The cell smelled of iron and damp stone.
Henry Tarakan stepped inside as if entering a private study rather than a dungeon.
He loosened his coat and rolled his shoulders, the tension of the day still clinging to him—politics, marriage talks, black-market merchants whining about prices.
Annoyances.
This, however, was relaxing.
Chains rattled softly.
Sam hung against the far wall, wrists bound above his head by rune-etched iron. His bare feet barely touched the ground. Dried blood stained his skin in uneven layers over dirt and old scars. His head was lowered, hair clinging to his face.
Henry stopped a few steps away and studied him.
"Still breathing," he said lightly. "Good."
He circled the boy slowly, hands clasped behind his back, boots echoing softly against the stone. Sam's body reacted on instinct—muscles tightening, shoulders pulling back despite exhaustion.
Henry noticed.
Interesting.
"So," Henry continued conversationally, "let's clear something up."
He stopped in front of Sam and lifted his chin with two fingers.
"You know," he said, "I'm really interested in how you came back to the living. I'm sure that I killed you once. As well, how you escaped my premium slave emblem. Do you remember it?"
Sam didn't answer.
Henry sighed theatrically. "Of course you do. You pleaded beautifully back then, too."
He stepped back and nodded.
One of the guards moved forward, placing a small metal rod into Henry's hand. No blade. No spikes. Just cold, blunt iron.
Henry turned it once, testing the weight—then swung.
The impact landed against Sam's ribs.
The sound was dull.
Sam's body jerked violently. Air burst from his lungs in a sharp gasp, his head snapping forward. His teeth clenched, a strained sound escaping his throat—but no scream.
Henry paused.
He tilted his head.
Again.
Another strike—this time to the thigh. Then the shoulder. Controlled. Measured. Like testing material.
Sam's breathing turned ragged. Blood welled where skin split, warm and dark as it ran down his side.
Henry stepped back, watching.
"This time," he said pleasantly, "I'll experiment a little. I want to know how you survived. " He grinned. "But without leaving the fun behind."
Seconds passed.
Then—
The bleeding slowed.
Henry's eyes narrowed.
He leaned closer, watching carefully. The torn skin… tightening. Not healing fully—but closing. Slowly. Unnaturally and to fast for his knowledge of torture.
"…Oh?" he murmured.
Sam lifted his head slightly, chest heaving. His vision blurred—but the pain was already fading. Not gone. Just dulled.
Henry straightened abruptly.
"Well now," he said softly. "That's unexpected."
He gestured sharply.
A guard stepped forward with a small status crystal.
Henry pressed it against Sam's chest. Sam resisted weakly—until a sharp blow to the head left him dazed and defenseless.
Blue light flared.
Information scrolled.
Henry read it once.
Then again.
His breath caught—not in shock, but delight.
"Slow Self-Regeneration," he read aloud—and laughed.
A genuine laugh.
"Oh, this is wonderful." He rubbed his hands together, rolling his neck in slow circles. „Maybe…" he thought and mumbled something to himself about an awakening on the edge of death.
Henry then shook his head and focused back on his small prisoner.
"It doesn't explain your little trick entirely—but it's a start."
He stepped back, brushing imaginary dust from his gloves.
"Do you know what you are now?" he asked, voice almost kind. "You're not a slave anymore."
Sam glared at him through half-lidded eyes.
Henry leaned close and whispered, "You're a resource. A good one. I even have an big present for you!" He smiled. "A promotion—from a slum rat, to a labor rat."
He turned toward the guards.
"Keep him alive," he said casually. "Feed him. Just enough."
At the door, he paused and glanced back once more.
"I've had a long day," Henry added. "Tomorrow… I'd like to see how much you can endure."
The door closed.
Chains rattled.
And in the darkness, Sam breathed.
⸻
Days passed. Maybe weeks. Possibly months.
Time lost meaning.
Henry came whenever he pleased—sometimes in the morning, irritated from council meetings; sometimes late at night, smelling of wine and perfume. The dungeon guards learned quickly as well, like ordered they were observing and documenting. Following Henry's experimental plan.
