Tyr Hanma PoV
The first cut is always the deepest.
Not because it hurts more. Oh no. Because that's when she sighs.
Saint Roswald, in all his brilliance, decided to rent me out again—like a rusty carnival toy—to one of his little friends. A lady of noble taste, if noble taste means turning a boy into a wineskin and calling it art.
She leans in close, pearl necklace clinking against my shoulder, razor in hand. "Your blood," she whispers, almost reverent, "is… decadent."
Decadent. Like wine. Like dessert.
Me? I'm chained to a chair, shirt long since torn, chest and arms already mapped in thin red lines. My skin knits together almost as fast as she opens it—like a bad seamstress undoing her own stitches.
And every time, she laughs.
"Oh, look at that! It closes so quickly. But not before I taste…"
Her tongue flicks red off the blade. Her eyes roll like a drunk at the tavern. I swear she shivers.
I bite back the groan climbing my throat and instead say, voice airy, drunk with a grin I don't feel:
"Careful now, darling. Drink too much of me and you'll never go back to normal wine. I'm a rare vintage—1497, I think. With a bold, oaky finish. And notes of iron. Strong notes. Very strong."
She giggles like a schoolgirl. "You amuse me."
"Good," I wheeze, as she drags the razor down my forearm. Blood wells up, thick and dark, before sealing itself slowly behind her stroke. "Because your sense of humor is atrocious. Nearly as bad as your perfume. Lavender? Really? A touch too desperate, don't you think?"
Her nails rake down my cheek, opening another set of lines. She leans forward, licking the trail before it can vanish.
I close my eyes. Count to three. Don't flinch. Don't give her the pleasure.
To her, I'm not a man. Not even a slave. I'm a toy. A curiosity. A fountain that refills itself.
And I play my role, because if I don't, she cuts deeper.
"Tell me," she whispers, pressing the blade against my neck now. "Does it hurt?"
I laugh—because if I don't laugh, I'll scream.
"Oh, terribly. Agony, really. Would you like me to cry for you? Or perhaps beg? I can do accents. Want me to beg in French? Italian? Or would you prefer the universal tongue of a man choking on his own blood?"
She presses harder. The edge bites, and a warm trickle runs down to my collarbone.
Her eyes flutter. "Exquisite."
I want to vomit.
Instead, I smile.
"Darling, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were falling for me. And believe me, I'm flattered, but I'm a terrible suitor. Drink too much of me and you'll end up… bleeding disappointment."
Her laughter echoes like glass breaking.
She doesn't notice the tremor in the floor.
Or the distant shouting.
Or the faint, rising rumble like thunder rolling through marble halls.
But I do.
My head tilts, brow furrowing. The chains rattle as I shift, listening.
"…What in the hells was that?" I mutter, voice still lilting, half a joke but not quite.
The noble frowns, annoyed that my attention has slipped from her. She presses the blade harder against my neck, dragging my gaze back to her fever-bright eyes.
"Look at me," she hisses, drunk on her own sickness.
And I do—grinning faintly, though the humor feels thin this time.
---
A knock.
Sharp. Urgent. Wrong.
The Lady freezes, blade still kissing my throat. Her painted lips curl in disgust, like the very sound offended her ears.
"I said no interruptions," she snaps, voice sharp enough to flay skin. "If one of you mongrels dares waste my time again—"
The knock comes again, louder this time.
Her eyes narrow. "Do you hear me?!" she screams, her voice shrill enough to make the walls vibrate. "I will peel the skin from your back myself!"
The door doesn't answer with silence. It answers with violence.
It slams open, a guard stumbling in—armor scratched, face pale with sweat, blood streaked across his sleeve. He looks like a man already half-dead, terror dragging every word from his mouth.
"M-My Lady!" he stammers, tripping over his own tongue. "We—we're under attack! The slaves—they're—"
Her laugh cuts him off.
High, cruel, echoing like broken glass.
"Attack?" she repeats, eyes shining with mad amusement. "Attack? Do you take me for a fool?" She glides toward him, silks dragging across the marble floor. "Who in this world would dare to strike at the Holy Land of the Gods themselves? Who could even imagine it?"
The guard shakes, gripping his spear as if it alone might anchor him to life. "It's—it's no joke, my Lady! Fisher Tiger—he's—he's here! The cells are breaking loose! Fires—screams—"
"Silence!" she shrieks, face twisting with fury, as if his panic is the insult, not the news. "I should hang you from the gates for speaking such blasphemy in my presence!"
I lean my head back against the cold wall, chuckling under my breath despite the sting of blood running down my chest.
"Well," I mutter, loud enough for both of them to hear, "sounds like someone didn't get the memo. Guess the 'Gods' finally pissed off a bigger devil."
The Lady's head snaps toward me, blade jerking so close it nicks my jawline. But even as she glares, the muffled roar of something collapsing echoes through the halls beyond the door—stone and steel giving way, voices rising in chaos.
The guard swallows hard, his eyes saying what his mouth can't:
It's real.
