Chapter 86: Madman’s Mockery: Who Fed It to Your Rotting Brain?

The heavy iron gates of the Raw Court groaned open, a scraping screech of rusted metal echoing off the high-vaulted ceiling.

Inside, the court was a vertical nightmare of black stone, illuminated only by the harsh, buzzing glow of artificial light fixtures humming overhead. Under the kingdom’s eternal synthetic night, the cold glare cut through the subterranean dampness, casting long, skeletal shadows.

The air smelled of iron, old rot, and the stagnant stench of murky water. Low-ranking militants and minor aristocrats packed the room, their eyes glazed over in an unblinking, mechanical tunnel vision... completely trapped in a rigid, systemic trance.

Before the royal elites and the monarch even took their seats, the guards dragged Cassius toward the center wall. With a sharp pneumatic hiss and heavy metallic clunks (Clang-snap!), the wall restraints engaged.

Mechanical iron clamps tore out from the dark stone, seizing his wrists and ankles, lifting him off his feet until he hung suspended against the rock face. Directly beneath his dangling boots lay a wide, sunken pit filled with a dark lake.

The water rippled as the scaly, prehistoric ridges of crocodiles cut silently through the murk. The massive reptiles glided in tight, expectant circles, their yellow eyes locked onto the meat hanging just out of reach under the artificial lights.

His broken body went completely limp, his chin sinking into his collarbone. The coarse red cloth remained tied tight around his eyes, a violent splash of crimson against the dark. Drops of dark purple blood fell from his bare feet.

pat... splash... pat... splash--- puncturing the pool’s surface and sending the beasts into a sudden, snapping frenzy below.

Lord Vilucious ascended the stone steps to the high throne, his heavy, gold-bordered blue robes rustling with an artificial majesty.

He sat back, sprawling his long limbs with complete dominance, his bloodshot eyes fixing onto the hung slave with a smirk.

Below the throne, Florianthum took her place. Her sharp, predatory eyes locked onto Cassius above the snapping pit.

For a fraction of a second, her aristocratic mask slipped: her throat bobbed, a sharp breath hitching in her chest as her fingers twitched violently against her crimson cape.

Her nose flared in a desperate attempt to look disgusted by the "vermin," but the faint sheen of sweat on her forehead betrayed her panic.

Right beside her, Kerwon stood like a cold, iron monolith. Behind his dark visor, his jaw clamped until his teeth throbbed. He wasn’t looking at the slave or the crocodiles.

His eyes were glued to the slight, rhythmic tremor in Florianthum’s shoulders. The hot, suffocating jealousy from earlier hardened into a cold, protective rage.

He closed his gauntleted fist behind his back, the metal joints groaning (creeeak) under the pressure. He had to absorb her panic before the King noticed.

Among the crowd of tranced militants near the back, a small, frantic shift occurred. Fukuro entered the spot from the entrance like an unnoticed object.

He slowly shuffled forward, blending into the shadows of the armor-clad soldiers. He was gripping his worn, splintered mop stick, his fingers white around the wood as he tried to look busy.

Just a routine sweep, gents. Nothing to see here. Just a humble custodian of dirt, he rattled off frantically in his own head, trying to use internal humor to keep his knees from buckling.

But as he nudged past a heavy-set guard whose eyes were completely vacant, Fukuro’s eyes lifted toward the wall.

When he saw the broken form pinned to the vertical iron restraints above the snapping reptiles, the breath completely left his lungs.

A high-pitched, panicked scream surged up his throat. In a blind, desperate bid to suffocate the noise before it escaped.

Fukuro shoved the top of the splintered wooden mop handle directly into his open mouth, biting down on the wet, dirty wood with a horrific, muffled CHOMP.

He stood frozen like a terrified, wide-eyed beaver, his teeth locked onto the broomstick, wood splinters poking against his gums as he stared up through the harsh artificial glare at his hanging friend.

Oh gods... Birdy-man... No, no, no...

His inner mind scrambled around the block of wood in his jaw.

What did you do? Why are you hanging like a piece of premium laundry over a reptile exhibit?! And why does this handle taste like floor wax and regret?!

The absolute, unbothered cruelty radiating from the royal throne under the white artificial glare made Fukuro feel entirely microscopic. He was just a cleaner. A body meant to scrub away the stains of the court’s violence, not stop it.

Lord Vilucious raised his right arm and made a lazy, downward slicing gesture through the air- an effortless strike of supreme dominance.

Psssshhht-clunk!

The mechanical response from the black stone wall was instantaneous. A violent, pneumatic hiss tore through the subterranean chamber as the vertical iron restraints ground downward, dropping Cassius down the rock face.

