As soon as Howell let go of me, I fell to my knees, the cold mud bringing some relief to my hot skin. I wanted to lay in it, to roll around in hopes it would soothe my burning back, but I knew it would only make it worse. 

Howell stalked up to Braken, towering over the small boy, but Braken stood up as tall as he could and glared back with fire in his eyes.

"You," the man said softly. "I knew I should have killed you when I had the chance." Braken snorted through his nose, and Howell seized his wrists, both of them with one meaty hand. The Unnatural cringed, but stayed standing tall, even as the fat man dragged him toward the pole and pulled off his sweatshirt. "Now I have to keep you alive, thanks to your disappointing success. But these whippings ..." He started to laugh. "You're used to them, aren't you?"

Braken suddenly jerked out of his grip and reached out to grab him, ducking under his swipe, but before he could touch him, Howell kicked him over, his foot sinking into his gut. Braken let out a yelp and tripped over himself, landing hard on his back with a gasp for breath.

"Get him!" the man shouted, pointing. He was too afraid, I noticed, to restrain him himself. I tried to call out some sort of encouragement, but my voice stuck in my throat, and a searing agony ripped through my back when I moved.

The other Unnaturals started yelling, most of them cheering him on for being braver than they were. Braken glanced at us and his expression hardened in determination.

The soldiers rushed toward him, their spears out, but he quickly rolled over and used his elbows to push himself up. He jumped back, somehow managing to stay balanced on only one leg, and ducked under their first swipe, slamming his side into the second soldier. That one fell over, dropping his spear in the mud, and Braken hit it with his knee, giving it enough force to trip another man.

"He's stupid," Aero Chord muttered under his breath, the only Unnatural who seemed to be against Braken fighting back.

"What?" I said, grimacing.

He glanced at me. "Why do you think Howell tore up my wings? He's not the only one who's thought about escape."

"But -" I gasped in pain as he seized the back of my neck, his grip burning the gash there.

"You think you're so special, don't you?" he growled, and even through the others cheering, I could hear him perfectly. "You think you're gonna get us all out, be the hero, some savior. You can forget that. Once you're trapped here, nothing short of a miracle will get you out again." He shoved me down in the mud and I let out a silent cry. "Ten lashes," he grumbled. "You're weak, little human boy."

Braken turned and grabbed the a soldier's spear as came near him, but the pain that it must've caused made him release it before it disintegrated. They grabbed his shoulder and he elbowed out of their grip, taking a step to run.

"Come on," I whispered.

But as soon as he stepped on his broken ankle, he collapsed in the mud with a silent cry of pain, grasping his ankle with only the tips of his fingers.

"Told you," Aero Chord muttered.

They hauled Braken up to his feet and dragged him back to the pole. Howell slipped his thin wrists into the rope knot, just like the rest of us, and yanked the other end down. Braken's hands jerked him up and tightened around his raw and bleeding wrists, and he was left barely tall enough to stand on his toes. He cringed and tried to keep a hardened glare, but his shoulders were tight and his fingers were curled like claws, as if clenching his fists without really touching them.

"Don't -" I tried to say, but I couldn't get the rest out. This was all my fault. What if he'd been able to save himself in those games? What if I'd only hurt him?

But what if he'd lost?

Howell ripped off his shirt, leaving it in shreds on the ground and exposing dark marks, dark scars, maybe even more than Leo had. Only these - these were all long lines, stripes on his skin.

"Oh, aren't you precious ..." Howell murmured, resting his hands on Braken's waist and dragging them up his body. Braken stiffened, but didn't move, even as the fat man's hands gripped him tighter, holding him across his chest. He stroked him, caressing his skin, disregarding Braken's uncomfortable squeal as he twitched away, and I felt a sudden guilt settle in my soul. All I could do was stand there and watch as Howell stroked him, a sickening smile on his face. "Forty," the man ordered, and the other four Unnaturals murmured, shuffling nervously. One of them let out a strained laugh, glad it wasn't him.

"F-forty?" I whispered in disbelief. "Won't that -" I gasped in pain and cringed, but gritted my teeth and pushed through it. "Won't that kill him?"

"Not this one," Howell said with a grin, turning to the soldier with the whip. "And for good measure, since he's supposed to be the 'silent one', every time he makes a sound, starts to cry or gasp in pain ..." He paused for effect, his expression darkening. "You'll start over."

Braken tensed up and the others gasped simultaneously. "No!" I screamed. "You'll kill him!" I tried to stand up, but my back felt like it was on fire, and the soldier behind me slammed the butt of their spear between my shoulder blades and knocked me back over with a scream.

"Begin," Howell said.

"One," the soldier said.

The whip whistled down, and Braken made an involuntarily sound of pain, jerking forward.

"Again."

Again, it snapped across his back, ripping open a second gash, and again, Braken let out a squeal, his head ducked and his shoulders tight with pain.

"Again."

This time, he got through three before he cried out again, marking the fifth scarlet streak across his bare back.

"Again."

