Screams filled Cain's ears like music and he couldn't stop himself from smirking. Aren, one of the two Godhunters they captured two months ago today, sat on a Chair while while Valkyrie rammed a knife into the woman's thigh. She was strong, strong enough that she was able to Break free from her restraints a Month ago and Break 2 soldiers arms and the nose of another one before she finally got put down with a stun gun. Abel was the one who shot.
This has caused an argument between Cain and Abel. Well, for Cain it was. Abel was disgustingly calm and collected throughout the whole conversation, while tried but almost let His emotions free. He hated this. Hated Abel and hated how he could bring out the worst in him. They argued about how to get informations. Cain pledged on aggression and torture, while Abel pledged on calmness and giving their prisoners a false sense of security.
Cain couldn't disagree more. Being nice and calm, as Abel was, is a weaknesd. Cain learned this early, and Abel will soon too. He bit on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, as he thought about how condescending Abel has been since the Godhunters freed their companion — Riel.
Another scream.
Valkyrie now twisted the knife in Aren's thigh. She leaned forward whispering something in The woman's ear, that Cain couldn't hear. But as a response Aren spat the words «Fuck you» through bloody lips. Some of the blood landed on Valkyrie's face.
The red haired Woman turned around and silently asked for permission, which Cain granted with a silent nod.
Immediatly Valkyrie turned around to a little red button and pressed it. A desk with several objects — Excision Blades, Vibrating needles, a tear Gas injector, a neural disruptor and severely other Items Cain couldn't see — appeared from ground.
Valkyrie grabbed five of the vibrating needles and shortly after activating them, inserted them into Arens fingers right under the Finger Nails.
Aren screamed in a high pitch.
Cain gave a smile that his eyes didn't show. His own vitals flashed across His Vision; Dopamine and Endorphine levels rising.
Cain let out a little contemt sigh. He, for a little moment, for a few days, thought that Abel might have been right. But he was wrong. Cain was in control. And it will stay that way for a long time.
«Step Back now, Valk,» Cain said as he stepped towards Aren.
Cain crouched down in front of Aren, his smile fading into a neutral expression. He wanted to look her in the eyes, to see how far she'd been broken—or how far he still needed to go. Her breath came in short, ragged bursts, sweat mingling with blood as it dripped from her chin onto the cold floor.
«You think you're strong, don't you?» Cain began, his voice soft, almost conversational. He reached out and adjusted one of the vibrating needles, sending a fresh jolt of pain shooting through Aren's hand. She hissed through clenched teeth but didn't scream this time. «But strength is... relative. Do you even understand that?»
Aren's gaze was defiant despite the pain. «Save your monologue,» she spat, her voice hoarse but sharp.
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You know what I see when I look at you? A fraud. You pretend to be unbreakable, but deep down, you're just like the rest of them—weak, scared, and clinging to a cause you barely believe in."
He paused, letting his words sink in. He could see the flicker of doubt in her eyes, subtle but there. Good.
«But let's talk about me for a moment,» Cain continued, his tone darkening. «Do you know what I am? A survivor. Someone who's seen the world for what it really is. I learned early on that kindness, compassion, mercy... they're illusions. Lies we tell ourselves so we can sleep at night.» He reached out and gently tapped the side of her head, as if imparting some great wisdom. «You'd know that if you weren't so busy playing hero.»
Aren's jaw tightened, and for a moment, Cain thought she might spit at him again. Instead, she laughed—a strained, bitter sound. «You think all this makes you strong? Torturing people, spouting your sad little philosophy? You're pathetic. You're not in control, Cain. You're just a tool for them, same as me.»
Cain's smirk faltered, his lips pressing into a thin line. That word again: tool. His mind flashed to Abel, to the way his brother's calm voice carried the same undertone of superiority. The same condescension. Cain clenched his fists, the edges of his nails biting into his palms.
«You don't know anything about me,» he hissed, his composure slipping. He grabbed Aren's face roughly, forcing her to look at him. «I'm not a tool. I'm the one calling the shots. Do you hear me? I'm in control!»
Aren's laugh grew quieter but didn't die. It was faint, like a spark refusing to be snuffed out, but it was there. Her swollen lips twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile but wasn't defeat either.
«You're not in control,» she murmured, her voice raw but cutting. «You're a child throwing a tantrum. Abel knows it. I know it. Hell, I bet even your gods know it.»
