Tortured Hero Novels & Stories

“I am paying you to make that bloody prick’s life a living hell. Here you are defending him. I don’t like it.” Unlike other people in this club, Matero wasn’t afraid of me. He knew me too well, saw me from too close, knew my family, friend, nemesis, and the life that I lived. This man knew every little detail about my life, more than I knew about him. He saw the vulnerable Nathan after Olivia’s death, the raw one whom I concealed from the world. I was mentally broken and emotionally wounded. I was lost after losing Olivia; she was the best thing that ever happened to me, and when she was gone, it broke me up badly.

Not a patch of skin on their bodies was in good condition and they had been savagely tortured. Tucker, the leader of the squad, had been badly beaten and was barely surviving. Had he not been a Tier-4 master fighter with a strong physique, his injuries would have killed him. He was alive but ghastly pale. He was having difficulty breathing and felt his life draining from his body. Before him stood a tall, muscular man with blood-red hair and grayish pupils. His entire person exuded an immense, malicious presence! He was precisely Shaun Shapiro’s father, Inferno.

Still, out of the hundred-plus people he could control, he had to release the others and focus on that one who knew how to hack! 'So f*ckin painful!' He howled internally from feeling like his skull was not only being split, but that his brain itself was being smashed and cut into pieces. All over he was feeling uncomfortable for his blood started to seep out of his body, making him look so hideous. Considering that, how could he be feeling good? The torture was no less than what Sandro Smith made him go through four years ago. Bathory was an even scarier opponent than Sandro. To the point that all Eithan could hope for was not a slim chance of victory, but survival.

His veins felt like fire, his nerves screaming under the assault of the chemical cocktail they’d forced into his system. He had endured this systematic torture six times now, yet the agony remained fresh, sharp, and entirely unforgiving. He was a weapon being forged in a furnace, his humanity being stripped away to make room for the cold, calculated violence required of him. The fire grew into a blistering inferno. He needed to strike, to let out the savagery that was clawing at his chest, but the heavy-duty reinforced steel chains pinning him to the wall held him fast. The urge to maim, to kill, was a physical weight—a hunger that refused to be sated.

It only brought more cases to him to solve and he was familiar with only one solution. Torture. Torture of different kinds, for the ten years of his painful journey he had learned different ways to reduce his enemies to the extent of them either asking to be killed or trying to kill themselves. And he loved every bit of being the reason of others pain, screams and begging, even though the pleasure never stayed there for long but still it was the only way for him to satiate the impatient fire of hatred which was burning in him for the past ten years.

The guards responded in affirmation. In the dimly lit chamber, the atmosphere was heavy with tension and fear as the torture continued. Hercules' face remained impassive, showing no signs of mercy or compassion. His Beta Neo, on the other hand, seemed to relish the man's suffering, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. The man tied down on the chair cried in agony, his screams echoing off the walls. Despite the pain and terror, he refused to confess to whatever crime he was accused of committing.

Hero's consciousness slowly became muddled, and he eventually had a blank look on his face. "W-What did you do to me?!" Hero looked shocked. His soul seemed to have fallen into an icy abyss that froze him to his core. "Don't worry. I won't kill you. I'll just maim you and make sure you suffer a fate worse than death. You'll find out how it feels to be tortured." Chase stood up slowly. He sounded calm. "No! No! You can't do this to me!" Hero said in a fluster.

“Liam is a bully. I don’t like bullies.” “Mhm,” he rose to his feet and moved to stand near the wall of greenery. “You are a hero.” “Me?” I was astonished. “Oh, no. That’s Tarragon. She’s the hero. I’m just… me.” “No,” he turned back and offered me his hand. His palm was warm and calloused against mine and his arm strong as he lifted me to my feet. He smiled down at me and reached out to stroke a lock of my hair that had fallen free of its braid back behind my ear. “You are a hero. Every villain needs a hero, and you’re mine, Daethie. I think it’s safe for us to get out of here. What do you think?”

I screamed, struggling against my restraints. The head guard glared at me, his face twisted in a menacing glare. "I will ask you one last time, War Alpha." He raised one of the coals with the metal handle, bringing it closer to my thigh. A wave of excruciating pain hit me as the coal was placed on my left thigh, the heat burning through my skin like a branding iron. I arched my back and let out a scream that shook the walls of the torture room. It brought back memories of being stabbed repeatedly in the chest by enemies and punishing Rogues in my dungeon. Now, I was experiencing the pain myself for a crime I didn’t commit.

Someone that I loved and cherished. “It seems like he never has been tortured before. I thought the Huntress surrounded herself with people who were tough and the same as you, broken and fucked up. But then here is this wolf, he cries and screams at the smallest of pains. I didn’t even need to pull his claws out to get him to tell me that he loved you.” Oran laughed again, seemingly finding our position amusing. The screams finally subsided and I felt the tears fall from my cheeks. I fought hard against the chains and they rattled as the brushed against one another.