Two days left.

I twiddle my thumbs and toes and grin into the darkness.

The torturer comes to warm me up.

One day left.

I want to pace around my cage, but the chains make it too hard, so I settle for chattering my teeth with excitement.

The torturer comes to warm me up. He has friends with him, this time. They all brand me at the same time, hurried, desperately anxious to finish in time before the big show. How curious! Why brand someone who’s to die? But I don’t question them. It would be so cold down here without them. They bring me company and warmth. Like a little tea party!

It takes more hours than usual for them to finish, but when they’re done, and they’ve all left, I spend some time grinding my back against the stark stone floor. It’s a big brand, in all. Made up of many small ones. It stretches up each of my shoulder blades, almost reaching my shoulders themselves. And then it goes down low, following my spine, tapering down as it goes. My sides are bare.

As I let the pain string with familiar warmth, dotting my mind with burning white static, I realize that the shape on my back, what all of the tiny brands have been making, has become that of a heart.

I giggle to myself, alone in my cell, still writhing on the floor. Ironic. Ironic. Wonderful! I wonder, what will they do with my body afterwards? Will they burn it? Will they grind it into a mush, and feed me to the drakes? Mummification doesn’t seem to be a common practice here, but they might make an exception. I don’t mind either way, of course. Once I’m dead… everything will be fine! I won’t have to think so much, and the world won’t have to fear so much.

For fun, I decide to read through the hate messages I’ve been receiving, replying to some of them with the good news. Of course, I know that when I die, they will receive their message. Pain said He would do it, so I’m sure it’ll happen. They’ll know what happened, and they’ll be so happy. Maybe there’ll be a national holiday named after my killing? Oh, I’m too vain!

The final night leading to the final day, I sit in my cell, rocking back and forth, smiling uncontrollably, listening to my chains clinging together. Sometimes, my back brand grazes against the wall, and an electrocuting surge of pricking stinging warm pain shoots up my spine.

I look forward to sleeping. It’ll be nice. When did I last sleep fully? Without tossing or turning, or dreaming or whimpering? I want to sleep well. At peace. Death is the end. I know it is. There’s no afterlife. None of the gods have mentioned it. With this, it’ll finally be the end.

It’s really taken too long to get here. Years ago, I should’ve just accepted my fate. Why did I have to go and kill more? If I’d simply died back then, all those people I killed and everyone I hurt would still be okay. That’s why it’s okay to hurt me, and good to kill me.

…Because I’m a bad person!

I chortle. Moleman was right. Why did I ever doubt him? What was I on, thinking I could change? Ridiculous! Bad people don’t change. And good people can’t fall. All this dumb struggling I’ve been doing… I’ve been a fly, caught in the web of time, delusionally thinking that the spider isn’t my friend. Curious!

Oh, I’m giddy. I’m so giddy. Did I always have this much energy in me? I feel like I could run a marathon!

When are they coming? I really hope they come soon. Containing my joy is hard, and I don’t want to do it anymore. Just come, take me, and do what you were supposed to do all those years ago!

Miraculously enough, my prayers are heard! Only a few hours later, the doors open, and footsteps approach.

…Hm? Oh, it’s him.

The emperor takes a seat in front of me, putting down a bottle of liquor and two small glasses. “You seem disappointed to see me, hu-man,” he says as he pours up a shot for each of us.

I frown at him. “When will the guards come to kill me?”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

He chuckles. “Are you that desperate to die?”

“No. I’m not desperate. I’m excited.”

“How nice. I can only imagine the thickets your brain had to trek through to reach such a delightful conclusion.” Still not looking at me, he slides one of the tiny glasses over to the bars of my enclosure. He takes the other one in hand, smells it, smiles, and sips. For a few moments, he allows himself to savor the flavor, just like a true connoisseur might. When he puts it back down, he finally looks at me. He waves to the glass he gave me. “Well? Aren’t you going to join me, beast?”

I furl up my lips to show my fangs. “What is this?” I snarl. “What are you trying to do?”

“I’m showing you some hospitality in your final hours,” he says, all casual. “This way, when you escape, you might not kill me as you did my father. My younger brothers have all moved on in their own ways, and none of them are too interested in taking my place.”

