Far in the north, a pale, hazel-eyed young woman gazed northward, her eyes rimmed with red. Whether it was redness from crying or from anger, it was impossible to tell. Perhaps it was both. She sat outside of a tent, gripping a pale robe in her hands like it was a fabric tying her to life, and she was afraid it would slip through her fingers if she let go.
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“Quiet this morning, hmm? What a pleasant surprise! Just yesterday, you were laughing hysterically and promising to make me eat my own eyeballs and liver!”
A young woman sagged against a dirty stone wall, her thin wrists, ankles, and even neck chained with rusty manacles. The one talking to her — General Magnus, that was — paced around the wide, musty, and uncomfortably dim room, picking up a variety of sharp, eerie metal tools and setting them back down, like he was trying to choose the ripest fruit at the market. Or, considering the gleeful gleam in his eyes, it looked more like he was choosing a honey-filled treat.
The young woman didn’t move or show any sign of having heard him at all. Her downturned face was gaunt and so pale that it was gray, like she’d been smeared with ashes. Her dark hair hung down matted all around, making her look like a lifeless female ghost. It seemed she had once worn well-woven black and scarlet robes of some sturdy material. Now, both her sleeves seemed to have been torn away violently, and the rest of her clothing was riddled with tears and holes and wide rusty stains of unmistakable dried blood. At her rib, one stain was still fresh, gleaming a dark scarlet. A straight line of small round dots lined her forearm — evidently ferocious burn marks that had scabbed over. Who knew what else lay under her rags?
The worst part of this image, however, was the young woman’s eyes. Or, what made this image so terrible, was the knowledge of what her eyes had once looked like.
Abrial’s glittering obsidian eyes, which no one could ever stop from sparkling and gleaming with excitement and glee, had utterly transformed. Peering blearily out of this young woman’s face were two black holes, devoid of all emotion, numb as skin rubbed by ice for three days. Not a single glitter could be seen, not a single twinkling star.
Abrial had just awoken from a vague, numb dream when Magnus walked in whistling to dole out her daily portion of torture on the Emperor’s orders. The dream had been a familiar one, which she had had different variations of almost every night for the past month:
In it, Finley’s pale face had vaguely materialized, cutting in and out of a dream fog. She always said something like: “Just hold on a little longer, Abrial. I’m sorry it’s taking so long. Just hold on a little longer…”
Even two weeks ago, Abrial might have chased desperately after Finley’s misty form in her dream. She would vow to not give in to that absolute fucking asshole prick trash vile filth Magnus’s torture, shouting that she would keep holding on and looking for a way to escape. She would cry out to Finley, reminding her to be careful and to not rush in without a perfect plan so she wouldn’t be caught as well, because Finley absolutely could not end up in a place like this. Or better yet, she would insist that FInley just not come at all and let her figure something out for herself.
But, about a week and a half ago, in the middle of a particularly horrible session of torture…something had snapped.
It snapped right in the middle of her chest. She had felt it, like a pop, and then a deflation. All of a sudden, she could feel nothing, and nothing mattered. She did not even have a desire to scream at the pain any longer.
While the numbness came and went in waves, a raging hatred that turned her vision red as blood surged at times too, causing her to laugh and scream in fury whenever she saw Magnus’s prick face. but right now, Abrial felt as numb as a rock. So, when she saw Finley in that dream, she simply stared emptily in return with no words to say.
What should she say?
Just let me die here. Just give it up. I don’t want you to come anymore. Let me at least pretend to have a plan, so that you don’t end up here, too. Then I can die at least knowing you won’t end up the same way.
She didn’t even have the energy to say that.
A rough hand reached out to grab her chin, and the sensation brought Abrial forcefully back to the prison chamber.
Magnus was grinning widely down at her, his teeth gleaming like dirty pearls. He had promised gleefully to cut off every one of her fingers today in exchange for cutting off one of his. Evidently, he was considering which knife would be best for such a ceremonious event, because he began lifting her hand and holding up different-shaped blades against the base of her grimy fingers and squinting at the image, as though imagining which would look best cutting off her digits.
