This time, Milos stepped in close-- real close, to the point where he was practically sitting in Eld's lap. He was still standing, though, not going to be caught dead sitting in his captive's lap. It wasn't tactically sound. Eld could have bitten his throat or something--

That didn't really matter, though. It wasn't like Milos was even thinking about it. Eld was still talking, and it barely mattered what he had to say. Milos was upset, noticeably, and for a second time, took it out on Eld's face. This time, it was the other cheek. He simply backhanded him, but it would feel just the same as the last hit. This time, though, it wasn't a singular blow. Milos simply wasn't going to stop there and let Eld get another word in.

Rather, he'd damn near implant his fist into Eld's gut-- not pierce the skin, but it might feel like he'd done so and broken something very necessary, even though he did not. Without a moment's notice, he'd even lift his foot to stamp it down on Eld's left thigh, anchoring himself to Eld, as he'd lay into him punch after punch, focusing on the face, the chest, and the stomach. He had no order or mind for what he was doing. All he knew was that he wanted Eld to hurt-- and he wasn't going to stop until he had Eld bleeding from his face much, much more.

Which was unlikely to take much time. A hit to the eye would give him a black eye immediately, just like a hit to the cheekbone would break his cheekbone instantly, and the nose, and jaw. He'd likely only need to lay three or four punches into Eld's face before the Reaper started to look much less like Eldridge Tsukimono.

Milos's rain of blows quickly deformed Eld's face and left him completely senseless; each punch felt more like a hammer blow, and if it weren't for the relatively small force he could put behind them, he could have easily killed the Reaper with just a punch or two. He couldn't even begin to estimate his injuries; after the punch that broke his nose, he lost track of what was breaking and what wasn't.

When Milos stopped, Eld's head would simply hang limp, blood pouring from his nose (which looked like pulp rather than a nose) and mouth. His vision swam as he coughed, trying desperately to get air back into his battered lungs. Wherever Milos hit him left a very visible mark, and often outright broke something.

For a while he'd just gasp; if his goal had been to quiet the Reaper, he could consider himself successful, as he wouldn't be able to talk for at least a little while.

Milos stepped back and surveyed the results. Eld was a mess. He barely even looked like the Reaper that Milos captured anymore. He still seemed to be breathing, though. For a brief moment, Milos appeared to be disappointed, but that expression was quickly replaced by a sneer yet again. Eld may have been beaten to a bloody pulp, but he was still Eldridge Tsukimono. He still made Milos sick to his stomach to just look at him.

And so, while Eld took a lengthy period of time to recoil from the abuse he'd taken from Milos, Milos himself paced in front of him. This time it was less of a patient, thinking pacing, and more of an impatient and angry pacing. It seemed the more he hit and injured Eld, the angrier he became-- and the angrier he was, the more he wanted to bereave the Reaper with newer and fresher injuries. It was a twisted cycle that could only possibly end with Eldridge Tsukimono's death-- if it kept going.

After several minutes, though, Milos stopped pacing, and rather suddenly at that. By that point, the numbness would have died down quite a bit in Eld's face. Milos spun around to the tools and returned to stand before Eld once more.

The pliers were in his hand again. Milos bent forward and down so his face would be at level with Eld's. He examined the Reaper's face and mouth-- his mouth specifically, before jamming the pliers towards his lips-- or, rather, to try and jam them past his lips.

And all while giving one simple command: "Open wide."

This...isn't good...at this rate... His captor had initially been calm and composed, seeming like he wanted something specific, which meant Eld had a pretty good chance of getting free eventually, or so he thought. Now, though, he was getting more angry, more deranged, and even if someone came looking for him it might not be in time.

He tried to think of something he could say or do to stop Milos, but all rational thought stopped when pliers were pressed against his mouth. Until that point, nothing he'd received had been too far out of the ordinary for him; getting stabbed and beaten was (unfortunately) not an uncommon occurrence for him. But this...this was something else altogether.

His eyes widened, and while he'd certainly been afraid to an extent the entire time, now that fear became overwhelming. He clamped his mouth shot and tried to move his head, all his focus (limited though it was) now being on not letting that tool enter his mouth.

Milos stared at Eld with a disappointed leer. His brow furrowed as he continued to try and jam the pliers into Eld's mouth. It wasn't working, though. For some reason, the Reaper didn't trust Milos's capabilities of a dentist. Sure, he didn't have anesthetic nearby-- but then again, that would defeat the point, wouldn't it?

"I said . . ."

The youth didn't move away from Eld all that much; all he did was move his face back a little bit, as he needed to with his whole body-- excepting his arm, as he reared back his left leg, and with a boot covered foot, jammed it straight forward, directly into Eld's groin region, all the while screaming a conclusion to his statement:

"OPEN UP," and if Milos's intended reaction was realized, he would waste not even a fraction of a fraction of a second in jamming the pliers into Eldridge Tsukimono's mouth . . .

