Lost In One Piece

3. Torture session

The Dragon's grin widened, and he leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Gojo's with a predatory gleam. "You really don't get it, do you? It's precisely because you think you're special, because you resist, that you interest me. Most people crumble at the first sign of pain, but you... you cling to your defiance. Breaking you will be a pleasure unlike any other."

Gojo felt a chill run down his spine, but he masked it with a smirk. "You're just a sadist who gets off on other people's misery. There's nothing special about that."

"You oversimplify things, lamb," the Dragon replied, almost lazily. "It's not just about causing pain. It's about control. It's about shaping reality to our will. Humans, pirates, even kingdoms—they all bend to our whims. Breaking someone like you is like bending the most stubborn piece of metal into a work of art. It's a craft."

"So, this is art to you? Torture as a hobby?" Gojo's voice was filled with contempt, but his mind was racing. He needed to understand more about these twisted people if he ever hoped to turn the tables.

"Art, sport, call it what you will," the Dragon said dismissively. "The point is, I'm the creator, the sculptor of lives. Watching you squirm, seeing that fire in your eyes slowly extinguish... it's exhilarating."

Gojo's heart pounded in his chest, but he forced his tone to remain steady. "And when you've broken everyone, when there's nothing left to crush, what then? What do you do when your toys are all smashed?"

The Dragon's expression flickered, just for a moment, with something that looked like boredom. "Then we find new toys. The world is vast, filled with countless souls to torment. We move on to the next, and the next. It's an endless cycle, one that never tires. And if by some miracle, we run out... there's always each other."

A shiver ran down Gojo's spine at the casual mention of turning on their own, but he pressed further. "Sounds lonely. All that power, all that control, and yet you're still empty, still searching for something to fill that void."

The Dragon's eyes narrowed, and the cold amusement drained from his face. "Enough of your prattle. You speak as if you understand us, as if you have the right to question us. But you're just a speck of dust beneath our feet."

"Maybe," Gojo admitted, a wry smile still playing on his lips. "But at least I know who I am. At least I'm not hiding behind some grand delusion of being a god. You're nothing but a coward who can't face reality."

The Dragon's temper flared, his hand snapping out to backhand Gojo across the face. The force of the blow sent Gojo sprawling, his vision swimming from the impact. The taste of blood filled his mouth, but he didn't let it silence him.

"Did I hit a nerve?" Gojo taunted, his voice weak but still defiant. "I must've struck close to the truth."

"Silence!" The Dragon snarled, his composure cracking for the first time. He gestured sharply, and one of the guards stepped forward, raising a long, thin whip. The leather gleamed ominously in the dim light, its purpose unmistakable.

"You seem to misunderstand your position," the Dragon continued, leaning forward on his throne, regaining his composure. "You belong to me now, little lamb. And I will break you, one way or another."

The guard raised the whip, and Gojo braced himself, every muscle in his body tightening in anticipation of the strike. The whip cracked through the air, and pain exploded across Gojo's back. His body jerked involuntarily, a gasp escaping his lips despite his best efforts to remain silent. The wound from the brand flared with fresh agony, the whip's strike amplifying the torment.

But Gojo refused to give the Dragon the satisfaction of hearing him scream. He clenched his teeth, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as the whip struck again, and again. Each blow sent shockwaves of pain through his battered body, but he held onto that ember of defiance, refusing to let it be extinguished.