For, in his fist he held a three-pronged thorned whip, which he pulled back without warning and brought down with an audibleswishand thunderouscrackupon Sin’s mangled hide.
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Zai used significant strength on the first blow, enough to tear a chunk of hide right off the liger’s back.
Enough to demonstrate to watchful eyes that he meant business, that he was immune to violence and pain.
The second stroke tore raw, bloody streaks into the liger’s exposed flesh, the hooks in the whip digging into muscle, almost down to the bone where the liger had no fat as buffer. Which was essentiallyeverywhere.
The Beast’s sides heaved as he bore the agony silently, ribs protruding into his emaciated, filthy hide.
His body might be weak, but his will was strong. As was the burning hatred in his eyes as he stared directly into Zai’s.
I’m going to tear you limb from limb,those glittering yellow eyes said.I’ll slash your belly with claw and fang and feed you your own entrails.
The liger’s nostrils flared as he took another debilitating stroke from the merciless whip, as if to say,I know you. A Beast never loses his prey’s scent. There’s nowhere you can run or hide. I will find you.
I will end you.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Zai saw that the Dark Queen watched with a small, satisfied smile curling her lips. The Commander’s expression was stony and impassive, giving nothing away, and the Consul’s face was a bland, neutral mask.
Thus far, he was passing their test.
Zai wondered how much longer the liger would endure the torture before launching an attack. From the stories he gathered, the beast always exploded into a crazed rampage shortly into the public display.
It was his role to play, observers reported. They beat him down. He would try to fight back. They beat him more until he clung to the very edge of life.
And when he passed out from the pain and blood loss, the Queen would make a speech about “let this be a lesson…,” the spectators would disperse and suffer nightmares from the brutal demonstration, and the Beast would be caged once more. To heal as best he could, so that they could do this all over again.
Zai’s next strokes were purposely lighter, barely dragging the edges of the thorned whip along the Beast’s hide. He cracked the whip loudly as he brought it down, making it seem as if he was using more strength, not less.
He wondered whether the liger still had enough in him to fight back. He looked nothing like the golden god Zai recalled from that fateful encounter decades ago. A thing of pure power and strength, swift savagery and feline grace.
Now, he was skin and bones. His limbs quivering with stress, as if they could barely hold him upright; his eyes glazed with agony.
The plan was for Zai to carry out this public torture, beat him within an inch of his life, for the Beast to be dragged away and dumped somewhere to die. Somewhere in the open. And when he finally got up to slink back to his pack or pride, Zai would follow him, assuming he would lead them to their true quarry—one or more of the Beast Kings.
In reality, Zai would simply cover up the liger’s tracks, help him disappear, then make sure that he and Ben disappeared as well.
Once the liger was free, Zai’s personal debt would be paid. He didn’t know why he felt the need to pay it, why this particular Beast’s freedom mattered over all others.
It simply was.
Like an arrow lodged in Zai’s heart that he needed to pull out, even though doing so would lead to certain death.
Ben was already making preparations. The Queen’s guard would provide two light steeds, bred for stealth versus power. When they closed in on their quarry, they would go the rest of the way on foot.
Stop being stubborn and pass the fuck out,he tried to communicate with his eyes to the snarling Beast.
He didn’t want to whip the liger within an inch of his life. He wouldn’t flinch if he had to; it was merely part of a larger plan.
But something in the vicinity of Zai’s chest burned and clenched with every stroke of the whip, every tear of hide and flesh, and spill of the liger’s blood. His muscles quivered with tension, as if his own body wanted to disobey him, rebelling against his mind’s command to wield the weapon.
Zai fought himself to carry out the ruse. Soon, his skin beaded with a sheen of sweat, dripping from his temple down the side of his cheek, collecting above his upper lip and in the deep groove of his back.
Break, damn you!he tried to telepath to the obstinate animal, glaring daggers at the liger as ifhewere the one breaking Zai instead.
A sudden gust swirled over the plateau, churning the air around them. It pushed back Zai’s cowl just enough to reveal the side of his face that was tattooed with the traitor’s mark before flipping the edges back again.