It seemed for a moment that Eld had temporarily defeated his captor. His head was the only part of him that was mobile, and he could still breath through his mouth ever so slightly. He was lucky Milos seemed to only want to use one arm for some reason.

And then he was kicked. It didn't matter how touch a man thought he was or how much he was used to battle, being kicked there still hurt a lot, no matter who you were; being kicked my Milos's unusually sturdy legs multiplied that ten-fold.

Gasping in pain was an entirely involuntary action; he didn't even have the presence of mind to try and turn his head and avoid having the pliers enter his mouth, he was in too much pain.

It was a success; Milos managed to jam the pliers into Eld's mouth, which he let remain for a moment. Eld was still in terrible pain, and understandably so. Milos had exploited the grand weakness of all men-- something which was in of itself torturous.

Milos withdrew his foot and again had both feet set by Eld's. Once more, he bent forward, closer to Eld, to the point where he placed his forehead against Eld's-- hard against Eld's, to push his skull back into the chair, stuck between the steel of the top of the chair and Milos's skull. He was holding him in place with his own head, rather than making use of his left arm. By this point, the favoring of his right arm may very well seem uncanny. However, Eld would have much more pressing issues to worry about momentarily.

And again, Milos waited. He kept the pliers within the confines of Eld's mouth, just resting them upon his tongue as he waited for Eld to become less . . . tense. It took a little longer for the numbness of the body to go away after something like that--but Milos was willing to wait.

And after a minute, a period of time he felt would be adequate enough for Eld's numbness to recede, Milos began to move the pliers. They remained closed, but for a moment, he ran them across Eld's teeth-- the upper row, specifically dragging them across his molars. Briefly, he continued this, until opening the pliers up just a touch, and setting them shut upon Eld's first molar, just beside of his upper right bicuspid. He did nothing yet-- he was waiting, again, but this time for something else: awareness.

As the pain from being kicked started to subside, if only slightly, and Eld became aware of what was happening again, he would have preferred to have remained out of it.

No...no...nonononono! His breathing rate increased dramatically, his eyes began to water, and every part of his body started straining against his bonds to no avail. He tried desperately to make his voice heard, to tell his captor to stop, plead with him, anything, but the pliers made anything he tried to say completely unintelligible.

Powers drained, chained and helpless, whatever part of him that could be called Reaper seemed to be gone now; he was nothing more than a seventeen year-old boy, with a seventeen year-old boy's reaction to the situation: panic and fear.

At first, Milos did nothing. He held the pliers tight upon Eld's tooth, but didn't pull or even tug just yet. Rather, he seemed to be investigating his face. The face of a terrified boy. Few expressions of terror could ever be this true. This was something that could not be faked. Absolute horror-- the fear of death and mutilation all wrapped into one . . .

"I wonder . . . how many people have looked at you, just like you stare at me? Pleading with your eyes and face and every part of your body that I stop?" Milos asked. Eld couldn't answer-- but that was fine. It was a rhetorical question. "I wonder how many of them were my friends?"

And with that, a cold blooded question posed by a cold blooded aggressor, Eld would feel a sudden jolt down against his molar. It was quick and hard; there was no twisting or nudging or wiggling it out. No, there was only a tear, a downward and outwards tear, with pliers so tight against the tooth that if they were leaving Eld's mouth, so was his tooth. Milos had jerked down and out with all of his strength . . .

To make matters worse, it wasn't a perfect downwards, either. Not only would the tooth tear from the gum in one swift motion, it would tear into and against the gum . . .

For a single moment there was silence, as Eld watched in horror as the bloody tooth emerged from his mouth in the jaws of the pliers. Just one moment, and then he screamed, a scream that would have carried to the village and beyond if not for the storm. The pain hit him full force, the agony on top of what was already done to him, on top of his current exhausted, powerless condition, was unbearable.

Why was this happening? This man was a stranger to him, claiming some great injustice, but what could he have possibly done to warrant this?

No other rational thoughts entered his head; with his entire being, Eld wanted to be out of there, somehow, anyhow. Back in his dorm at the Dirige, back in his bed at home, anywhere, anywhere but here, with this madman...

Unsympathetically, Milos continued to watch Eld's face. He made note of every single contour that moved and twitched with his pain. He watched with almost scientific interest-- but it wasn't that he enjoyed it. No, the cycle had yet to be broken.

Milos had blood on him, just droplets, on his cheek and on his hand. He didn't seem to notice, though. Watching Eld suffer was more important-- and even more important than that was to cause more of it. The storm wasn't over yet.