Abrial had long lost the feeling in her face and the ability to make any movements except reactions of pain, but a tiny desire to roll her eyes rose in her chest before fading away.
Magnus hummed, seeming satisfied with a small, round-bladed knife that glittered sharply, a trace of dried blood already on the edge. Really, the sanitation in this place was just terrible. He touched the blade fondly, like it was his child — even after all these weeks, Abrial came to the same conclusion that hurting others seemed to turn him on, which had made her want to barf in the beginning, but now just made her sigh wearily — and laid it on a table nearby.
“We’ll save that for in a little while. A grand finale for the day, hm? Ah, makes my blood rush with excitement! Revenge is indeed sweet. I am blessed to be granted this chance to exact it by His Majesty the Emperor’s grace. After getting rid of you — ” here, Magnus grabbed her thin chin again, pulling her face to meet his leering grin, “ — then, I can turn to accomplishing my next highest desire!” He pulled her face closer. If she had had the energy to move, she would have spat on him in disgust. “Getting rid of that damn cutsleeve White Mask and taking the position of the Emperor’s right-hand man for myself! Heh!”
Again, the faint desire to roll her eyes and scowl pulsed in her chest. For the past four weeks, Abrial had endured unspeakable pain after unspeakable pain. But on top of that, she’d had to listen to a million of this moron Magnus’s monologues, which consisted of the same three themes that were enough to drive anyone crazy after hearing the over and over again:
1. Women — not only did he go to the pleasure house extremely often, but he also apparently enjoyed talking about his excursions in detail to whoever would listen, which just unfortunately happened to be Abrial for the past month. Abrial coped with this by imagining cutting his dick into pieces and frying them in hot oil. And then pushing him off a cliff into a vat of hot oil for good measure.
2. Revenge — he would go on for hours about how sweet it was to finally have revenge on the person he vowed he would destroy for cutting off his finger and making him a temporary cripple by slicing his knees. He would leer and pace, ecstatic about really having the opportunity to torture Abrial, and forgetting to actually torture her. These ridiculous revenge monologues had given Abrial brief periods of fleeting relief, in which she drowned him out and tried to think half-heartedly of an escape plan, or else imagined she was back at the Wei camp with Finley.
3. White Mask — White Mask, also known as Li Hui, seemed to be an even deeper-rooted obsession in this bastard-moron Magnus’s mind than even Abrial was. The days when Abrial’s torture was particularly unbearable were the days on which Magnus came in irritated about something that had happened with White Mask. “The bastard White Mask always curries the Emperor’s favor, that fucking cutsleeve!” He was obsessed with spitting about White Mask being a cutsleeve who had seduced the Emperor. He also repeatedly ranted to Abrial his plans to one day strangle White Mask in his sleep, which was not at all likely, seeing as White Mask was clearly several hundred leagues above him in terms of athletic ability. The amount of time he spent talking about White Mask actually made Abrial wonder if he had feelings for White Mask himself, or something!
From Magnus’s monologues on White Mask, Abrial had learned all sorts of things. When taking a break, Magnus would sit and lunch while spewing gossip about White Mask and the Emperor to Abrial’s limp and bloodied form, like a furious old gossip.
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“The only reason His Majesty keeps White Mask around is because he uses that wretch in bed! There’s been rumors for ages that His Majesty sleeps in the same bed as White Mask and they get to it all the time, and I believe every one of them!”
“White Mask must be fucking His Majesty real well to have kept such a high position all these years, pah! What do I have to do to be like him, sleep with His Majesty every night? Apply to be a concubine? Study homosexuality? I’m no damn cutsleeve! That White Mask, the damnest cutsleeve there ever was! He must have studied up on how to pleasure men in bed for years to be so valuable to His Majesty! Not only is he His Majesty’s only trusted confidant; His Majesty’s also given him some of his own divine powers, so that he can maintain his youth and perform divine feats, too! Disgusting! He’s practically a favored prostitute! A male consort!”