“I’m not going to escape,” I hiss at him, grabbing the bars and sliding closer. “I’m going to die, like I was supposed to all those years ago.” My eyes flick down to look at the small glass of liquor. Disgust rears in the back of my throat. “Besides,” I continue, “it won’t do anything. It took me a while to realize, but alcohol doesn’t have any effect on me. I just thought it did, so I got drunk. It was a delusion. I’m not going to entertain such things from here on out.”

“No delusions?” he says, echoing me with an added chuckle. Shaking his head, he takes another little sip. “Have it your way. But do not think that I brought this to rob you of full alertness in your final moments—nor did I do it to get myself dizzy. Or have you never drank for the pleasure of the liquid?”

“Alcohol is for getting drunk,” I bite out. “There’s no other purpose.”

Silently, not even listening to what I’m saying, he grabs the little glass he poured for me, lifts it up, and splashes it in my face. I reel back, spitting and sputtering, trying and failing to wipe the spirit out of my eyes due to the chains holding me in place. The alcohol even drips down my bare neck, into my brand, stinging and burning like salt in an open wound. A few drops slip into my mouth, and by pure instinct, I swallow them.

It tastes… It’s…

The liquor moves down my throat smoothly, bringing a strange warmth with it. It’s harsh. It almost hurts. But the flavor is strong without being overpowering, and there’s a subtle smokey note, like wood, and…

I lick around my mouth.

…Oaky, but with an herb-ish finish.

Perplexed, I turn to look at him, only to find him already filling the emptied little glass again. He holds it out to me, and I receive it.

It has a beautiful auburn color, like whiskey, or cognac. I’ve never tasted real hard liquor before—at least, not properly—so I’m not sure how to compare it. The flavors are just… a lot. But it feels warm going down. Because of how strong the taste is, it’s hard to drink more than small sips at a time, so that’s what I do.

I savor it.

“So,” the emperor says, after letting me drink in silence for a minute or so. “Where are you planning on going after this?”

“Hell,” I say, as a half-joke.

“I don’t believe in hell,” the emperor says, taking another sip. “There’s no scientific basis for it.”

I shrug at him. “There’s no scientific basis for magic, either.”

“It’s observed,” he contradicts. “Therefore, it exists.”

“You only say that because you’re used to it, but back on my planet, magic and apostles and gods hanging out would be unthinkable. It’s all up to blind faith.”

“That must be nerve-wracking.”

“Most people ignore it,” I say, pausing to take a swig. “They’ll think about it sometimes, but for the most part, we accept that death is death, and that’s the end of things.”

“That’s good. I was afraid that the reason the officers of the brand told me you giggled was because you thought your escape would come in the form of some sort of afterlife.”

“Not at all. This is…” I gesture in the air, trying to find the words. “My penance. With this, I’ll finally be absolved. It’s like I’ve been running for so long, that all I want is to lie down and rest.”

“There’s no absolution through death. You will never be forgiven, and your sins will continue to leave the world in a state of fermentation.”

“Of course. What’s done is done. But I’m talking about the future. With what I’ve done in the past, with everyone I’ve hurt… There’s no doubt it’ll happen again. It might not be as bad, or it might be even worse, but it’s sure to be replicated.”

“Are you planning on hurting people again?”

“No. I know I did the wrong thing. I never want to hurt someone again.”

“I see.” He takes a long swig from his drink, emptying it. “That’s good. I was getting worried about what you would do once you escaped.”

I bristle. “I told you, I’m not going to escape.”

He wipes his mouth and collects both of our glasses, including the now empty bottle. “I suppose we’ll see about that.” Slowly, he rises to his feet. With the way he’s looking at me, I feel the urge to rise as well, which I act on, bringing me to just over a head above him. He smiles faintly at me. “You’re a strange creature, Fennrick. I do hope that, in the future, we might share another glass, without these bars separating us.”

Without waiting for me to come up with some fitting comeback, he leaves.

And only an hour or so later, the time has finally come.

Strangely enough, I feel nowhere near as excited for it as I was before.