Red Dragon Spaceship Awakening: I Gain Alien Abilities on Mars-Chapter 234: The Breaking Point

The man was not afraid because he would die. He was afraid because of how he would die.

And perhaps he would not die at all. Perhaps something far worse than death would be done to him, and he would be left alive to carry the memory of it for whatever remained of his existence.

Tatehan stared at the man straight in the eyeball, his visor reflecting in the battle commander’s wide, trembling pupils. The red glow of the helmet’s eyes seemed to burn into him, unblinking, inhuman and patient in a way that made the silence feel suffocating.

The battle commander was now finding it hard to breathe. His chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid bursts, his mouth hanging slightly open, his lips dry and cracked. Sweat beaded on his forehead, mixing with the blood from his split lip, and his hands twitched against the magnetic restraints, trying uselessly to pull free.

Tatehan did not ask him to talk. He did not repeat the questions Bjorn had been shouting. He just stared, saying nothing, his armored form looming over the chair like a silent executioner waiting for the right moment to begin.

And then, suddenly, Tatehan reached out with his left hand and grabbed the battle commander by his hair, his gauntleted fingers closing around the tangled, sweat-soaked strands. The man let out a choked gasp, his head yanked backward, his neck straining, and then Tatehan raised the scissors.

The blades snapped open with a sharp, metallic click, and Tatehan pressed them against the man’s scalp.

And then he started cutting.

The scissors were not normal. Bjorn had said they shocked while cutting, and the moment the blades closed around the first clump of hair, the battle commander roared in pain. His entire body convulsed, his muscles seizing as the electrical current surged through his scalp, and his voice rose into a desperate, animal scream that echoed off the white walls of the interrogation room.

Tatehan did not stop. He kept cutting, methodically, slowly, moving from one section of the man’s head to the next. The scissors bit through hair and skin, the shocks firing with every snip, and the battle commander’s screams grew hoarse, his throat raw from the constant shrieking.

Tatehan knew the pain was immense. He knew it was unbearable, knew that every nerve in the man’s scalp was alight with agony, knew that the shocks were designed not to kill but to hurt, to make every second feel like an eternity.

But that was the plan.

The goddamn plan!

As the man continued to shout, his voice breaking, his body thrashing against the restraints, Tatehan sent the dagger in his other hand forward. He pressed the blade against the soft tissue of the man’s upper palate: the fleshy part just behind the upper teeth, inside the roof of his mouth, and he drew a slow, deliberate line.

Blood dripped from the wound, thick and dark, pooling in the man’s mouth and spilling over his lips. The battle commander’s scream cut off abruptly, replaced by a choked, gurgling sound as he coughed violently, trying to expel the blood, trying to breathe through the pain.

Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the blood and sweat, and his eyes rolled back slightly, his consciousness flickering. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

Tatehan was almost done shaving the hair from his head now, though it was not a clean job. He was not holding a professional clipper, after all, just a pair of shocking scissors that left jagged, uneven patches across the man’s scalp. The result was grotesque, a patchwork of raw, red skin and tufts of remaining hair, all of it slick with blood and sweat.

The battle commander coughed again, violently, his entire body shaking, and more blood sprayed from his mouth. His eyes were glazed, distant, and his breathing had become shallow and erratic.

Even Bjorn, who had seen his share of brutality, looked surprised. He stood off to the side, his arms crossed, his expression somewhere between admiration and disbelief.

"That’s surprising," Bjorn muttered.

And then Tatehan spoke, his amplified voice cutting through the room like a blade.

"Strip him naked."

The battle commander’s eyes widened, his mouth opening as if to say something, but the pain that had been inflicted on him made the act of speaking feel like trying to high-five the moon from where he sat.

Impossible.