Cain's grip on her face tightened, his knuckles white against her blood-streaked skin. He felt a surge of rage bubbling up, clawing its way into his throat. She wasn't supposed to laugh. She wasn't supposed to have the strength to speak, let alone mock him.
«Enough,»he snapped, releasing her roughly. Aren's head lolled forward, and she coughed, blood splattering onto her thighs.
Cain stood abruptly, pacing around her like a predator circling wounded prey. His hands twitched at his sides, his mind racing. His vitals flashed in his vision again—spikes of adrenaline, cortisol, fury barely kept in check. Abel's calm face burned into his thoughts like a brand.
«You think you've figured me out?» Cain said, his voice cold now, devoid of the smirk or the pretense of control. «Let me explain something, Aren. You don't get to judge me. You've never been in my position. You've never had to make the decisions I've made.»
He gestured to the torture table, to the vibrating needles still buried beneath her fingernails. «You call me a tool, but tools don't choose. I choose. I chose this. I chose to stand here, to tear apart people like you because it's the only way to survive in this world. That makes me stronger than you. Stronger than Abel. Stronger than anyone.»
Aren's breathing was uneven, her body trembling, but she lifted her head slowly, painfully, to look at him. «You sound like a scared little boy,» she rasped. «Trying to convince himself that cruelty is strength. But it's not. It's weakness. And deep down, you know that.»
Cain froze, her words cutting through the haze of his anger. For a fleeting moment, he felt exposed, as if she'd peeled back the layers of his carefully constructed armor. His vision blurred slightly as his own thoughts spiraled.
«I should kill you,» Cain said after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper. «I should end this right now and prove just how wrong you are.» He reached His Energy balde, gripping it tightly.
But he didn't move.
Somewhere in his mind, a voice that sounded far too much like Abel's whispered, Prove it to yourself first.
Cain stared at Aren for a moment longer, his blade still in hand, trembling slightly despite his tightening grip. He hated the stillness that followed her words, hated the way they lingered in the air like a toxin. Her defiance wasn't supposed to hurt. She wasn't supposed to get inside his head.
He crouched back down, this time slower, deliberate, his eyes narrowing as he studied her face. Aren didn't respond, her breathing shallow but steady. Cain could see her struggling to hold on, to keep that flicker of defiance alive. It only enraged him further.
«You think this is weakness?» Cain gestured to the tools on the table, his tone sharp and mocking. «No, this is control. I decide how far you go. I decide how much you suffer. And I will break you, Aren. Not because I have to, but because I can.»
Cain took a deep breath, the sharp scent of blood and sweat mixing in the air. The rush of anger that had clouded his judgment moments before began to ebb, leaving only the familiar cold emptiness behind. It was like a switch had flipped in his mind, a pattern he'd long mastered. He needed to focus, to remember who he was—what he was.
He straightened, letting go of the energy blade, and his grip tightened on his coat instead. He let his mind sharpen, cutting away the remnants of the emotional storm. He could feel his heartbeat slowing, his thoughts slowing, each pulse of blood no longer feeding the fire of anger, but cooling it, controlling it. He couldn't afford to let her, or anyone, see him like this—vulnerable, unstable.
Focus, Cain. You're better than this. You're not like him. Not anymore.
His vitals appeared in his vision again—dopamine, cortisol, and adrenaline all in check, at levels where they should be. Calm. Controlled. Cold. Perfect.
His lips curled back into a smile, but it wasn't one of satisfaction. It wasn't a smile that invited warmth, or even mockery. It was the smile of someone who knew exactly what came next—someone who knew the game, the rules, and how to play it.
He looked back at Aren, whose breathing was still labored but steady, that damn defiance still etched on her face. She had tried to get under his skin, tried to make him doubt himself, and for a moment, she'd almost succeeded. But not now. Not anymore.
You think I'm a child throwing tantrums? No. I'm a king on a throne, and this is my domain.
Cain's gaze was steady as he met Aren's eyes again, no trace of the anger that had clouded his expression moments before. He was the predator now, back in control, back to the Cain who never let anyone see his weakness. He could feel the tension shift in the room as his aura of cold calculation returned.
