The door squeaked open.

  Wretch shot up, grasping for the edge of the bed, only to slam his head against the bars of the cage. His neck hurt and the thoughts spun in his head.

  With a growing sense of melancholy, he remembered where he was.

  “Hello professor! Welcome sir, welcome,” a voice said. “Boris has been looking over the new prisoner, he cares for the others a lot, yes? Even have the fire ready for him, yes?”

  Wretch blinked away the sleepiness, naked and stiff from the night air. Boris had lit a fireplace next to his armchair, red hot metal tools glowing in the flames.

  A familiar smell filled his nose.

  Moldy herbs.

  He knew that one, but from where?

  Morning light was streaking down from above, filtering through the gears and pipes. At the door stood a thin man in a stained leather apron, flanked by two masked figures. Clean shaven chin, a pair of glasses over cold blue eyes and blackish gray hair combed back in a scholarly look.

  “Yes Boris. Keep at it and I will give you the most handsome face in the slums,” the man said with a smile, patting Boris on the shoulder. “Now, let me welcome our special guest.”

  He clutched his hands behind his back to strut over the stained floor, gazing straight at him.

  “Good morning Wretch, you can’t imagine how glad I am to see you up and about.”

  He gestured to the interior of the clocktower, pipes and ticking gears stretching upwards to the stained glass above.

  “I ask to have you look past the quality of our lodging, security is a pillar of the Waldenvich research facility,” he said with a practiced smile that did not reach his eyes.

  Wretch’s gaze narrowed.

  “You… that smell...” He said, sifting through his memories.

  A vivid image flashed before his eyes, a multi armed horror under a flickering gas-lamp, the light vanished for a moment, and the creature was gone.

  Milley, my first hunt.

  The man called the professor gave a smile without a hint of emotion.

  “My crewmates, are they alive?” Wretch asked, pressing his torso towards the cold metal bars.

  The professor looked at his masked companions and then back at him. For a moment they studied one another, the piercing blue eyes gazing straight through him, then he sighed and shook his head.

  “I am sorry, little Wretch. Your team showed great courage, but fell outside the Inner Wall," he said with a shake of his head. "You are the last one left.”

  “Liar,” Wretch hissed from behind bars. “Only one of the masks stayed behind, they wouldn’t go down that easily.”

  The professor moved closer to the cage drumming his fingers on the thick leather of his apron. “What you believe is of no concern to me, however, let's focus on our current situation?”

  Wretch stared into the man’s eyes. He didn’t blink, and neither did the professor.

  “What do you want from me?”

  The man shrugged in a carefree manner.

  “Well, I don’t want to ask too much of a guest, one that is Blessed no less. What do you presume I want?”

  Wretch was quiet for a moment.

  “Material.”

  The man raised a finger. “Precisely, young man!” The professor said in a lecturing tone.

  “You can imagine the bureaucratic hardships we faced in trying to get access to the hunter bureau’s records. All I needed was an Ember or Fireling that could regrow limbs but they were few, hard to locate, and even harder to... acquire.”

  The professor spread his arms towards the cage.

  “What a twist of fate when such a Blessed, was the same someone that had slaughtered my poor gatherer, little Milley was one of my greatest works.”

  The professor gave a reminiscing look with a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  “I remember like yesterday the times she screamed so loud that I had to sew her mouth shut.”

  “You created that thing, that’s why both of you smell like rot,” Wretch said.

  “I certainly did create her, for the sake of progress, of course. I have a rather fascinating Blessed power myself.”

  The professor walked around the cage, studying his naked body with the look a sculptor gave a block of clay.

  “It’s only fitting that you repay me, don’t you think?”

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “What’s your relation to the Gulschak empire?” Wretch hissed.

  “The Gulschaks? Oh, they are my kind sponsors and capable assistants. They too see the value in progress, and I lend them my goods in exchange.”

  “Professor, we should be careful,” said a robed figure, his mask portraying a furious face.

  The professor waved at him.

  “Of course, of course. I go on tangents, something I picked up in the lecture halls. Now my lovely little rat eater.... extend your black arm.”

  “...and if I refuse.”

  The professor gave an appalled expression of pure shock, the type you would expect to see in a cheap theater. His eyes wandered over the interior of the clock tower, the four other occupied cages dangling from chains.

  “That would be most unfortunate, I would have to get my material elsewhere. How fortunate that we have plenty in this very room.”

  “I’ll do it,” Wretch responded without hesitation. The professor turned with a smirk, as if he’d just passed some kind of test.

