The beating continued without mercy, without pause, without any sign that the men intended to stop.
Fists connected with flesh in wet, meaty thuds. Feet slammed into ribs with cracks that echoed off the marble walls. Someone had found a wooden plank somewhere, broken it over Zedrik's head, and was now using the splintered end to jab at his thighs and stomach. Blood flew in arcs, splattering the floor, the chains, the faces of the men waiting their turn.
Zedrik screamed.
Not the proud, defiant screams of a knight facing death with dignity. These were wet, ragged, desperate screams, the kind that came from a place deep in the throat where dignity went to die.
Tears poured down his swollen cheeks, mixing with the blood that flowed from his broken nose and split lips.
His massive breasts, those I-cup monstrosities that had once been a source of humiliation, were now covered in bruises and cuts, the flesh purple and swollen.
"PLEASE!" Zedrik shrieked, his high-pitched voice cracking.
"PLEASE STOP! I LEARNED MY LESSON! I SWEAR! I WON'T DO IT AGAIN! I WON'T HURT ANYONE EVER AGAIN! JUST PLEASE—"
The man with the scar across his forehead, the one whose wife Zedrik had raped, stepped forward and drove his fist into Zedrik's stomach. The air exploded from Zedrik's lungs in a wet, gurgling gasp, and he doubled over as much as the chains would allow, vomit spattering on the floor.
"You learned your lesson?" the man snarled, grabbing Zedrik by the hair and yanking his head back.
"You learned your lesson? How many people did you kill? How many families did you destroy? And you think 'I'm sorry' makes it better?"
"NNNGGGHHH—PLEASE—I'LL DO ANYTHING!" Zedrik sobbed, his whole body shaking. "ANYTHING! JUST STOP! I'M BEGGING YOU!"
The next man in line stepped up, a burly fellow with a broken nose and dead eyes. He didn't say anything. He just started punching. Left, right, left, right, each blow landing with a sickening crunch. Zedrik's head snapped back and forth, his screams turning into wet, choking sounds as blood filled his mouth.
"PLEASE—PLEASE—I'M SORRY—I'M SO SORRY—" Zedrik's words were barely intelligible now, slurred by broken teeth and swollen lips.
Another man stepped forward. Another fist connected. Another scream ripped from Zedrik's throat.
"AAAAHHHHHH! STOP! SOMEBODY HELP ME! PLEASE!"
No one helped. No one even looked away. The line of men stretched across the throne room, two hundred strong, their faces hard, their eyes empty. They had been waiting for this moment. Some of them had been dead for years. And now, finally, they had their chance.
Zedrik's desperation grew with every blow. His mind, broken by pain and fear, was grasping at anything, anything at all, that might make the beating stop.
"OKAY! OKAY! YOU CAN CUT OFF MY ARMS!" Zedrik screamed, thrusting his bound wrists forward. "CUT THEM OFF! I DON'T NEED THEM! JUST PLEASE STOP HITTING ME! PLEHEHEHEHEASE!"
The man currently punching him paused, looking over his shoulder at the others. For a moment, Zedrik's heart leaped with hope. But then the man just shrugged and punched him again, harder this time.
"WAAAAAAHHHHHH! OKAY! OKAY! MONEY! I'LL GIVE YOU MONEY! LOTS OF MONEY! GOLD! SILVER! LAND! WHATEVER YOU WANT! JUST PLEASE! PLEHEHEHEHEASE!"
The sound was deafening. Zedrik's head snapped to the side, and he let out a high, keening wail.
"THAT'S FOR MY DAUGHTER!" the woman screamed, her voice raw. "YOU RAPED HER! YOU KILLED HER! AND NOW YOU WANT TO BUY YOUR WAY OUT WITH MONEY!?"
Zedrik was bawling now, great heaving sobs that shook his entire body. Snot and blood and tears mixed on his face, dripping down onto his massive, bruised breasts. "I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! I'LL GIVE YOU WOMEN! I'LL GIVE YOU ANY WOMEN YOU WANT! JUST PLEASE STOP HURTING ME! PLEHEHEHEHEASE!"
Zedrik's body was failing. His arms were raw where the chains bit into his wrists. His legs were covered in welts and cuts. His face was a bloody mask of pain and terror. And still the men kept coming, kept hitting, kept taking their revenge.
"OKAY! OKAY! I'LL LET YOU FUCK ME!" Zedrik bent over as much as the chains would allow, presenting his torn, bloodied ass to the crowd. His massive breasts swung beneath him, heavy and bruised. "JUST PLEASE! PLEASE LET ME GO! YOU CAN FUCK ME! ANYONE CAN FUCK ME! I WON'T FIGHT! I WON'T RESIST! JUST PLEASE STOP HITTING ME! PLEHEHEHEHEASE!"