“I swear I’ll strangle that White Mask sly cat one day, and gouge his eyes out! Then I’ll be next in line for the highest spot. Heh, then I can bed even more women at the pleasure houses, hmm, and the prettier ones, too…”
Abrial didn’t know how much of what he said was just rumors and how much was true, but she gathered that it was highly suspected that the Emperor and White Mask were lovers in the imperial court and army, and even across Gongkua. It surprised her for a little while, but the surprise quickly wore off, replaced with numbness. Who cared for palace gossip like that? She was going to die. Let the fucking Emperor, that prick, get in bed with whoever he wanted! She just hoped one day he’d die under the bed covers while in the act!
A violent blow on her cheek forced her back to reality.
The torture had begun.
As usual, Magnus was going to knock her around a bit before getting into the more disgusting, unbearable stuff. Fine, whatever. She was numb to being hit by now. She’d never in her life felt much pain from a dull blow anyways.
Suddenly, Magnus’s thick-fingered hand jerked her head to the side. Dark, disgustingly excited eyes wide with interest, he poked a spot behind her right ear, which had been revealed when her disheveled black hair flew aside.
“What’s this? A tattoo? How artful! Very…intricate.”
As he ran a finger over the tattoo, examining it at an uncomfortably close distance, a sharp pain suddenly shot through Abrial’s body, and she gasped.
Magnus’s ears perked up with surprise. Abrial was equally surprised. She hadn’t reacted to pain in days. What was that?
On the other hand, Magnus’s grin only grew wider. Abrial’s expressions of pain were sweet to him, the honey of revenge, and they made him ecstatic with glee. Finally, he had found something new to cause her visible pain! What could be more wonderful?
He prodded the tattoo a few more times, scraping it with a dirty nail, and then flicking it. Abrial grunted. A familiar, searing hot pain shot through her body, spreading from that point beneath her ear and out over chest.
“What a strange tattoo,” Magnus mused, his gaze somewhere between sincerely delighted and ominously sinister. “Is it precious to you? But who would tattoo themself with a pain-causing tattoo? Only a masochist, haha! Is that why you have such a high resistance to pain, sweetheart? Do you enjoy pain…?”
Abrial hacked a cough, breathing out a barely perceptible film of smoke. Magnus didn’t take notice of it, but Abrial did. The faintest smell of burning reached her nose as it rose.
Great. He found my tattoo. I’m surprised he didn’t find it earlier. If he keeps messing with it…who knows what’ll happen?
…who knows what’ll happen…
Abrial’s eyes flashed.
Like a real spark on dry wood, the flames of excitement spread in Abrial’s mind, igniting her chest and her limbs, even crackling slightly in her eyes. Without her noticing, her mood had entirely shifted. Where a moment ago she had been that numb, lifeless ghost, now a smile creeped across her cracked lips, and her eyes glinted with a hint of scarlet. She was transforming again into the picture of an insane person, crazed by rage and glee. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse like the scraping of an ax on stone.
“This tattoo…is very special to me…” She chuckled. The chuckling was involuntary. It slipped out with her words like air. “It was drawn…by my mother…”
“Oh?” Magnus’s eyes lit up, and he pressed her face further to the side to examine the tattoo with relish. “It must be very important to you, then, heh. You even spoke for the first time today!”
Abrial mustered her strength to nod. Uncontainable glee bloomed in her chest like fireworks or oil sparking wildly in a pot, veiling a boiling rage that had been simmering in her stomach for weeks. Her smile began to widen, but she forced it flat.
“It is…very important to me. Don’t touch it…please…”
“Aha! You should know better, you pitiful little thing! If you tell me not to, of course that’s exactly what I’ll do! Let’s see…” Magnus was already rummaging through a box of ominous tools. Not satisfied, he went over to the small fireplace on the opposite end of the room. Quickly, he lit a fire, humming delightedly.
