepped in to hold him back. “Hey, enough. We’ll be in trouble if you go too far.” He turned to Luna. “Miss, there’s no profit in denial. Just answer honestly. We don't actually enjoy hurting women like this.”

“If you don't enjoy it, then go to hell!” Luna screamed. The brutality she had endured had finally snapped her restraint. Fear was gone; even the excruciating pain had begun to turn into a dull numbness. Like a cornered rat that finally bites back, she had resigned herself to her fate.

“Stop! The Master is awake,” Sapphire commanded, his voice cutting through the basement air as he hurried down.

“This girl hasn't confessed yet. A little more persuasion and she’ll—”

“Are you deaf? I said stop!” Sapphire clapped a hand on the masked man's shoulder. His gaze lingered briefly on a skull tattoo behind the man's ear. “Both of you, get out.”

“But—”

“Enough, let’s go,” the partner urged, dragging the other away. He knew better than to cross Michael’s right hand.

Sapphire watched them from behind, his eyes unblinking until their figures vanished. Immediately, he grabbed the keys from the table and unlocked the shackles binding Luna’s hands and feet. Having stood for so long, Luna’s legs gave out instantly. Sapphire caught her, lifting her into his arms. Her ankles were a mess of dark bruises where the chains had chafed. He carried her upstairs to meet the master who was waiting.

In his bedroom, Michael sat surrounded by guards. His expression remained unreadable as he watched his lover being brought in—shattered, filthy, and broken. Blood from her toes began to seep into the expensive carpet. She was forced to kneel before the man she used to playfully scold whenever she was annoyed.

“Sweetheart,” Michael called. There was no answer. “Everyone out, except Sapphire.”

“You heard the Master. Close the door,” Sapphire said.

The subordinates filed out, while Star Sapphire retreated to the corner of the room, blending into the shadows. He remained vigilant, a dagger gripped in his hand, waiting for a silent command. Michael leaned forward, tilting Luna’s chin up. He wiped the blood from her lip, but she only met him with a hollow, vacant stare.

“You know I love you truly. I’m even big-hearted enough to forgive you.”

Luna remained silent. She felt that anything she said would change nothing.

“My love, I trust you. So, tell me ... did you poison me?”

“No,” she whispered, avoiding his eyes.

“Then why did you run?”

“I found a body in the garden. I panicked. I was in shock ... I didn't realize I’d run into the warehouse. I accidentally found a large crate there.”

“What was inside?”

“Drugs,” Luna answered firmly.

Though she never used them, her years in the nightclub scene made her intimately familiar with such substances. She could recognize them with a mere touch or scent.

“Why didn't you come to me? If you had asked, I would have told you.”

“I’m terrified of all of you. There was even a cabinet full of skulls in that warehouse.”

Michael pulled her into a gentle embrace, so light their bodies barely touched. He was careful not to aggravate her injuries. “I’m sorry. I couldn't tell you because I knew you’d try to leave.”

“Will you let me go now?”

Michael flinched slightly. The question caught him off guard. “Luna ... if not here, where else would you go?”

“Anywhere. As long as it’s far from you.”

Michael’s eyes widened. His brow furrowed as he pulled away. He walked to the window and threw it open. “Sapphire, take care of Luna. Ensure she wants for nothing.”

“Understood,” the dark-haired man replied. He promptly gathered Luna in his arms and carried her out.

Michael only turned back once the door had clicked shut. He let out a long, ragged breath. He had been a mess since he woke up, and seeing her coldness only made it worse. He had never ordered his men to touch her; they had taken orders from Yohan, his father.

“Damn it!” Michael hissed, slamming his fist into the wall.

His fury peaked. Ignoring the fact that he’d just been poisoned, he ordered a servant to bring him alcohol. He drank until night fell. A few hours later, two bodies were discovered under a tree near the warehouse. The mansion erupted into chaos. They were Michael’s own men. One of them had a skull tattoo behind his ear.