The cheers of thousands erupted around Kyros as he was dragged into the ring the next day. He was held between two guards, who gripped his arms tightly and yanked on the chains latched around his hands in a suffocating grip. The pain of chains rubbing against the thin flesh that barely covered the bones there caused him to gnash his teeth, and he was sure he felt a tooth crack.
His bare feet burned against the hot sand that covered the surface of the ring, and he stumbled and fell weakly against his captors.
Unlike last time, a pole was centered in the middle of the ring. It stood tall and strong, casting an ominous shadow that fell over his face as he neared it. He knew what his final punishment would consist of, and he bowed his head to accept his defeat.
He was pushed against the pole, the scratchy, splintery surface poking and prodding at his skin uncomfortably. The wood rubbed against his wounds and scars and he held his breath, taking the pain and trying to become used to it.
But it seemed he could never get used to pain.
His hands were uncuffed, only to be stretched around the pole then locked back together, causing him to hug it. He winced when the thin rag of a shirt he was wearing was cut off his back, revealing his marred skin.
What comes after punishment? Death? Kyros wondered.
"Today we gather here to witness the final act of justice for the nations. Long you have all waited for these days, and though these acts won't bring back those we have lost, they hopefully can satisfy your need for justice by holding those accountable who dare to harm our people."
Kyro's frantic eyes scanned the crowd, he didn't see Asheria sitting in her normal spot. In fact, she was nowhere to be seen. His heart thudded loud in his chest, he didn't want to be alone.
Where is she?
The heat of the sun beat down on his panicking body, and when he drew his eyes away from the crowd and looked to the left of him, he saw someone approaching him, dressed in a long, black robe. A dark mask was fitted over their face, and he recognized the clothing as executioner-type clothing.
A whip was gripped in their hands which were clothed in black leather gloves. Unlike the whips he had been beaten with before, this one had multiple tails, all wielding sharp bits of silver, glass, and broken pottery woven into it.
"Forty lashes will be given to Kyros. May he live if the goddess deems fit." The king spoke.
The executioner placed themselves directly behind Kyros. He could only lean his forehead against the post and focus on his shaky breathing. If there is any higher being out there, please take this pain from me. Please lessen the agony I'm about to face.
He heard nothing but the whiz of the whip cutting through the air in the same way it would cut through his flesh.
And then he felt it.
A brutal, heavy weight collided with his back, pushing him forwards into the post. His ears rang from the impact and his breath caught in his throat. Pain. It ignited every nerve in his body, and he felt like he was on fire.
He hadn't even sucked in another breath before the next strike came down upon him. He grunted and writhed against the pole. His eyes locked tightly together as his body attempted to deal with the pain.
The next few lashes came down in quick succession, ripping into his skin with might and exposing muscle. His legs shook and he felt blood running down them. It started, at first, with a slow trickle, a few drops here and there. And then it proceeded to run down his skin, quickly and with a warm, wet feeling.
The next hit was so excruciating that he lost control of his bladder. His wounds stung from the contact of his body fluids as humiliation flooded his senses.
It didn't go unnoticed by the others.
Another strike tore into the backs of his thighs, ripping into the flesh there. He held in his cries of pain and he pressed into the column for support. His blood ran free, and the pain was so severe his weak legs could support themselves no more. He fell, causing his arms to be bent up at a painful angle and hold his entire weight around the thirtieth strike.
He couldn't bear to stand anymore.
He hung from his arms, forehead pressed into the pole as he gasped for air. He found that the more he anticipated the next lash the more that it hurt.
But he refused to make a sound.
Blood trickle down his spine and formed small pools around him. The sound of the whip, the shouting of the crowd, the pounding in his ears, and the pain threw him into a panic. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
He couldn't.
He lost count of the lashes and his head fell against one of his arms, no longer having the strength to hold it up.
The skin that hadn't been ripped off his back was hanging there in ribbons, and he grit his teeth together in anguish. He was flinching, cowering, and shivering profusely. Most of all, he was exhausted. It felt like if he closed his eyes now, he would never open them again.