«You're right,» Cain said, his voice calm, detached, the venom now replaced with an eerie tranquility. «I was unreasonable. But not in the way you think.» He straightened fully, his body language relaxed, his hands clasped behind his back. «You wanted to play hero. You thought you could resist. But look where that got you.»
Aren's eyes flashed with anger, but Cain's focus never wavered. She's already broken. She just doesn't know it yet.
«Valkyrie,» Cain said, his voice sharp and measured. «Clean her up. Keep her alive, but make sure she remembers tonight. Every. Single. Detail.»
Valkyrie, who had been standing silently with her blood-streaked hands clasped, nodded without hesitation. She moved toward Aren, her steps efficient, as if she'd done this countless times before.
Cain stepped back, watching for a moment as Valkyrie worked, pulling the vibrating needles out of Aren's fingers one by one with clinical precision. Each removal elicited a muffled cry from Aren, but Cain paid no attention. His focus had already shifted inward, his thoughts a swirl of strategy and anger.
«I'll be in my quarters,» Cain announced, his tone clipped. «Send me the report when she's stabilized.»
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cain lowered himself back into the chair, dragging it closer to the desk. The act of sitting, of anchoring himself, always helped when his mind threatened to spiral. Before him, the glowing screen of his terminal waited patiently, ready to receive his thoughts.
He flexed his fingers, cracked his knuckles, and began typing.
Report #0278: Extraction of Information from Godhunter Operative (Subject: Aren)
Officer in Command: Commander Cain
Location: Detention Block Alpha-4
Subject Condition: Physically stable, psychologically resistant
Methods Employed: Stage Two Interrogation Techniques, Vibrating Needles, Controlled Laceration (Thigh)
Notes:
Subject exhibits extraordinary resilience, both physically and mentally. Despite enhanced pain application, her psychological defenses remain intact. Her responses are laced with derision, indicative of either deep-seated hatred or a tactical attempt to undermine interrogators' confidence.
Additional observation: Subject's use of provocative language suggests an attempt to emotionally destabilize her captors. This tactic is unlikely to succeed against seasoned personnel but may influence less disciplined team members.
Preliminary Conclusion:
While subject has not provided actionable intelligence as of this report, her defiance appears performative. Continuous exposure to controlled stressors will likely yield results. Recommend escalation to Stage Three techniques if progress is not observed within the next 48 hours.
Cain leaned back, letting his fingers hover over the keys for a moment. The calm precision of writing reports always brought him a strange sense of satisfaction. Unlike the chaos of his thoughts, here everything had a place, a structure. It was a world he could control.
But as he read over his words, he caught his reflection in the darkened corner of the terminal screen. His lips tightened. He looked tired, more tired than he wanted to admit.
A sudden knock at the door shattered the stillness.
Cain stiffened, his composure faltering for just a moment. He closed the report file with a quick swipe and glanced toward the door.
«Come in,» he said, his voice sharper than intended.
The door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing Abel standing there, calm as ever, hands clasped behind his back. His uniform was pristine, his posture flawless. He looked every bit the model officer, the kind of image Cain knew their superiors adored.
«Still working?» Abel asked, his tone light, almost casual, as he stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.
Cain's eyes narrowed slightly, but he gestured for Abel to enter. «What do you want?»
Abel closed the door behind him and moved to stand near the edge of the desk, his gaze flicking briefly to the terminal. «I figured I'd check in. The interrogation report, I assume?»
«You assume correctly,» Cain replied curtly, sitting straighter in his chair. His fingers twitched, wanting to resume typing. Anything to avoid this conversation.
Abel tilted his head slightly, studying Cain with a calm intensity that only served to irritate his younger brother further. «You always did like writing these,» Abel said, his voice betraying neither mockery nor admiration. It was infuriatingly neutral. «It's where you're at your best—focused, methodical. It's... impressive.»
Cain's jaw tightened. «Spare me the analysis,» he muttered, turning his gaze back to the screen as though to dismiss Abel. But the weight of his brother's presence lingered, unyielding.
Abel chuckled softly, the sound too light, too comfortable for Cain's liking. «I'm not here to argue, Cain. I wanted to see how you were holding up after tonight.»
Cain's fingers hovered over the keys, his hands poised as though he were about to continue typing. But he didn't. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. «I'm fine,» he said tersely. «I don't need you checking up on me.»