“Burning it away should be more satisfying than cutting,” he muttered to himself. “That way, the skin can never be tattooed easily again. And burning it will hurt more. Ha! I really am too intelligent sometimes. You witty old hunk.”
Behind him, the corners of Abrial’s mouth twitched, her eyes glinting with both a murderous glee and extreme disgust.
Once he had heated up a round-tipped iron to a glowing white-red, Magnus approached Abrial, twirling the iron with easy anticipation.
“Don’t hold your breath; that would make the screams less satisfying, wouldn’t it? Let’s make a deal. If you don’t hold your breath and instead let out your screams freely, I’ll cut off your fingers tomorrow instead, eh? If you do, I’ll have to cut off both your fingers and toes before nightfall…”
Feigning fear, Abrial shook her head.
“I…won’t hold my breath. I’ll…scream.”
Magnus paused just before grabbing Abrial’s face. He gave her a long, strange look. “Hmm. You’re being strangely cooperative today.”
Abrial stared back at him, mouth trembling from trying to hold back a gleeful grin. Seeing this, Magnus’s face split into a toothy smile. He pinched her cheek almost endearingly, leaving a red mark.
“I like the fear. Keep going like this. I always say, if you just immerse yourself in the process, it won’t be as dull. It can even be fun! Also…” His face hardened. “The more you scream, the happier I feel, and the more satisfying my revenge is. Scream to your heart’s content, all right, sweetheart?”
With that, he roughly grabbed Abrial’s face and jerked it to the side, pressing the white-hot iron to the skin below and behind her ear.
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In the basement, all of the guards who were chatting and drinking and indulging themselves in cold bowls of noodles over break froze.
A scream that could split mountains pierced the air, high-pitched as the scream of a hawk and as loud as though it came from the very room they sat in. Dust shook from the ceiling in clumps. The very ground trembled.
“Wh-what’s going on?” a nervous young man stammered, springing to his feet.
“What else? It’s gotta be the prisoner!”
“This is crazy! There’s been no screaming for more than a week, only that creepy laughing. Why the sudden screeching?”
“Yeah! And why’s it so loud — ? Ow, my ears!!!”
Everyone dropped their mugs and bowls and slammed their leather-gloved hands over their ears to block out the terrible noise. After a moment, they all began to cast each other nervous, pale looks.
“Is that…” a sturdy-looking guard uncovered one ear with a frown. “...laughter?”
“H-Hey, I think it is!”
“What the heck? It definitely is! That freak’s laughing and screaming at the same time! What is this?!”
Indeed, the sound of unbearably, bloodcurdlingly painful screaming was replaced at intervals with a similarly screaming, high-pitched, maniacal laughter louder than any laughter they had heard from that crazy prisoner before. What a crazy bitch! Was she happy, or in pain? Was she just such a madwoman she couldn’t even tell anymore?!
Those sitting around the Shiwoo turned to him, eyes wide with anxiety. He was the eldest and most experienced here, after all, though he was still a young man. Shiwoo covered his ears like everyone else — that screaming really was too unbearable, and that laugh was too chilling to listen to — but otherwise, he looked relatively calm. Resigned, even. A little regretful
“Shiwoo hyung,” a guard shouted over the commotion. “Why do you look so calm? Do you know something we don’t?”
“Yeah, hyung! Tell us!”
“Is there a reason to be so calm? Come, let us know!”
Shiwoo merely smiled faintly and shook his head. He spoke at a normal volume, so they all had to squint to read his lips. As they did so, their faces each turned white as ghosts’, and their legs turned to jelly.
What Shiwoo mouthed resignedly to them all, like he had seen this coming all along, was this:
“Why don’t we finish our beers before we die? Today, we will find out what a person who has given up on life is capable of.”