He was too tired, his eyes felt heavy and he could hear nothing but the pounding of his heart in his ears. The lashes didn't stop, even when he was barely conscious, they didn't stop.
Even when he stopped moving and crying out altogether, they didn't stop.
His ears rang loudly, his heart pounded fiercely. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he chased unconsciousness.
He hung limply by his chained arms.
Then, all at once, the lashings stopped.
He made it to forty.
An empty silence surrounded him. It felt like an eternity before finally, he sensed the vibrations of movement.
Footsteps approached him. They sounded so far away yet close, but it wasn't long before he felt the presence of someone near him.
His vision faded in and out, and he shut his eyes as he lived out his last few moments of consciousness.
Someone severed the chains binding him and he fell to the ground with a thump. Vaguely, he could feel hands on his body, rolling him from his side to his stomach. The closer he approached unconsciousness, the less he felt.
Rough ropes were tied around his ankles and guards started to drag his body through the sand. The scent of dirt and blood tickled his nose and dust fell into his wounds.
But he hardly sensed it.
He let out one last groan before he tumbled into unconsciousness.
He was forced back into the dark abyss, screaming into the blackened, bruised skies.
* * *
When Kyros awoke, he was lying on his stomach on a soft surface. He only moved his eyes to take in his surroundings. The first thing he could make out was a pair of gloomy, golden eyes staring at him intently. They watched him solemnly, studying every movement of his distressed breathing and muscle twitch within his body.
Kyros gasped and placed his scraped palms flat against the cushiony surface. A bed? He was in a bed!
"Stop, you can't move." Asheria spoke, stepping closer to him. Those eyes belonged to her, and when she got closer to him, he could now see that Asheria was here.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she hushed him.
"Don't speak, you need to rest." She looked at him sympathetically, her eyes watered with tears that would never be shed.
"Reuben cleaned your wounds and bandaged you, you're to lie on your stomach until you're healed enough to move." She spoke softly.
"W-where am I?" Kyros whispered, eyes looking around the small, yet comfortable room which was painted a creme color and held paintings on the walls. Lanterns hung from the ceilings, creating an inviting, orange glow.
He was no longer in the cells.
"You're in a secured guest room in the palace. Since your punishments are over, you've been granted to stay in a guest room to heal and rest for your court date. You've been allowed another chance, Kyros, because the council agreed with me that your case needed to be further investigated."
Kyros didn't react. His eyes simply held nothing.
Until he was hit with sudden despair, depression, and an overwhelming ache in his chest when he looked at Asheria and her solemn features. He could feel the loneliness he felt during his whipping and the despair, anxiety, and pain.
He looked at her with an expression that held so much sorrow, Asheria nearly had to look away.
"W-Why?" He began, voice scratchy, "Why weren't you there?"
A silence fell over the two, and Asheria felt like she had failed him. She closed her eyes, sighing as she let herself feel the pain. The pain of guilt and the pain that he felt.
"I was alone." His voice cracked. She stared at him, her expression mirroring his own solemn one.
She didn't say anything, rather, she gripped his hand and fell to her knees on the side of the bed he lay in.
"Asheria." He whispered, using her name for the first time.
"Yes?"
"It hurts. My whole body hurts." He wheezed, letting out a gasp of pain, face contorted into distress.
She ran her fingers through his hair, whispering, "I know. I know it does, Kyros."
He winced as the pain of being conscious attacked him. He wished he could stay asleep forever, never having to deal with pain again. His whole body thrummed with deep, radiating agony from his back before expanding to the rest of his body.
"Kyros."
He didn't answer, the pain returning to him was immense and restricted him from doing so. It even hurt to breathe. The slight expansion of his ribs with each breath caused his skin on his back to slightly stretch, aggravating his deep lacerations.
"I'm so sorry that I wasn't there for you," Asheria whispered, clutching his hand tight in her own, "Even if it seems like I was not there for you, I was closer to you than you knew."
Her words rang with more truth than he could imagine.