The Infernal King | 1 ✓

CHAPTER V | FOR THE FALLEN KING

       THEY DARTED DOWN the cobblestoned roads, weaving through throngs of people attempting to get to the designated area of execution.

       As Maarit whirred past villager after villager, the deafening noises blurred together and their sources became indistinguishable. The sound of their shoes pounding the cobblestones was drowned out by the tumult. She distinctly heard tones of concern, aggrieved laments and furious grunts. All around her, as she and Helios tailed after Keion, people of all ages rushed to the village's centre in a frenzy.

       The sun was strong, but there was still a faint breeze in the air that slightly alleviated the heat given off by the golden rays, which were left unobscured—there was not a single cloud in the sky. The sunlight bounced off of Maarit's sleek black hair, causing it to appear onyx.

       Maarit knew they had finally reached the centre of the village by the sheer amount of people crowded there. There was a certain consternation that fell over the inhabitants like a blanket. Their mouths moved and the anxious mutters dragged on, but all eyes were fixated on the elevated platform in the very middle.

       Atop the platform was the wooden guillotine, containing a sharp, suspended metal blade—the device used for decapitation; the horrid and cruel means for execution. It peered out at the crowd haughtily, daring anyone to challenge it and return triumphant. And, just beside it, an innocent teenage boy stood, naked and in shackles.

       Maarit craned her neck to be able to get a better view—but to no avail. She was aware of Keion and Helios beside her, and gestured to them to push through the crowds and reach the front. Keion complied enthusiastically, but Helios hesitated and hung back.

       "What's the matter?" Maarit asked him loudly, to compete with the voices of the entire village. She enunciated each word carefully, so that even if he did not hear her, he would at least be able to read her lips. "Come here, I'll show you how to push people aside! It's just like this: MOVE!" she yelled, unapologetically shoving her way between two men.

       She reached out blindly for Helios's hand and grasped it tightly, pulling him through as well.

       They rudely manoeuvred their way through the audience until they reached Keion, a few rows back from the front. Finally able to have an improved view of the scene, Maarit raised her eyes once again to the naked boy in shackles.

       The boy looked no more than fifteen or sixteen years old. His ribs protruded in the sickly thin way of someone who did much manual labour, but was given very little to eat—such was most likely true, since he was a servant. His lips were cracked and parted, and there was an expression of pure agony carved onto his facial features perennially. Maarit's stomach flipped unpleasantly when she lowered her eyes to his waist and came to the realization that he had been emasculated.

       He appeared to be so fatigued that Maarit did a double take to check that he was not already dead. Alas, his chest was still heaving and his forehead still dripped a steady stream of sweat. The sun scorched his ebony skin, which shone not only with sweat, but with tears. His eyes—with close to no visible sign of life—rolled back in his head, for only the whites were still visible.

       There were men surrounding him, preventing him from escaping. One of them brandished a whip. With a pang, Maarit realized that he was slashing the sinless teenager's bare back continuously. His skin was so dark that she almost failed to notice the deep vermilion blood that stained his entire body and trickled down his legs.