angry, my friend. Open the…"
The door exploded into a spray of wood and splinters. The two enormous men charged into the room. Handers backed up against the wall. The first soldier struck a blow across Hander's face with the back of his hand, knocking him down. The other kicked him in the stomach. Again and again and again.
Handers started to panic. He couldn't breath. He tried to get his hands down to protect himself, but the blows were coming from all angles. He didn't dare move his other arm from his face enough to see where they were going to hit him next. Then he noticed the hand in front of his eyes. The bandages had been torn off. The skin on his fingers, his palm, was pitch black, almost shiny. Most importantly, it was healed. Completely.
The soldiers had stopped. He lowered his hand to see them. They had apparently noticed the same thing he had. The bandages had unraveled down to his wrist, exposing a disproportionately large black hand.
"What a’ you looking at?" The soldier drew his leg back to kick him again. Without thinking, Handers' arm moved to intercept.
He shut his eyes in anticipation then heard a wet smack of metal against flesh, but he felt no pain. He opened his eyes and found the soldier's metal boot stuck in the tightly clenched grip of his black hand. How? How was his hand not broken?
The soldier stared down at Handers, his face pulled in an odd look. He was probably wondering the same thing.
He felt his arm again, felt the power of it. He flexed the grip of his fingers. They tightened down ever further on the metal. The soldier winced in pain and tried to kick his leg free. Handers held it firmly with almost no effort. The solider could feel his grip through a metal boot? He wondered. Or had he actually bent the metal? What had happened to his arm? The sensation was incredible. He could actually feel the muscles swelling. They were getting bigger. And there was another sensation. An itching desire to use them, to push them as hard as he could.
He yanked his arm to the side, and twisted his black, swollen wrist as hard as he could. He heard a crack. The man's ankle and leg bent unnaturally, flipping him off his feet and crunching him to the floor.
The other soldier drew his sword and held it to handers neck before Handers could get up. "Please!" Handers begged.
The soldier lifted to strike but then hit him with the butt of his sword instead. Handers collapsed onto his stomach from the blow. His consciousness blurred.
He felt the soldier's knee in his back. Then winced with the sudden pain of his arms being wrenched back. The soldier was tying cord around his wrists.
"You OK?" The solider asked the other who was still crumpled on the floor.
"No." The other answered.
The soldier dropped his face down behind Handers' ear. "I look forward to meeting your son. I'll be sure to extend a warm, personal greeting."
Handers gritted his teeth. He knew the man was just taunting him, but it still made him burn with anger.
"Hey," the other soldier interrupted. "Let's get him back to Lord Valance. Watch his hand."
The soldier kneeling on Handers, back put his elbow on the back of Handers' neck and leaned down hard. Handers choked. He leaned over and continued whispering, "Listen to me, you fat waste, if you run, if you struggle, if I you do anything other than what I tell you, I'll open you up. Do you understand?
Handers squeaked out a, "yes."
"Good. And I mean what I said about your son. When we find him, we're gonna have a ‘hole lotta’ fun."
Handers shut his eyes hard trying to control his anger. His face shook.
The soldier noticed. He put his open palm on top of Handers' head and ground it down onto the stone floor. "Does that upset you? I'm sorry, I don't want you to get too upset right now. I want to save that for later when we find your son." He slapped Handers in the face. "We want to make sure you have something to look forward to."
The burn of Handers' anger intensified. An uncontrollable tremble spread through his body, concentrating in his misshaped arm. He clenched his black fist, flexing his muscles against the cord that bound him. It felt good to push against something hard.
The other soldier pulled himself up to a sitting position and