“No, wait,” Talisker groaned, the fear rising in his throat.
“Take it off him then,” cried the leader and the man tore away the shirt, ripping a square foot of skin an inch deep from Talisker’s back.
Talisker was surprised he was able to scream, couldn’t believe the sound he had made as it curdled in the sky. The pain was a searing burn immediately covered by boiling fat, and where the skin and shirt were still connected to his body, it continued to tear moment by moment, inch by inch. Talisker’s vision started to cloud and he was suddenly freezing.
“He’s passing out,” came a voice. “More water,” and the man gripping him threw what water remained in the flask in Talisker’s face. “You don’t want to miss out on the main course.”
He was dragged by his shoulders to the edge of the cauldron