Bjorn did not hesitate. It was not normal for him to be taking orders, but this was exactly the kind of work he loved doing. He stepped forward, grabbed the battle commander’s shirt, and tore it off with one brutal yank. The pants followed, the fabric ripping as Bjorn hauled them down, and within seconds, the man was completely exposed, his pale, trembling body laid bare under the harsh white lights of the room.

His genitals hung limp, shriveled in fear, and Bjorn could not help but grin.

The battle commander sat there, naked and sobbing, his head hanging forward, blood dripping from his mouth onto his bare chest.

And then Tatehan spoke again.

"You know what? We have no use for this loser. Get me a very hot iron. I want to melt this guy to death, starting from his dick."

The battle commander’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with terror. "No... no... please... no..."

Tatehan tilted his head slightly, his visor glowing brighter for just a moment, and he repeated the man’s earlier words back to him, his voice cold and mocking.

"I don’t know anything. I’ll rather die than betray the mighty Obscuron, my revered leader."

He paused, letting the words hang in the air.

"Isn’t that what you said?"

"Please..." the man sobbed, his voice breaking. "Please... I’ll talk... I’ll tell you everything... just please..."

Bjorn, who had started to move toward the door, paused and glanced back. He pointed at the battle commander’s shrunken genitals and let out a short, harsh laugh. "Bro’s dick is all shriveled in fear. Looks like that of a baby, lol."

Tatehan could not help it. He almost laughed inside his helmet, the absurdity of Bjorn’s comment cutting through the tension for just a second. He actually grinned, though neither Bjorn nor the battle commander could see it behind the visor.

They still thought he was tough. Unshakable and Brutal.

And maybe, in this moment, he was.

But Tatehan was not actually as tough as he was currently exhibiting. He was not naturally this brutal, not someone who found joy in inflicting pain.

I mean, when he had killed Kael back at wastelands, he had actually cried and felt this great pain in his chest.

It had made him sob for quite a long time.

He shouldn’t have done that, because it was killed or be killed on this planet. But that was to show you that he was actually kind. He was actually a good guy. That was why back then, some days and weeks after killing the man, anytime he thought about it, it made him feel worried and sad.

He was like:

’I killed this man! I’m a monster!’

It was even now that he had stopped blaming himself or thinking about it.

But now? Now he was different. And you know why?:

Brutal times called for brutal measures. And he was damn tired of the Obscuron’s problems, tired of the constant attacks, the destruction, the fear that hung over every city like a storm cloud.

He wanted to end this case once and for all. He wanted to stop all of the Obscuron’s wickedness, to dismantle his operations piece by piece, to make sure that no one else had to suffer because of that man’s twisted ideology.

Tatehan still sent Bjorn to bring the iron, his voice flat and final. "Go. Get it."

Bjorn nodded, his grin fading slightly, and he left the room, the door sliding shut behind him with a soft sound.

The battle commander stared up at Tatehan, his entire body trembling, his voice barely a whisper. "Who... who are you?"

Tatehan shrugged, the motion casual, almost dismissive. "I’m the Knight. The one they’ll tell stories about In the future, the one who’ll kill the obscuron."

The door opened again, and Bjorn returned, carrying a glowing iron rod, its tip radiating heat that distorted the air around it.

Just by seeing it from after, you knew it could (with just one touch) melt a man go a state of being dead but still alive.

He handed it to Tatehan, who took it without hesitation, the heat washing over his armored hand.

Tatehan brought the iron closer to the battle commander, close enough that the man could feel the heat radiating from it, close enough that he could see the way the metal glowed red-hot.

And then Tatehan spoke, his voice calm, measured, and utterly final.

"It’s either you talk, or you don’t. Your life is in your hands. And mind you, I don’t want to kill you, lol. To die is better than what I’m about to do. Because when I’m done, you’ll still be alive. But a dead man will be better off than you."

The battle commander broke.

"I’ll talk!" he screamed, his voice raw and desperate. "I’ll tell you everything! Just please... please don’t..."

Tatehan lowered the iron slightly, tilting his head.

"Then start talking."