Each snap made me flinch, and each crack drove a knife of guilt deeper into my heart, burrowing deeper with every repetition of that cursed word.

"Again."

Braken had tilted his face up to the sky and was squeezing his eyes shut, grimacing every time the whip cut him open. His bruised face was tear streaked, his teeth clenched so hard that I thought he might break them. His hands were in tight claws, twitching from the excruciating pain. He got through ten lashes before Howell called once more.

"Again."

"Please, stop," I begged.

"One," the soldier said, and this time, Braken let out a blood-curdling scream, of pain, of fury, of despair. He'd already been whipped more than fifteen times, and they'd called again for his punishment to start over. He couldn't take it anymore. He slammed his forehead hard against the pole, nearly blacking out, but two soldiers ran over to him and forced him back. He couldn't talk, but he could certainly scream. He could scream like nothing I'd ever heard before.

"Again."

And at that word, he started sobbing, slumping down and letting his hands hold him up. I'd never heard someone cry like he did. Every breath he took, every wail that came out of his mouth was so filled with anguish and agony, that it made even the soldier with the whip hesitate.

"What are you waiting for?" Howell demanded, gesturing roughly. "Again."

Still, the man paused.

Howell's beady eyes flickered between the whip and Braken's bloodied back. The Unnatural hung his head down, clenched his fists, and continued to wail pitifully. "What a crybaby," the fat man finally hissed, grabbing the whip and marching over to him. He seized a fist full of Braken's hair and yanked his head up. "Quit your wailing and shut up already! You're only making it worse!" He leaned in closer, and I could barely hear what he was saying. "I could hit you all day, little boy. I could watch your blood run a river and flood the arena, but I have things to do, so I suggest you shut up and let me get this over with. Do you understand?" Braken nodded just slightly, and Howell released him. "Good." He stood back and readied the whip. "One."

Braken arched his back and squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lip hard until it bled.

"Two."

He arched his back again and clenched his fists tighter, cringing. The blood from his lip dribbled down his chin. But he didn't make a sound.

"Three."

I couldn't watch anymore. I covered my head with my hands and cried. What had I done? I was going to kill him.

Ten.

Somehow, Braken managed to remain completely silent. The other Unnaturals felt the dark atmosphere, too, and stayed quiet as well.

Sixteen.

The silence was eerie and chilling, soaking into my bones and choking up my throat. I almost wanted him to scream, to do something, because  only hearing the whip snap brutally against his skin was just too much.

Twenty three.

Half way there. I looked up in time to see Braken mouth those words, his face tipped up to the sky, the tears mixing with the blood on his face.

Twenty nine.

It started to rain again. It burned my gashes, but I barely noticed. The water on Braken's back made the river of blood flow like a waterfall. The silence was as dreary as the grey black sky.

Thirty four.

It was nearly over. Now, I could see his face. His mouth was open, just slightly, his skin was pale, and his eyes were hollow and empty. His hands opened and closed, as if he was reaching for something, looking for something in the air. What did he see?

Thirty seven.

It was quiet now. The silence had been threatening and cold. The quiet was calm and gentle, as if an angel had descended from heaven and was there, holding his hand. The freezing rain didn't hurt so much on my back anymore. I was growing numb.

Thirty eight.

The rain fell harder, and the soldiers began to move the other Unnaturals back to their cages. The quiet whispered gently in the wind.

Thirty nine.

This was it. One more, and it'd be finished. The angel comforting him began to move away, to go back up to heaven, and the silence returned. Braken closed his eyes and waited for the final blow, waiting the way a sick man waits for death.

Forty.

Thunder crashed, covering the sound of the sickening snap, and in a second, it was all over. The silence was broken with voices and footsteps. They released the rope and he collapsed, hitting the ground with a thump and a squish.

I wanted to call to him, to somehow try to comfort him, but nothing came out. I was helpless, and I was hopeless.

Two soldiers dragged him to his feet, barely conscious, barely alive, and tossed him toward Howell. The fat man just watched as he crumpled, as limp as rag doll. Then, slowly, he bent over and picked him up, lifting him by his armpits. Braken's eyelids fluttered, as if he was trying to stay awake, but he wasn't strong enough. His limbs dangled like the rope in the wind, and ever so slowly, his head drooped down as he lost consciousness.

The two soldiers seized my arms with their iron grips and turned me back toward the gates to lead me to my cage. Immediately, the pain in my own wounds returned, and I let out a small cry. They kept pushing me forward, and so I gritted my teeth and pressed on. Braken's pain was a thousand times worse than mine.

I looked over my shoulder, watching as Howell carried him away, the unconscious boy hanging over his shoulder and swaying as he walked. Where were they going? What was going to happen to him?

What was I going to tell Leo? I almost didn't want to tell him the truth. I didn't want to tell him about the punishment. I didn't want to tell him about the mangled flesh on his friend's back, the ocean of blood, running through mountains and valleys, the rough and torn part of his body. And I especially didn't want to tell him the number, how many he was supposed to get. Forty. But he hadn't gotten forty.

He'd gotten sixty one.