The mechanism halted with a bone-jarring thud, leaving the boy suspended merely inches above the rippling, murky lake. The sudden movement sent a fresh spray of dark purple blood from his bare feet into the water,

splash... splash-

Instantly drawing the swarming crocodiles below into a frenzied, snapping chaos, their jagged jaws clicking shut just beneath his dangling toes.

The sheer, brutal suddenness of the drop fractured Florianthum’s composure. For one single heartbeat, her eyes tightly shut, a silent, desperate reflex to shield herself from the sight of him being torn apart.

When she opened them a millisecond later, her cruel high-born mask was already perfectly back in place.

Her sharp, predatory eyes darted sideways, checking the perimeter under the buzzing artificial light fixtures.

From his high throne, Vilucious let out a low, velvety chuckle that echoed off the high-vaulted stone ceilings, his bloodshot eyes reflecting the harsh overhead glare.

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm as his gaze drifted from the snarling reptiles to the woman beside him.

"My Soul Lordess,"

the King purred, his voice dripping with an artificial, mocking warmth that cut through the humid stench of the pit.

"If my memory serves me well through the endless cycles... this delightful little defect dangling over the teeth was originally your gift to the crown?"

Florianthum drew her shoulders back, her regal mask hardening instantly into an unreadable pane of stone.

"Yes, my Lord," she murmured, her voice a flat, dead calm that barely echoed.

Vilucious chuckled, a low, structural vibration that seemed to satisfy the humid air. He rested his chin deeper into his palm, lazily rolling a heavy gold ring around his thumb.

"Then I am entirely certain you have trained him for everything," the King purred, his bloodshot eyes narrowing into slits of pure, calculated testing.

"A flawless token to celebrate your brilliant accession. I believe in your capabilities, my lady. I truly do."

Without lifting his chin, Vilucious casually raised a single, long index finger and gave it a sharp, downward flick into the air.

Zip-snap.

The knot binding the coarse red cloth split seamlessly from behind, dropping the fabric into the darkness.

Cassius remained suspended, his head hung low, his eyelids tightly shut against the heavy hum of the room. A suffocating heartbeat passed. Then, with agonizing slowness, his eyelids peeled back to reveal two bottomless, pitch-black voids.

Thick, ink-like tendrils of shadow spilled from his sockets, heavier and more violent than before.

The darkness poured from his face like smoke, pooling down his chest and breaking off into heavy chunks that plummeted straight toward the murky lake below.

Jolt of raw panic flared across Cassius’s features, his chest heaving as the snapping jaws of the crocodiles grazed the cold air beneath his bare heels.

For a fraction of a second, he was terrified.

Then, the fear died.

His head tilted back, his chin lifting slowly until his pitch-black, void-filled eyes locked squarely onto Lord Vilucious.

A low, ragged wheeze clicked in the back of his throat. It bubbled upward, fracturing the heavy thrum of the chamber, before erupting into a violent, unstoppable roar of laughter.

"Heh... heheha... AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

It was unhinged and deafening, a manic explosion of pure, savage mockery that echoed off the high stone walls.

The sound cut right through the buzzing artificial glare, a frantic, rolling hysteria that made his broken ribs shudder as he laughed right into the face of the crown.

"HAH-AHAHAHAHAHA! COUGH--- HAHAHAHA!"

The laughter cut short instantly, leaving only the sound of the thrashing reptiles below. Cassius stared straight at the high throne, his lips curling into a lethal, bared-fang sneer.

"Stupid..." he spat aloud, his voice a dark, echoing growl that pierced the tunnel-visioned silence of the court.

Clang-clack-shhhk!

In a single, flawless, terrifyingly synchronized heartbeat, every single militant standing in the chamber... irrespective of their position or rank; raised their weapons.

Halberds, heavy rifles, and spiked broadswords leveled directly at Cassius like an automated firing squad.

But before a trigger could pull, Vilucious casually lifted one hand into the air.

A silent command. Instantly, the mechanical army responded.

Thud!

They slammed their weapons back down against the granite floorboards in a perfect unison, slipping right back into their dead, unblinking trance.

Cassius continued. Still no fear.

"Aaha... Who fed it into that rotting brain of yours that you can simply end me? Oh, you are too brave, Vilucious! To kill whom? Me? Aahahahahaha!"

The violent, mocking amusement tore from his chest once more, the ink-like shadow tendrils flaring wildly around his face like smoke from a raging furnace, completely erasing any trace of the broken slave he was supposed to be.