Instead of words, a thick cloud of black and red smoke burst from his lips instead, obscuring the space between them.
When his hand loosened slightly, Abrial let out a choked cough as well, adding charred black and red-tinged smoke to the fog. The slowly growing heat and pain that had been tormenting her lungs each time the Emperor grew close suddenly screamed louder. Pain laced through Abrial’s body like strings of hot iron, searing her chest most fiercely, then jumping out over her limbs and up her throat, out her nose. It felt almost like her heart was first burning like a bonfire, and second trying to leap up her throat like horribly painful fiery vomit.
The hall was very tall, and had very good acoustics. From the outside of the hall, the guards heard the amplified sound of two people swearing their heads off. One sounded like the voice of a young woman, which made sense. Of course that belligerent political prisoner would get punished for being disrespectful to the Emperor. But the other voice…
The ten guards who stood outside the entrance all looked at each other in shock and spoke the same thing at once:
“His Majesty the Emperor?!”
They burst into the throne room, half afraid they would get blasted down for doing so and half terrified that that belligerent girl had actually hurt the Emperor, which would mean all of their executions were cued up for tomorrow. There, they met the strangest sight:
The Emperor was choking that young female prisoner with both hands, and both of them were smoking heavily from the mouths, noses, and ears. Even weirder, their chests seemed to be glowing a faint scarlet through their clothing. What was going on?! It really looked like…some kind of demonic possession ritual! The hell?!
The guards charged forward with angry cries, prepared to stab that young prisoner through the guts and pull her body away from the Emperor. But before they could reach the pair, someone landed on nimble feet in front of them and got there first.
It was a graceful man with a white jade mask resting on his face.
White Mask deftly pulled Abrial and the Emperor apart, sending them both stumbling backwards to the obliterated ground. Abrial crumpled to a ball, gasping hoarsely and puffing clouds of smoke. The Emperor fell backward, still smoking slightly, but White Mask gently caught him, kneeling and resting the Emperor’s back against his knee. With one slender hand, he checked the Emperor’s pulse along his wrist, and with the other, he sent a stream of pale blue spiritual energy into the Emperor’s chest.
He seemed relieved by the Emperor’s pulse. While he carefully adjusted the Emperor’s black mask, which had been skewed by the commotion, he assured the trembling guards next to him.
“He’ll be all right.” Then, to the Emperor, he murmured in a voice that was almost scolding, “Your Majesty…If you had gotten any closer, you could have died. What were you thinking?”
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The Emperor didn’t respond, seemingly passed out cold.
On the ground, Abrial groaned weakly, tasting blood in her mouth and something burnt.
In White Mask’s arms, the Emperor also slowly blinked his eyes open. All around, the watching guards breathed heavily, and it was unclear whether they were sighs of relief or inhales of terror. They had a much higher chance of not being executed on the spot now that the Emperor was awake and not dead or severely injured. Or, maybe they were more likely to be killed, since he was alive and well. Honestly, who knew? At the very least, his focus wasn’t on them. Instead, he was glaring at the female political prisoner with a look that could burn down a village.
“Kill her.”
Everyone startled slightly. The Emperor’s voice was low and hoarse, like it had just been burned or scratched by the claws of a cat. What was still clear, however, from that tone, was that he was more furious than any of the guards had ever seen him. Shivers of fear shimmied down more than a few spines.
The Emperor pushed White Mask away, eyes flashing. His trembling, pale finger rose to slowly point at the gasping, chained and bloody mess that was Abrial.
“Kill her. Not a quick death; make it last three months, or until she breaks. Three months of torture at the Diyuu Prison. Then kill her. Take her away. I will send out the written sentence later.”
All of the guards froze, their eyes wide as coins.
The Diyuu Prison, otherwise known as the Prison of Hell? The place where only the worst of the worst criminals were sent, the ones who the Emperor deemed unworthy of life or rebirth, unworthy of a death any faster than a week? The prison to which only less than ten people had been sent in all of Gongkuan history, all of whom had gone irreparably insane? And he wanted this young woman…to be tortured for three months? The normal duration of torture before death was one month at most, for the very worst criminals. All eyes drifted to Abrial. What exactly could she have done to merit such a hellishly severe sentence? Who could she be, in order to make the Emperor dole out the most terrible punishment he ever had in living memory?
The Emperor’s eyes flashed, and he snarled. “What are you waiting for? Take her away, I said! Do you all want to die tonight? Do you want a sentence instead?”
“Ah — no, Your Majesty! Yes, we will take her away right now, Your High Divine Majesty!”
“Your Majesty…” White Mask murmured, sounding hesitant. “Perhaps we should talk about this…”
“Don’t speak to me!” the Emperor whirled to hiss at him, sweeping his glittering black sleeves. “Leave me! NOW! All of you!”
Fading out of consciousness, Abrial was dragged unceremoniously away. The last thing she saw before her eyes fluttered closed was White Mask and the Emperor staring at one another, sparks flying from the Emperor’s crazed eyes. And then, all was dark, and the feeling of sharp pain in her arms and legs blissfully faded away.
If Finley had known the extent of suffering Abrial was about to experience, there is no telling what she would do. As she slept, not even Abrial could imagine the kinds of things she would endure in the next weeks. Even though she rightfully prided herself on being a master of pain…
There is still such a thing as too much suffering. There is still such a thing as too much pain to bear.
After all…everyone has a breaking point.