Opera, sung by a woman of echoing volume emenated from the device, filling the halls. The torture master returned, rib spreaders in hand. "Now I know I should be asking questions, but let's be honest with eachother, hm? I don't need any secrets revieled, and you have no secrets to keep." His lips pealing back to show poorly kept teeth as he grinned soon to be bloody murder.<br/>"Oh yes... I do..." The undead said, voice trailing off, going strangely soft. This, of course, caused the man to quark a brow.<br/>"Oh really?"<br/>"Yes... There is a girl, behind me... Is she, one of yours?" His own brow lifting, a silent challenge.<br/>"YOU LIEING, MAGGOT SUCKIN'~" The Torturer began, but moved to look around the rack none the less, his tirade ending in his throat as he saw that, indeed, there was a trembling girl hiding there. "Where in the bloomin..." A sudden, forced voice as husky as old corn spoke up, almost hissing with ill veiled malice.<br/>"Now there someone... Behind you." At what point he became totally free was unknown. Simply that, one moment he had been on the rack, and the moment nobody was looking, he was free. The sound of a crude weapon plunging through flesh resonated throughout the dungeon. Talon like fingers wrapping around the man's throat, before piercing flesh and rending his air pipe out. Blood pooled from the human's lips, the spreader falling ludly to the cold stone floor.<br/><br/>Grabbing the corpse by the shoulder, his other hand still jammed into the lift side of the small of the man's back, the cadaver set it down gently... And only then, pulled his now blood soaked hand from between where the man's vest met leggings, an organ so brown it was almost black lamely clutched in his palm... "Thanks." He stated, sounding oddly, bored, before tossing the messy thing to her. "What's your name... And why, are you here?" He commanded of her, while turning back, back hunched and... Well, one could not say he was shambling, or shuffling. The gesture was too strange, too alien. Toe tips so close to the ground it was like he dragged his feet, and yet he didn't. Each motion more like a slithering snake, sickeningly elegent, fast while seeming slow, mocking the guise of lazy. To the other side he went, palming a ballpeen hammer as he aproached the metrenome....<br/><br/>And in one fell, over the head swing, he pulverised the perfectly calibrated tool. " One million, two  hundred, thirty five thousand... Nine hundred, and ONE seconds..."<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>