“You speak of him quite fondly.” Gabriel froze. Suddenly, the gazes of the Council upon him seemed much more intimidating.
“...Of course,” he began slowly, carefully forming his sentence in his head before speaking aloud. One wrong word could mean the death of him. “My instructions were to befriend him—”
“Your instructions,” a Councilor cut him off sharply, making dread pool in his gut, “were to gain his trust. Not to form… attachments.” They say the word with such disgust it makes him feel dirty. Faintly in the back of his mind, he realized he was trembling.
“Remove your chestplate.” The order made his heart drop to his feet. He hardly did anything, it was an honest mistake, he didn’t deserve—!
“Gabriel.” Caught up in his head, he had forgotten to move. “Do not make me repeat myself.”
Hesitantly, he undid the leather straps holding his pauldrons to his breastplate, setting them on the floor beside him. The metallic clang when they collided with the marble floor echoed throughout the silent amphitheater. He worked his chest plate over his helmet, discarding it the same way. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his bare arm.
“On your knees,” demanded the Head Councilor. Gabriel knew it was coming, knew what they were going to do to him, and yet shakily dropping to his knees in the center of the amphitheater and feeling the gazes of the Council follow him to the floor was one of the scariest things he’d ever done. He folded his hands in his lap, trying to ignore the way they were shaking.
“Gabriel, you have been tempted by sin.” He couldn’t stop himself from flinching when he heard footsteps approach behind him, curling further in on himself with every step. “To purify your thoughts and deliver you from temptation, you will be lashed for every sin in hell.”
The footsteps stopped right behind him. The tension in the air was suffocating, his every muscle drawn taught like a bowstring, waiting for—
White-hot pain exploded across his back. The force of it knocked the breath from his lungs and had him curling his hands into fists. He grit his teeth and took a steadying breath through his nose.
“Speak your sin.” The Councilor demanded. Gabriel swallowed thickly.
“Lust.” There was an affirming nod from the Councilor, and then they struck him again. Gabriel jolted, feeling his obsidian skin tear open. Drops of blood pooled from shallow wounds in his flesh that would only be made deeper.
“Gluttony.” He heard the whip whistle through the air as it was brought down again. He exhaled slowly, attempting to ground himself while cool air bit at his exposed muscle. Flexing his hands, he closed his eyes.
“Greed.” Another strike. He felt the metal ends of the whip carve grooves into his flesh, felt his blood rolling in thin streams down his back, felt the irritated skin scream with every ragged breath.
“Wrath,” he gasped, digging his nails into his palms hard enough to draw more blood. Another crack echoed through the amphitheater and with it, more pain blossomed on his skin. It took all of his strength to resist falling forward and begging for mercy.
“Heresy,” he sobbed, his voice cracking midway through the word. Another lash of the whip across his back and he broke, curling in on himself and sobbing under his helmet. His back felt like it was on fire, he could feel each cell breaking apart, every breath jostled his wounds and only brought more agony, he was going to puke—
“Violence,” he wheezed. He couldn’t breathe, every second that passed brought more and more pain, he could barely hold himself up anymore, he was scratching lines along his arms in an attempt to block out the pain pain pain pain—
Another strike. “Fraud,” he whimpered, haggard and small and pathetic as he was, holding himself tightly in some poor instinctual attempt at an embrace that brought him no comfort. He whined quietly on every exhale, his entire body stinging like it was being burned with acid. Blood waterfalled down his back and pooled under him, staining his skirt and leggings crimson. He couldn’t think through the pain, was only barely coherent enough to jolt when the final strike hit him. He felt it tear through the meat of his back, felt a metal tip catch on a ragged wound’s edge, felt as the Councilor behind him tugged and tore it out—
He couldn’t quite swallow the scream that ripped out of him, a half-broken cry that forced its way past his lips and reverberated around the amphitheater. “Treachery,” he coughed, his throat raw from his strangled screeching, falling forward to lay his head on the floor as he gasped for breath.
He was barely conscious as the Councillor stepped away, leaving him broken in the center of the amphitheater. There was a brief pause as the Council graciously allowed him a moment’s rest.
“Back to Lust with you,” said the Head stiffly. “Do not make this mistake again.”
Gabriel nodded weakly, the motion sending further spikes of pain down his back. Shakily, he pushed himself to his feet and began reattaching his armor. He tried (and failed) not to hiss as the bare metal pressed against his wounds.
have funnnnnnn
I fucking love this and I'm gonna explode /pos
Fucking love this tortured guy
