Now was the time for one to perish. The Perfects were all riled up, and scared of the increase of Imperfects. They were afraid of revolt, of dying.
But Perfects don't die, unless it's at the hands of another. Perfects don't die, it's a flaw and god how they hate anything that isn't precise, perfect. And many among them aren't Perfect, but they get the sweet satisfaction of watching them die at the hands of a Perfect, so they see what Perfection is supposed to be. Not them.
The crowd gathered around a small stage, an Imperfect already in bounds. His mouth was gagged, he was blindfolded but tears seemed to seep out from under the blindfold. His wings? Pulled and bound upward. There was weights nearby, with straps indicating that this is going to be yet another fun execution.
A few Perfects examined him, his ice blue attire one of the Perfects, indicating that he was once one. While those few looked him over and sized him up, they saw nothing wrong with him. Maybe the deformities was with his wings? No, they are completely perfect, every feather in place. So what was wrong with him? They didn't understand, but didn't dare question. That's an Imperfect though, of course, even going up to Azurr and asking why a Perfect is to be executed is a flaw, and is sure to land you next on the kill list.
It wasn't long before the well known entertainer of the crowds arrived. Pulse, the executioner. The crowd cheered as he removed the gag around his mouth. It's not going to be worth the show if you can't hear his screams, after all.
And, well, that's what they will be hearing. Pulse often shows no mercy with his executions. He picked up a 20 pound weight, two of them actually, and attached them to the Imperfects arms. The Imperfects arm fell under the weight, but was forced to stay up due to the restraints.
Another two weights, this time both 30 pounds. There's now 50 pounds weighing down the Imperfect. But that wasn't enough, no no. If the arms weren't snapped and broken, then it isn't anywhere near enough. He kept adding weights, and it wasn't long before the Imperfects arms did just that, snap.
The Imperfect wailed out, his cries echoing and mixing in with the cheers of the crowd. Only two were in the crowd sharing his pain. We'll address them later.
Pulse placed 4 more weights on the arms, along with the 6 or 7 already on them. The weights weighed an equal 380 pounds. Two sickening tearing sounds rang out as his arms and all the weights clattered to the ground. Blood started to pool, and that's when Perfects saw what was wrong with him. His blood was a crude orange, rather than the golden color that was more accepted as perfect.
The Imperfect was still crying out, still wailing out. Those wails held pleas for mercy, but never fully said. Why would they take mercy on someone as imperfect as him?
The process was repeated with his wings, and when they snapped and fell, Pulse picked up a whip.
A cat-o-nine-tails, imbedded within it were the bones of the other imperfects and several glass shards. He pulled at the whip a bit, to untangle it, before slicing the imperfects now bare and bloody back. The crowd cheered Pulse on, drowning out the cries of the victim.
Needless to say, it only took a few lashes before the imperfect fell dead. The show was over. The animals would clean up the mess, the corpse. They get as much of a benefit from the shows as the Perfects do.
The two who were sharing the Imperfects pain left first, flying off to their home to mourn their child in peace.