The tooth was dropped into Eld's lap, while Milos waited again for another moment. Eld was in agony. He was screaming in pain. It was careless. He wasn't even trying to avoid future pain anymore-- but the again, it was unlikely that he'd feel any immediate pain after this. Adrenaline must have kicked in. It would take a moment for that to wear off, but Milos wasn't going to wait that long before he took the opportunity to establish the foundation of another extraction.

And at the conclusion of Eld's screams, Milos jabbed the pliers into his mouth once again. He went, instead, for a front tooth-- the front right tooth, which he clamped down on and left sit for a moment, once more awaiting Eld's reaction-- once more awaiting the numbness caused by adrenaline to fade away, for yet another extraction . . .

Eld's screams eventually ceased, but whether it was because the pain dimmed or his voice was too sore to continue was up for debate. Even after they stopped it was a minute before he looked up and seemed aware of what was going on again.

And then the process repeated, as every muscle in his body jerked in a desperate attempt to get away. Since it was it his front tooth being grasped this time, it left his tongue unmolested, able to voice his thoughts.

"Stop..." Eld whispered hoarsely. "Stop...stop..." It was all he could say, all he could think of. Later, he'd likely curse his fate, curse his power, that while all Reapers faced danger, he was the only one ever singled out, the only one who repeatedly was sought after specifically, resulting in danger for him or those close to him.

But right now, the only thing going through his mind was getting away, stopping this torture. Tears flowed freely down his face. He could be very hard on himself at times, and accept physical punishment as something he deserved, but not even he felt he deserved this...no one deserved this...

Milos was entirely unaffected by Eld's pleas. In fact, if anything, they made him angrier. His eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, and face tensed up in anger. Instead of saying anything, for awhile, he stared at Eld-- rage spread out all over his face. Milos was almost trembling with anger. His hand was, at least. Eld would feel it, shaking ever so slightly, tugging upon his tooth and shifting it in its place back and forth . . .

It was as if he was trying to find something to say, but couldn't think of a single thing-- and it was making him just as angry as it did when he struck Eld.

Without remorse, he withdrew the next tooth . . .

. . . and in time, eight more just the same. It took only a half an hour, but to Eld, it might have felt like eternity. By that point, he was missing almost half of the teeth in his mouth. Ten teeth would all sit in his lap, with an eleventh on the floor somewhere, wherever Eld had spit it out-- the one that had been knocked out from the punches Milos threw. Three more, and it would've been literally half of the teeth in Eld's mouth.

That's where he stopped, though, and stepped back from Eld, turned to the work bench, and dropped the bloody mess of pliers onto the bench. All the other tools rattled and moved from their position , as blood droplets scattered about the thick wooden frame. Milos grabbed the towel, and without a word, began to wipe off his face and clean off his hand. He'd gotten blood every-- but compared to Eld, he was perfectly clean before wiping it all off.

Eld had several moments. Milos did nothing for the time, only clean himself off and root through the other tools, picking up one, but deciding against it, and setting it back. One of those decisions, as Eld might see if he were to look up to Milos, included a saw, which he visibly held for a long time before setting back.

It was by far the most agonizing experience he'd ever had. Constant excruciating pain, and every time it began to fade another tooth was pulled and it redoubled again.

He couldn't be sure how much time had passed--it may have been minutes, hours, or even days. He couldn't even remember why he was there. There had to have been a reason, but none came to mind; it was all so senseless to him...

Perhaps Milos was looking for a reaction from Eld as he decided on his next tool, perhaps not, but either way he wasn't going to get one. At least, not one different from any he'd gotten already. He no longer even had the energy to move his head, to focus on him for long enough to have any idea what he was doing. He'd long lost the ability scream, too. The only noises he made where coughs as he tried not to choke on his own blood and the occasional pained sob. Even if he tried to talk, with his mouth in the state at was, it'd just come out as gibberish.

For awhile, Milos continued to search for another tool worth use. Whether or not he was trying to psyche Eld out even more was unclear. More than likely he didn't even need to psyche him out anymore. Eld couldn't even talk or scream anymore. Which, oddly enough, was fine by Milos. The storm was dying down a little.

"You can't hold your breath for a full minute anymore, can you?" Milos finally asked.

He turned to face Eld. His face was clean, now, and his arm was back inside his cloak. If he had a weapon or not was unclear. Judging by the way he looked at Eld, it seemed he had calmed down quite a bit during the time he took to wait over by the work bench.

"To make it fair, how about thirty?" Milos asked again. He didn't sound like he was taunting or tempting at all, though. This was a genuine chance for Eld to get out and possibly go back home. "I won't even change my mind this time. I promise. No inhale, no exhale-- no breathing at all for thirty seconds, and then you can go home."

He just needed to hold his breath for thirty seconds . . .