The Daeva’s nails had already been ripped out; green blood flowed sluggishly, coating his hands. Shakuni picked up a hammer and felt his arm twitch with pain as he closed his gloved hand around it. The Mist brought the Daeva’s left arm down and held it against a slab of rock, clawing fingers spread out pale on its rough surface. The Daeva said nothing, but amber veins stood out in his neck as he struggled. But for all the Daeva’s bulk, the Mist held him fast.

The head of the hammer came down on the Daeva’s knuckles with a distinct crunch. The blow jarred Shakuni’s own hand, pain shooting through his arm, but he did not stop. Two…three…four times he brought down the hammer. The Daeva hissed, howled and heaved, emitting strange sounds. He jerked back his hand from the slab, his palm momentarily turning sideways. Shakuni smiled as the hammer came down again and crushed the wrist, leaving it a blackened mess. ‘Will you talk now?’

The Daeva screamed, the sound making the blood surge in Shakuni’s ears. ‘No? Very well.’ He traced his finger across the smashed knuckles, then tapped the thumb and ran his finger in a circle on the palm, finally touching the smashed wrist. ‘As I told you, it’s an art. A precise art.’ He grinned as the hammer hissed in the air. ‘So Daeva, what is your name?’ he asked even as the hammer smashed methodically into the Daeva’s ribs.

‘Savitre! Savitre Lios! Savitre Lios!’ the Daeva screamed, again and again. ‘Stop now! Just stop!’

Savitre Lios. Shakuni smiled. ‘See, that was not so difficult. So, what business brings you here to our world?’

There was the creaking and clicking sound of bones adjusting. Shakuni saw the Daeva’s smashed wrist turn and snap back into place. The palm that had swollen to twice its size, began to heal, colour returning to his hand. The blackness of his wrist disappeared in a heartbeat.

Shakuni peered at the figure, his eyes travelling to the Daeva’s face. ‘This isn’t the effect of this place, is it? Healing here takes weeks. Well, that’s one secret revealed. Strange that your friends had no such power when we killed them. Why?’ He pressed Savitre’s wrist with his thumb.

‘They’re different,’ the Daeva rasped. ‘Younger.’

‘You creatures are twisted, aren’t you? The older you get, the stronger you become, is that it? Still, how did the hammer feel?’

Shakuni knew exactly how it felt, having been through it himself. The Daeva’s feline eyes bulged, his cheeks trembled.

‘That’s right. You may heal bones right back, but I’m sure you cannot mend your memory of pain, can you?’

‘No.’

‘Wonderful. This level’s purpose is then served. You will remember the pain. Your fast healing powers are a gift to those like us.’ Shakuni rose from his chair and leaned down, ignoring the pain crawling up his back, his lips curling away to display his rotten-teeth smile again. ‘You see, after a while we run out of parts to burn, hit, hammer, twist and so on. Hardy prisoners, not unlike you, get used to the pain. But your healing power gives us a chance to begin anew.’ He raised the hammer again.