THE RISING BASTARD SON-Chapter 29 - - - Broken, Not Defeated
Broken, Not Defeated
The brittle snap of twigs echoed sharply through the Elderwyn Forest, splintering the heavy silence of the night. Dry branches cracked under heavy boots, a harsh, ugly sound that traveled farther than it should have under the dark canopy of trees.
A burly figure hauled another across the uneven ground. The one being dragged was a young man—Sam—his body limp, his spirit battered. It was past midnight, the hour when even the predators slept, and only the truly monstrous prowled.
Sam had tried to resist at first, thrashing, kicking, doing anything to break free. But his body had long surpassed its limits during the day. His arms, heavy like stone, barely twitched now. His legs, sore and torn from endless labor, refused to obey. Gritting his teeth, Sam decided to conserve what little strength he had left. Survival first. Escape later.
The man’s grip was cruel, fingers like iron shackles bruising Sam’s arm. Sam’s heart pounded against his ribs, not from exertion—but from something far more primal. Fear. Raw, blistering fear. This man wasn’t like the other guards. No, there was something different about him. Something darker.
With a savage grunt, the man shoved Sam hard against a gnarled old tree. The collision knocked the air from Sam’s lungs. Pain flared through his ribs, and he crumpled to the ground, gasping like a fish dragged from water.
Slowly, painfully, Sam forced himself to look up—and froze.
The soldier standing over him was a nightmare given flesh. He was tall—easily a head taller than most men Sam had seen in the camp—and built like a siege tower. Thick muscles bulged beneath a patchwork of battered leather armor. His skin was a sickly pallor, almost gray in the moonlight, stretched taut over brutal, angular bones.
But it was his face that truly rooted terror into Sam’s heart. A deep, jagged scar ran from the corner of his left eye down to the edge of his jaw, twisting his sneer into a grotesque mockery of a smile. His eyes were a soulless, icy black—flat and empty, like black lakes hiding monsters beneath. His hair, greasy and unkempt, hung in ragged black strands around his face, casting shadows that made him look even more demonic.
The stench of blood and unwashed flesh clung to him like a second skin.
Sam knew this man. He remembered seeing him earlier, standing near Kadran when the lieutenant first arrived at the camp. Even then, something about him had screamed *danger*.
"Why..." Sam croaked, his voice barely more than a whimper, "why are you doing this...?"
The soldier didn’t answer at first. He crouched down, bringing his face close to Sam’s, so close that Sam could see the cracked, bloodied knuckles on his hands, the broken nails, the tiny flecks of spit clinging to his teeth when he finally spoke.
"So you were alive after all," the man said, his voice a low, venomous growl.
Sam’s entire body locked in place. His blood ran cold. The weight of those words pressed down on him, heavier than any chains. *Alive?* *Was he supposed to be dead?*
A shudder racked his body. Sam could barely breathe. His mind raced, panic clawing at him. Was this some grudge? Had his body’s previous owner done something to this man? Had Sam inherited a death sentence without even knowing it?
The man chuckled darkly—a sound so vile that it twisted Sam’s stomach into knots.
"I thought," the soldier continued, "that you’d bleed out after the cut my soldier gave you." His hand ghosted mockingly over his own stomach, mimicking the wound Sam had discovered when he first awoke in this body.
*It was him...* Sam realized with horror. *He’s the one who almost killed me before.*
But the man wasn’t finished.
"It’s a pity," the soldier said, sighing like a disappointed craftsman, "that I can’t kill you now. You’re Kadran’s property. Killing you would cost me more than you’re worth."
Relief, sharp and dizzying, flooded Sam’s senses. *He wouldn’t kill him.* Not yet.
But before Sam could exhale, the man’s voice dropped into a deadly whisper.
"But..." He grinned, wide and toothy. "Nobody said I can’t...*play*...with you."
Sam’s heart stumbled in his chest.
"And besides," the man added, voice low and brimming with malice, "I owe you. For what you made me do."
Sam blinked in confusion, a question forming on his lips—but the soldier didn’t give him time to ask. He leaned closer, his breath hot and rancid against Sam’s ear.
"You remember your mother?"
Sam stiffened.
the man said. "Begging like a fucking mutt. Crying for your life. For hers. Pathetic."
He laughed—a raw, savage sound that echoed into the darkness.
Hearing those words, something inside Sam snapped. Tears flooded his eyes before he could stop them, hot and shameful. His body remembered emotions he hadn’t lived, his heart mourning a woman he barely knew.
The soldier grinned wider.
"That’s the face," he said, almost tenderly, stroking Sam’s cheek with a filthy hand. "That’s the expression I wanted."
Sam flinched away, but there was nowhere to go. The tree was at his back; the monster was in front.
The soldier straightened and pulled something from his belt—a whip. Long, cruel, and stained dark at the tips. He held it lovingly, running it through his hands like a prized possession.
"This," he said, "is for biting me."
Without another word, the whip lashed out.
The first strike tore a scream from Sam’s throat. Pain exploded across his back, raw and blinding.
The second strike hit his thigh. The third across his side. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶
Sam writhed and kicked, but it was useless. The soldier beat him methodically, deliberately, avoiding his face but leaving no mercy elsewhere. Every blow was a sentence, every crack of the whip a curse.
The anger inside Sam, the rage he didn’t know he was capable of, began to burn hotter than the pain. It clawed at his ribs, filling his veins with molten fury. He gritted his teeth, swallowing his cries, willing himself not to give this monster the satisfaction of hearing him scream.
Not again. Never again.
The beating continued for what felt like hours—an endless cycle of agony and rage. Sam’s body was battered, but his spirit—though cracked—refused to break.
When the soldier finally stopped, panting from the effort, Sam slumped against the tree, his body slick with blood and sweat. But even then, even in defeat, he glared at the man with smoldering hatred.
The soldier snorted, almost impressed.
"You’ll wish you died in the fire, boy," he said, before turning and disappearing into the darkness, leaving Sam broken but not destroyed.
Not yet.
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