  An arm is nothing, I'll play along for now.

  “How very excellent!” He snapped his fingers, “assistants, please hold our guest still as I perform the surgery.”

  Wretch extended his hand through the bar and a masked figure grabbed his wrist with a quick, harsh movement, yanking him towards the cold bars.

  “Hey! That’s not necessary.”

  The other figure, carrying a joyful, laughing mask, reached into the cage from behind, grabbing his other wrist and holding his neck in a choke. He drew in air through his nostrils, committing the smell of their clothes deep into his memory.

  In the corner, Boris jumped up and down with an ecstatic expression.

  “Now let’s begin, we are on a tight schedule, friend,” the professor said, reaching for a fold in his apron. He revealed a long bent metal tool with a jagged blade and a worn handle. The others in their cages look away.

  Is that a saw?

  He couldn’t help but struggle, but the assistants were strong and the tool was carefully measured against his naked skin. Then, the jagged edge sank into his flesh just below the shoulder.

  Sharp pain and terror shot up his arm and his heart skipped a beat. He clenched his jaws not to scream, to hold it in. The blade moved back and forth, lacerating through him in slow calculated motions. His scream bounced off the walls, and he struggled with all his strength, the assistant fighting to hold him down as the cage rattled.

  The saw didn’t stop.

  Blood pulsed and sprayed out of the wound, dripping along the bars down to the bucket below. When the blade hit his bone, a jolt of white-hot torment flashed through him and his scream turned into a howl.

  “Tough bones, and black, how fascinating.” The professor said, still handling the saw with a pleasant smile. He pushed harder and the lacerated blade dug further with a grating, slick sound.

  Suddenly they were done, but seeing his own arm being lifted away made his head spin and something cramped in his midsection. He doubled over, emptying his stomach contents through the bars. The masked assistants hissed in disgust but didn’t let go.

  “Boris,” the professor said with eyes glued to the arm that was no longer his. “The cauterizing tools if you would.”

  The childlike but cruel guard reached into the fire and pulled out a red hot metal rod, a wide grin plastered on his uneven face. Wretch's severed stump was pulsing blood and he couldn’t help but reach for the flame in the back of his mind.

  “If you think that hurts.” The professor said, “It’s about to become much worse.”

  Wretch coughed and heaved in the air. “Wait! I can heal it.”

  The professor froze for a moment, then burst into a joyless laugh.

  “Right of course, how could I forget!” he said.

  His gaze flicked to Wretch, below his eyes a red splatter marked his cheek. He grabbed the sizzling rod from Boris.

  “But you know, I think it is only fair that you get the same experience as our other guest, just this once?”

  Wretch’s eyes went wide.

  “There is no need, please!”

  “Burn it!” Boris squealed, jumping up and down. “Boris loves the smell.”

  The professor moved the rod towards his bleeding stump, still locking eyes with him. Wretch struggled with all his might, throwing his body weight against the masked assistant that held him down.

  He felt the heat inch closer and closer. The animalistic instinct to get away made him struggle with newfound vigor, and the assistants tightened their grips to hold him in place.

  The rod hissed and sputtered against his bloody stump. His body arched and the muscles spasmed, it was the sensation of a thousand needles piercing every inch of the tissue, every fiber of nerve. He didn’t scream, he couldn’t, all that escaped him was a gasp.

  Then it was over, and the hands released him.

  The world spun, and he crawled into a ball, whimpering and moaning, the only noise he could produce. The professor put the stolen arm in a box of ice, cleaned his gloves with a white tissue and began whistling a cherry tune.

  “There we are! Pleasure meeting you, Wretch. If you don’t have a similar arm ready by tomorrow morning, I will sever the arm of our guest up there. And the poor soul doesn’t have much left to give, now do they?”

  They turned to leave, but paused in the doorway.

  Through the blur of tears, Wretch saw the sadistic man frown.

  “Oh, and if I come back to find that you have ended your life,” The professor said with a grim tone. “Then I will put our other guests through torment and suffering that would make this place look like paradise.”

  The frown on the professor’s face turned into a smile.

  “See you tomorrow!” He said with a bow as he closed the door.

  Wretch wheezed, the pain from the seared wound spreading to every inch of his body, too raw and suffocating for him to focus on his Blessings. He saw the faces of the other prisoners, Cynthia, Jonah and Victoria, swirl in his vision, each with a look of pity. Darkness crept in and he slid into unconsciousness, sputtering a solemn vow that when he was free of this cage, he'd make the man suffer.