CHAPTER 43: THE DAWN (2)

I let the silence linger a moment longer, the snow breaking apart in thin flakes against my shoulders. Then I stepped forward. The wood of the scaffold groaned under my boots, and a thousand eyes followed me as if every gesture could seal their fate.

I raised my hand. A simple gesture, palm open, and the mass of blackened bodies seemed to hold its breath. Even the war dogs stopped growling, as if my voice alone could feed them.

— My brothers... my sisters...

I dragged out the words, my voice rumbling like a drum inside each chest. I took a few slow steps, the chains of the mastiffs scraping the planks behind me.

— I remember a dark time. A time... not so long ago... when many of you dreamed of only one thing: to drink... and to eat. To survive until the next day. Nothing else.

I paused, scanning the frozen ranks before me. Weathered faces, trembling horns, bellies scarred by past deprivation. Some lowered their heads already, ashamed of the memory.

I resumed, louder.

— And who gave you drink, huh? Who dug for you water... free! At will! Who gave you meat when you had only bones to gnaw?!

A rumble of approval rose, but I raised my hand again, cutting off the beginning of a roar.

— Yes. Me. The human you call lord. And I didn’t stop there. I broke your invisible chains: males are no longer dogs on their knees, females are no longer mistresses jealous of their power. Here, in my army, you are equals. You all have the chance to grow, to evolve... if you have the strength.

I circled the five condemned kneeling men, stopping at times behind them. One was crying like a child. I placed my hand on his skull for a moment, forcing him to lift his face. His eyes glistened with tears and shame. I smiled. Then shoved him aside with a sharp motion, resuming my walk.

— You were beasts. Thirsting only for survival. But each day, I make of you... demons worthy of the name.

A hot breath swept through the crowd. Chests swelled, breasts heaved, thighs tightened. The desire for power vibrated in their flesh as much as in their hearts.

I stopped abruptly, turning my face toward them, my voice harsher.

— And yet... some remain treacherous. Some want more than what is given to them. They take what is not theirs. They do not respect the order of their superiors.

I let out an ironic smile.

— And yet... I, the human, offer you everything. Everything, my dear demons. Women you may conquer, if they want you. Abyssium, if you deserve it. Power, if you prove yourselves worthy. Each of you may take what you want... by growing, by evolving.

I walked to the edge of the scaffold, extending my arm toward the ranks.

— Look at that man there!

I pointed to a lieutenant with a massive frame. He straightened instantly, eyes blazing with pride.

— Him, he has a wife. He will found a family, under my aegis. Because he fought, because he earned his place.

Murmurs spread through the ranks. I continued, pointing at another male, younger.

— And him! Started with nothing, despised by his own sisters, today he is a section chief. Because he proved his worth. Because he respected my rules.

I halted. The silence dropped suddenly. I turned my gaze slowly over the crowd, my smile vanishing.

— But... even so... some dare conspire against me. They want to seize the only things I forbid you. Not for my sake... but for yours. For the order we are building. So that never again will any of you starve, or crawl in the dust like beasts.

I lowered my voice, deep, grave, like a knife pressed into every throat.

— So tell me, my brothers... my sisters... Shall I forgive the traitors? Those who gnaw away at our dreams of greatness from within? Those who want to steal what we are building with our own hands?

I raised my arms.

— Shall I forgive?

A roar burst from the crowd, confused at first, then swelling like a black wave.

— NO! NO! NO! NO!

The very ground shook with their refusal, the snow crumbling beneath their feet, the torches quivering in that unanimous roar.

I smiled like a demon. That twisted, wide smile made the very air recoil. The crowd’s clamor died at once, as if every throat had been slit in silence. The prisoners, meanwhile, trembled. Their dry lips clapped without sound. Beads of sweat ran down their bare torsos, sliding along knotty ribs, like tears escaping their own flesh.

I bent down and picked up the rope set at the edge of the platform. The rough hemp scraped my palm raw, but I relished the sting. With slow, deliberate steps, I approached the first prisoner. Naked. His eyes bulged wide, bright with fear, his short breath filling the air with sour stench. His arms trembled already before I even touched him.

— No... no... mercy... I... I will serve... I swear...

His voice broke in sobs. He hiccupped, then, unable to hold back, a hot stream ran down his thighs. The stench of urine rose at once, acrid, mingling with cold and sweat. The snow at his feet stained a dirty yellow, steaming in the frozen air. Murmurs crossed the soldiers’ ranks, some widening their eyes, others clenching fists to repress a shiver.

I looped the rope around his wrists and yanked hard upward. The hemp bit into his skin, tearing a shrill scream. His arms twisted, muscles taut as cables ready to snap. I pulled again, my weight straining the rope, feeling his flesh give way, until his feet barely brushed the ground.

He hung there, suspended by bare arms, shoulders cracking under his own weight. His body swayed faintly, his flaccid sex beating between thighs clenched from pain. His mouth opened and closed like a fish ripped from water, unable to find breath not swallowed by agony.

I tied the rope to the wooden post. The first was ready.