«Don't you?» Abel countered gently, taking a step closer to the desk. «You've been pushing yourself hard. It's not a sign of weakness to admit when something's weighing on you.»
«Oh, don't start with that,» Cain snapped, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself. He forced a deep breath, steadying his tone. «I don't need your concern, Abel. I don't need your advice, your pity, or whatever it is you think you're offering.»
Abel didn't flinch. He never did. He simply stood there, an immovable pillar of composure, his calm gaze fixed on Cain. «It's not pity,» he said quietly. «It's care. You're my brother, Cain, whether you like it or not.»
Cain let out a sharp, bitter laugh. «Care? Is that what you call this? Coming in here uninvited, acting like you're better than me because you don't get your hands dirty?»
Abel's expression didn't change at Cain's accusation. He stood as still as ever, hands still clasped behind his back, a picture of patience that only infuriated Cain further.
«I'm not here to judge you, Cain,» Abel said, his voice calm, unbothered. «And I don't think I'm better than you. I do things my way because it works for me, just as you do things your way because it works for you. At least, that's what you tell yourself, isn't it?»
Cain clenched his jaw, his fingers digging into the arms of his chair. «What's your point, Abel? I don't have time for your riddles.»
Abel finally moved, pulling out a chair on the other side of the desk and sitting down. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, his gaze unwavering. «My point is that we're supposed to be working together, Cain. Not against each other. Aren's situation is under your command—I respect that. But there's another matter we need to discuss.»
Cain raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair with a forced air of indifference. «Oh? And what's that?»
«Liora,» Abel said simply, the name hanging in the air like a loaded weapon.
Cain's neutral expression faltered for a split second before he caught himself. «What about her?»
«She's under my watch now,» Abel explained, his tone even. «I've been speaking with her, trying to understand her mindset. She's... different from Aren. Less overtly defiant but no less dangerous.»
Cain let out a low, humorless chuckle. «Of course she's dangerous. She's a Godhunter. They're all dangerous, Abel. That's why I don't waste time playing mind games with them.»
«And yet, playing mind games seems to be exactly what you're doing with Aren,» Abel pointed out, his voice maddeningly gentle. «You don't just want her to break, Cain. You want her to see you as the one who broke her. Why is that?»
Cain's grip on the chair tightened, but he forced himself to smile—a cold, practiced expression. «I don't need to explain myself to you. Aren's my responsibility, just like Liora's yours. You stick to your methods, and I'll stick to mine.»
Abel tilted his head slightly, studying Cain with that infuriating calm. «You say that, but I can't help noticing how much effort you're putting into convincing yourself. Writing reports, keeping track of vitals, orchestrating every detail—it's impressive, Cain. Really, it is. But it's not sustainable.»
Cain's smile didn't waver, though his teeth clenched behind it. «Spare me the lectures, Abel. If I wanted your approval, I'd ask for it. Which, by the way, I won't.»
Abel sighed softly, sitting back in his chair. «You're so quick to assume I'm here to lecture you. I'm not. I just... worry about you, Cain.»
That word—worry—ignited a spark of anger that Cain struggled to suppress. He leaned forward, mirroring Abel's earlier posture, his smile fading into a thin, cold line. «Don't. Worry. About. Me.» His voice was low, almost a growl. «I don't need it. Not from you, not from anyone.»
Abel held his gaze, unflinching. «I know you think that. But maybe one day, you'll realize it's not weakness to let someone care.»
Cain leaned back again, forcing himself into a composed stance. «If that's all you came here to say, Abel, you've said it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a report to finish.»
Abel stood, his movements smooth and deliberate. «Fine. I'll leave you to your report. But, Cain...» He paused, glancing back as he reached the door. «Don't let Aren's words fester. She wants to destabilize you. Don't give her that power.»
Cain didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the screen in front of him as if Abel wasn't even there. The door slid shut a moment later, leaving him alone once more.
The room was silent except for the faint hum of the terminal. The terminal screen flickered to life again, the report still open where he'd left it. He stared at the cursor blinking at the end of his last sentence.
Recommend escalation to Stage Three techniques if progress is not observed within the next 48 hours.
Cain stared at the blank space beneath his report's last line, his fingers poised over the keyboard but motionless. Abel's words echoed in his mind, mingling with Aren's laughter and the fragments of doubt she'd planted.
Cain's fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then, with a deep breath, he began to type.