“What’s happening!? Why are the bloody Royals making a fuss tonight of all times?” Marquis Kinson did not like the sounds of loud drums as he descended to a chamber.
He was irritated for the loud drums stopped him from enacting his pass times. He had been doing it for the past few days, relieving him of the stress given to him by the Second Prince.
“That incompetent shit, can’t even do anything right. He just had to lower Feriar’s control, he only had to do that! But he still failed, goddamn useless cur!” Kinson cursed.
As he finished his walking down the steps, Kinson opened the doors to the secret chamber of his Manor’s underground level.
Upon his return, the silent sobs and whimpers of young children entered his ears. It was a serenade that calmed his heart.
“I have returned, my precious sons!” He announced with a loud voice.
He walked down a damp and decrepit Prison Hall. Left and right, rows of cells caging young boys had marks of being whipped and tortured.
“Who wants to play with Daddy today?” Kinson said with a jolly tone, and the children whose age was no higher than seven or eight trembled in fear for they knew what it meant.
When Kinson was in his joyous times was when it got violent.
Kinson’s every step would elicit a rapid beat of the heart. The fears of children could not be measured. They shook in their tiny cells as they held their heads down, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.
‘Please…Goddesses, not this time, not again, please…spare me. Spare me of this fate…spare me!!!!’ A child prayed to the Goddesses as he always had. He prayed louder and louder so that their prayers would be answered.
Each and every one of them wanted to drown the pleas of the others. They wanted their prayers to be heard this time around.
‘Please, not tonight…not to—’
However, one child’s prayer could not be answered. A child with an evergreen hair raised his hand as the steel bars of his cell were picked.
“Kian, my lovely child, why don’t you help this Daddy of yours blow off some steam?”
Kian wanted to shake his head, but he was already conditioned not to do so. If he were to shake his head or defy Kinson’s orders, then the pain would only increase.
His cell opened with a creak, and he walked towards Kinson’s embrace.
Kinson held onto the child’s hands, whose wrist had a festering wound.
Kinson looked at this wound and saw the magots he left it with and smiled, “Would you look at that, your wounds had stopped decaying, I told you, the maggots would eat the dead tissues.”
A proud smile emerged from Kinson’s visage. He was satisfied with the kindness that he showed.
He held onto the Kina’s bony rough hands and slowly guided him to the end of the hall where the playroom was.
Soon, Kian was bound by chain links that prevented him so many times from escaping. He was Kinson’s favorite, for he had evergreen hair.
According to Kinson, he was the perfect outlet to pour his infuriation he had with the Royals.
Kian’s eyes turned lifeless; he had given up. With the pliers on Kinson’s hands, the pain would shortly follow, hoping for a miracle would only further the agony. Thus, the young boy prepared himself to scream to satiate Kinson’s needs and sleep for another night.
But then, through his now muddled hearing, Kian heard the doors slam once more. Kinson panicked as he quickly turned around.
The sounds of quick steps moving hastened, and before long, the playroom’s heavy steel door was cut by a blue sword.
Behind the doors was a man garbed in silver armor and someone with an evergreen hair. Both were handsome and radiated illustrious light to Kian; salvation arrived.
“Second Prince, what are you doing here?” Kinson asked with a trembling voice.
Trist looked at the Marquis and the chained boy with rage in his eyes. He had his Knights free the child from the chains.
Trist saw Kinson as his supporter just months before, and with extreme disgust both to himself and this man, Trist whispered, “Young Master…make him sing a nice tune, serenade the children with his voice.”
“It shall be my magnum opus, your highness.”
Colt stepped forth with his sword seemingly humming as it thirsts for blood.
“Y-you Edgeworth brat, I am a Marquis, d-do you know the weight of touching me? You have no right to—”
Slash! One of his legs was cut, and the howling melody echoed. The children recognized this voice, and for it to be used in this manner, the children began to smile.
They were weak, trembling smiles. Slowly, they stood up and gathered what strength they had to get nearer to this masterpiece.
The children were released from their cells, and with the help of the Knights, the children joyfully walked over to the playroom.
Upon the sight of Kinson, their smiles could not be any wider. For the first time in his life, Kinson was on the receiving end of a deranged smile.
He whimpered and cried…such was his mistakes for the Second Prince did not appreciate such a thing, “Young Master, the volume had been lowered, turn it up now before we leave.”
“W-wait—aaaaAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! P-prince Trist….p-please, kill me, if you want to…”
The Marquis began to beg, Trist, however, did not appreciate that. The Second Prince crouched down and met the Marquis onto his eye level, “You do not have the right to have such privilege, your voice shall become a serenade, as I implant onto you the blood of an infected enhanced Red Vein Disease. And as I watch you die, slowly, writhing in pain, I shall enjoy your every second with the children you tortured for your sick perversion.”
Trist finished his words, and the Knights retreated ten steps back with the Children. Trist did the same as Colt brought out a vial of blood Jin received from Alpyie for research.
A single drop of blood reached his tongue, and almost immediately, Kinson’s body reacted. His blood flew all over, but it never reached anyone that could be infected.
He suffered pain, only Demons could endure.
His red veins protruded as searing pain enveloped his being.
Colt and Trist watched for a few seconds before turning their backs from him. In the capital, four others remained, and throughout the night, Colt and the Second Prince visited them, one by one.
Some tried to escape as they understood what was happening, only to be captured and get tortured even harder.
Each and every one of them was given the disease to suffer, and those they caged, both the young women and boys, the pregnant and maimed, all watched with a smile on their faces.
They reveled in their pain, and after the scream of pain ended, the ones that were enslaves were dissatisfied, for they demanded more.
They demanded such punishment was not enough for the crimes they have committed. They have witnessed these people torture hundreds to death, and the enslaves cried in dissatisfaction.
“Torture them! Make them suffer!”
The pitiful cries of the tortured people throughout the capital.