Without a word, I turned to the second. His legs trembled so hard his knees knocked together.

— Lord... I... I didn’t mean... it was only a rumor... not me...

I seized his arms and forced him to face me. His chest hammered his ribs, his heart pounding so hard it seemed to want to pierce its cage. I passed the rope and jerked it tight. He screamed, voice cracking on the syllables, and I hoisted him like a sack of meat. His feet clawed at the ground, carving the snow, until he was ripped from the earth. Suspended, his back arched, ribs jutted out, and a guttural moan filled the air.

Third. Fourth. Fifth. Each begged, each cried, each offered his naked body to the crowd as testimony of his shame. The ropes creaked, arms cracked, torsos convulsed under the unbearable weight. All five hung by their arms, in a line, their nudity exposed to every gaze. Their broken breaths echoed like the symphony of hunted beasts.

The crowd watched, mute, frozen. The soldiers did not move, not one. Some turned their eyes away, others stared at the five bodies with morbid fascination. The air vibrated with a deep fear, the kind that clutches the throat when you realize the smallest mistake could lead you to the same rope, the same wood, the same soiled snow.

The dogs barked, tugging at their leashes, panting with impatience, their jaws foaming with saliva. Their fangs clacked together in sharp snaps that made the younger soldiers tremble. The wild stench of their spit mingled with the cold sweat of the five hanged.

I drew my dagger. Its blade flashed once in the torchlight, then darkened at once, swallowed by night and fear. I approached the first prisoner. His eyes rolled white, his lips drooled with terror. I pressed the blade’s tip to his skin. A single touch made him convulse.

Then I began to cut. Slowly. With small slashes. The flesh opened, a red thread welled, and he screamed. A scream that made the guts of the whole assembly tremble. The sound reverberated in the silence, uncontrollable, almost animal. I lifted the blade, traced a second line, a little deeper, across his bare belly. His body twisted, his arms cracked under strain, and blood dripped heavy into the snow.

Then I moved to the next. Then the third. Each received the same treatment: the blade biting the skin, lingering, carving grooves. Their muscles bulged under the strain to resist, but their cries shattered every shred of dignity. The snow around them stained red, forming dark pools widening as I drained them.

Hours passed. Their voices changed. At first, clear screams, angry, almost defiant. Then hoarse moans. Then broken whimpers, punctuated with rattles and sobbing. Their breathing grew short, ragged. Their bodies pulled harder on their suspended arms: joints cracked, shoulders dislocated, wrists blackened with wounds where the rope had bitten down to bone.

I never rushed. Each cut was measured. Each cry prolonged. I watched them collapse inward, their bellies emptying, their eyes clouding. Drops of blood fell at steady intervals, like a macabre hourglass. The crowd, meanwhile, did not move. Not a breath. Not a motion. Some trembled, others clenched teeth, but none dared break the order I imposed through this torment.

When finally their voices died out, replaced by a heavy, sticky silence, I stepped back. The five hanged were nothing but naked masses, twisted, swaying faintly. Their blood still streamed in rivulets, drop after drop, but their gazes were void.

I sat then, resting my dagger across my thighs. I waited. Long minutes. In this absolute silence, where even the wind seemed to have fled. No one breathed anymore. No one dared lower their eyes or move a muscle. Fear had taken root in every chest, carved raw by the spectacle.

And I savored that calm. That world frozen in my hand.

Rising, I approached the hanged. Their heads drooped, their torsos opened by my blades, and the snow beneath them already stained dark red, thick, that would never fade. I drew my dagger once more. The sticky metal caught the torchlight one last time before sinking back into shadow.

Without a word, I cut the first rope. The body crashed into the snow with a dry thud, a crack of bone. Before the prisoner could even breathe a last gasp, the three mastiffs lunged. They threw themselves on him like enraged vultures, fangs sinking into his belly, tearing flesh by the handful. The scream he gave was strangled at once, replaced by the vile noise of entrails torn barehanded.

I moved to the second. The rope gave way, his body collapsed, naked, still trembling. The dogs barely left the first before biting into him too, their muzzles reddened with blood, their barking echoing like war drums. He screamed until his throat broke, until a fang tore off half his face and his voice died in a wet gurgle.

Third. Fourth. Fifth. All fell. All were thrown to the dogs. The beasts shredded, pulled, fought over limbs in an orgy of blood and flesh. Their barking mixed with the cries of the condemned, then with the rattles, then with silence. The snow beneath their paws turned into a slick red carpet. The air stank of coppery blood, the shit their emptied bodies released, and the wild saliva of the mastiffs who still growled, sated but never satisfied.

Before me, the entire army remained frozen. No one moved. Some averted their eyes, others stared at the scene with bulging gaze, unable to breathe. Fear had done its work: it was now etched into their flesh.

I sheathed my dagger, my gaze still fixed on that mute mass. My voice cut the air like an icy blade:

— Betray not the Seven Thorns again.

I descended the scaffold. Behind me, only the shredded corpses remained, the fouled snow, and the mastiffs still licking the flesh hanging from their fangs.

I returned to my tent without a word.