The first phase was testing.
Cuts—not deep enough to kill.
Burns—not long enough to cripple.
Broken fingers—left to heal, then broken again.
Henry adjusted pressure, duration, placement.
Sam lost consciousness nearly every day.
He screamed only once. Henry remembered it fondly, lost in excitement he nearly killed Sam. After that, the boy went silent.
A gash on Sam's arm closed within thirty minutes. A cracked rib dulled from sharp agony to a deep ache in an hour. By the next day, bruises faded faster than they should have.
Henry's excitement grew.
"This is amazing," he murmured during one session, tapping Sam's chest lightly with a dagger. "Very few awaken this skill." He chuckled, greed shining in his eyes. "Which means no one truly understands its limits, origins and how it works."
He activated the crystal again.
[Slow Self-Regeneration (F) – Level 4/10]
"Slow," Henry repeated, smiling. "But reliable."
He changed tactics.
Pain became rhythm.
One hour of controlled damage. Two hours of waiting. Observation. Notes.
The old torturer—his mage—etched measurement marks into the stone wall beside Sam's chains. Lines for hours. Symbols for wounds inflicted. Runes to suppress the Steal Body skill—an irritating complication.
"Let's see what breaks first," Henry said cheerfully one night. "Flesh or will."
Sam said nothing, his empty eyes just stared back at Henry, while his teeth gritted in anger.
One session, Henry stabbed him clean through the shoulder.
They waited.
Henry paced. Took notes.
Minutes passed.
Blood slowed.
The hole closed enough to stop dripping.
Henry checked the crystal again.
[Slow Self-Regeneration (F) – Level 9/10]
"Marvelous," he whispered, eyes glowing as he chewed thoughtfully on his enchanted pencil. "Just a little more… and the skill evolves."
He leaned close.
"Do you know what this means?" he whispered. "I can hurt you even more—without consequence."
Sam lifted his head.
His voice was hoarse. Barely sound.
"Wrong."
Henry blinked.
Sam's eyes met his—steady. Burning.
"You," Sam rasped, "will still die — by my chained hands."
Henry stared at him. Then he smiled wider than before.
A blade sank deep into Sam's abdomen, not clean, but twisting as it entered. Blood poured freely, pooling on the stone floor faster than before.
Sam's vision dimmed instantly.
This was different.
The pain didn't fade.
The strength didn't return.
His body sagged in the chains, breath shallow and uneven.
Henry froze, "…Interesting," he murmured, „is this the limit of the Skill?"
Minutes passed.
Too many. Henry just watched calmly as the blood kept flowing and painted the floor red.
The guard infront of the door, watching in interest, shifted uneasily. "My lord," he said carefully, "if this continues—"
Then it happened.
The bleeding slowed—not gradually, but abruptly, as if something grabbed the wound from inside. Flesh pulled together violently, muscle knitting in uneven spasms. Sam screamed—hoarse, raw, animal—as his body forced itself to live.
The wound started closing, but it were to slow. So Henry snapped his fingers and a guard threw an healing potion at the chained victim.
The bleeding stopped after some time and with the help of the potion the wound closed. Not cleanly. But completely.
Henry inhaled sharply.
The crystal flared on its own after it were pressed on the unconscious Samuel.
[Slow Self-Regeneration (F) [Level 10/10] → Rapid Self-Regeneration (E) [Level 1/20]
Henry laughed, Loudly and beaming at Sam.
He clapped his hands, exhilarated. "There it is," he said, voice almost reverent. "I knew it. You know what that means?" He scribbled something down then leaned in close to Sam's face, eyes shining.
"You nearly died just now," Henry whispered. "Did you feel it? That moment when your body chose to live? For skill evolution you needed to go over your limit!"
Sam barely heard him.
His heart thundered painfully in his chest. His limbs trembled, exhausted beyond anything he had known. But beneath it all—something else stirred.
The pain no longer scared him.
Henry straightened, suddenly energized.
"From now on," he said briskly, "no holding back. I want to see how far this goes."