And it's here.
The Lady's lips twist, ready to spit venom back at me—
Then the world erupts.
A thunderous explosion tears through the hall, and the wall to our right detonates inward in a shower of fire, stone, and smoke. Heat blasts across the chamber, scattering shards of marble like glass. Through the gaping wound, chaos pours in—flames curling across tapestries, slaves screaming, guards clashing, blood slicking the white steps of Mariejois itself.
For the first time, I see fear in the guard's eyes.
And for the first time in months, maybe years… I laugh.
Not a chuckle. Not a sly quip.
But a deep, ragged, howling laugh that rips out of me like it's been caged as long as I have. It rolls through the chamber louder than the fire, louder than the screams, sharp enough to make the guard flinch and stumble back as if I'd grown fangs.
The Lady's irritation flares hotter than the flames outside. She screeches, lifts her hand, and strikes at me—
But her arm doesn't make it.
Because I catch it.
My chains rattle as I move, iron biting into my wrists, but they were never a leash—only jewelry I hadn't bothered to snap yet. My fingers wrap around her soft, porcelain forearm. So fragile. So weak. I can feel the bones tremble beneath my grip, ready to crack if I want them to.
Her eyes widen, but her pride drowns out the danger. With a snarl, she lunges with her razor, aiming for my throat.
I lean forward—
And bite.
Steel snaps between my teeth like brittle candy. I spit the twisted shards and blood to the floor.
The guard stares in horror. The Lady finally falters, but even now her delusion blinds her. She shrieks insults at me, spittle flying:
"Filthy beast! Vermin! You dare touch me? I am a God, you hear me?! I am untouchable!"
I can't stop laughing. It tears from me in ragged gasps until I'm choking on the madness of it all. My head tilts, eyes wild, grin stretching ear to ear.
"Why so serious, love?" I croon, voice slick with mockery. "Here—let me put a smile on that pretty face, hmm?"
I snatch a blade from the wreckage—a jagged shard of steel—and before she can blink, I carve twin red smiles across her porcelain cheeks.
The cut isn't deep. But it's enough.
At first she doesn't even understand. She stares at me, lips trembling, blood dripping warm down her chin. Then the pain hits.
And the scream comes.
Her shriek split the chamber, raw and ugly, as my blade pressed against her cheek. I didn't rush it—no, I dragged the steel across her porcelain skin, slow as molasses, carving deep enough for blood to gush but not deep enough for death.
A crimson smile bloomed across her face, grotesque and perfect.
Her eyes bulged wide, disbelief twisting into sheer terror. She clawed at me, squealing like a piglet, but her strength was nothing—nothing compared to the hate I'd been holding back for years. The sound of her sobs filled the room as the blood ran down her chin, dripping onto her fine silks.
Then it hit her again. The pain. The kind she had only ever inflicted, never tasted. She howled, shrill and broken, tears mixing with blood until she was a mask of misery.
"Please—mercy! I'll give you anything! Anything! Just—stop—"
I leaned close, laughing so hard my ribs ached. "Mercy? Ohhh, darling. Now you learn the truth. Mercy is a coin you never spent, and so now? You'll never earn it."
The stench of piss hit me before I saw it. The noble pissed herself, golden stains spreading down her silks as her body shook with sobbing. Her sobs turned to wails, then hiccups, then nothing but broken gasps before her eyes rolled back and she collapsed in a faint, blood streaking her face like war paint.
Pathetic.
I spat on her, saliva mixing with her tears. "Saint, goddess, whatever shite you call yourself… you're nothin' but a sniveling cunt in pearls. Remember that smile, love. It's the only real thing you'll ever wear."
Chains clattered as I straightened, shoulders rolling, the weight of years lifting like mist in the sun.
That was when the guard found his courage. He charged, spear in hand, roaring as though volume could make him brave. I turned, almost lazily, and when the blade came down, I caught it with my chain, twisted, and sent the point scraping harmlessly to the side.
Then I kicked.
One savage, snapping kick to the chest.
The guard didn't just fall—he flew. His body smashed through the shattered wall and vanished into the inferno outside, screams fading into the chaos.
I tilted my head, grinning wide, chains clinking as I stepped toward the gaping hole. Fire painted the night. Explosions cracked the heavens. Smoke and screams filled the air like a choir of agony.
Freedom smelled like ash and blood.
More boots thundered in the hall. A squad of guards, spears and rifles ready, their eyes wide as they took in the sight of me standing over their collapsed goddess.
I laughed—long, loud, manic. It rolled off my tongue like a drunken hymn, echoing down the marble corridor.
"Ahhh, boys," I drawled, wobbling slightly, swaying like a drunk on deck. "You've no idea what storm you just walked into. At least bring some rum, yeah?"
The first guard shouted, "Seize him!"
I exploded forward.
Chains rattled like war drums as I blurred into them, faster than they'd ever seen a slave move. My laughter mingled with their screams as the clash swallowed the chamber in chaos.