The man standing behind him, a young man with a fresh scar on his cheek, stared at the offered position for a long moment. Then he raised his foot and kicked Zedrik directly between the legs.
Zedrik's scream was inhuman. It rose and rose and rose, filling the throne room, echoing off the marble walls, until it finally cracked and fell into wet, choking sobs. He collapsed against the chains, his body hanging limp, his chest heaving.
"AWWWWWWHHHHHHHH—PLEASE—PLEASE—I CAN'T—I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE—PLEASE—SOMEONE—ANYONE—JUST KILL ME—PLEASE—"
The men didn't kill him. They just kept hitting.
John watched from the edge of the crowd, his arms folded, his expression unreadable. He had been watching for over an hour now, watching Zedrik break piece by piece, watching the men pour out their grief and rage onto the chained figure. It was brutal. It was excessive. It was exactly what Zedrik deserved.
"Alright," John said, raising his voice above the sounds of beating and screaming. "That's enough. For now."
The men paused, fists raised, turning to look at him. Zedrik's head lifted weakly, his one good eye finding John's face. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Just a wet, bloody whisper.
John stepped forward, walking through the crowd. The men parted to let him pass, their faces still hard, their eyes still hungry. He stopped in front of Zedrik, looking down at the broken, bleeding figure hanging in the chains.
"You survived the first round," John said. "Congratulations."
Zedrik tried to speak, but all that came out was a wet, gurgling sob.
John turned to face the crowd. "Alright, everyone. That's enough for today. I'm going to send you back home now. And I promise, I'll revive your families. Your wives. Your daughters. Your sisters. Your mothers. Everyone who was taken from you. They'll come back."
The men stared at him, their expressions shifting from rage to disbelief to something that looked almost like hope.
"You... you can do that?" the scarred man asked, his voice cracking. "You can bring them back?"
"I can do a lot of things," John said. "And I keep my promises."
The crowd erupted. Not in anger, but in gratitude. Men fell to their knees, weeping.
"Thank you," the man said, his voice breaking. "Thank you, thank you, thank you. We are eternally in your debt. Whatever you need, whenever you need it, we will come. Just say the word."
The others echoed the sentiment, their voices overlapping, a chorus of gratitude that filled the throne room. "Thank you! Thank you! We owe you everything! We'll never forget this! You saved us! You saved our families!"
John felt his ego swell. He couldn't help it. He was a chud at heart, and chuds loved being appreciated. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the floor, a goofy smile spreading across his face.
"Ah shucks," John said, waving his hand dismissively. "It's alright. Really. You don't have to—"
"We do!" a man shouted from the back. "We'll tell everyone! We'll spread your name across the kingdom! Everyone will know what you did for us!"
John's smile widened. "Well, I mean, if you insist—"
He caught himself and shook his head, getting back on track. "Alright, alright. Enough of that. System. Send them back home. All of them. And revive their families. Their wives, daughters, sisters, mothers. Everyone who was taken from them."
The system's response appeared in the corner of John's vision, the text sharp and annoyed.
You want me to do what now? Revive an additional five hundred and sixty people? Are you insane?
"Probably," John muttered under his breath. "But do it anyway."
No. Fuck no. I'm not reviving five hundred and sixty more people. Do you have any idea how much energy that takes? How much work? I'm a system, not a miracle worker.
John's eye twitched. He lowered his voice, speaking directly to the screen so the crowd wouldn't hear. "System. These people have suffered enough. Their families were murdered by a rapist and a necrophile. I'm not going to send them back to empty homes and graves. Revive them."
I said no. Figure it out yourself.
"System."
No.
"System."
Stop saying my name like that.
"System, I swear to Zero, if you don't do this right now, I will find a way to delete you and replace you with a more cooperative AI. And I will make sure the new one has a really annoying voice. Like, really annoying. Like, cartoon chipmunk annoying. And it will never shut up. Ever."
The system was silent for a long moment.
..You're an asshole, you know that?
"I love you to, buddy."
Fine. But I'm putting you on a budget. No more mass revivals for at least a month. And you owe me. Big time.
"Deal."
The blue light filled the throne room, bright and warm, washing over the crowd. The men and women gasped, their bodies growing translucent, their forms flickering like candle flames in the wind.
"Thank you!" the scarred man called out, his voice echoing. "Thank you! We won't forget this!"
And then they were gone. All of them. The throne room was empty again, except for the chained figures and the blood on the floor and the lingering echoes of gratitude.
John stood alone, watching the space where the crowd had been, and let out a long, slow breath.