Reborn in Blood: The Executioner's Dominion

​"The payment for the release of your soul has been settled in full, Antares," whispered the executioner in a sickening, raspy voice. ​The copper stench of thick blood filled the stale air in Verdant Dungeon. This underground chamber was located on the lowest level of the damp, moldy Sanguine City Palace. This place, which had never been touched by sunlight, bore witness to the most brutal torture tonight. ​Antares von Ravencroft was bound tightly to a black iron post planted in the center of the room. Aether-Iron chains locked his arms, chest, and legs until he could not move even a fraction. Every time Antares tried to breathe, the spell-infused chains burned his skin and flesh. ​A thin, acrid smoke rose high toward the dark stone ceiling. The excruciating pain continued to spread into Antares' cartilage. However, the man's screams had long been drained away along with the rest of his strength. ​"Open your eyes and look at this cup properly," barked the executioner draped in a thick black cloak. "The rest of your soul energy will flow here and belong to my new master," the burly man continued with a low chuckle. ​The year 1042 in this Aether-Punk era truly knew no mercy whatsoever. Power and machine-magic technology were controlled by nobles who acted arbitrarily. Antares spat a clump of black blood onto the floor beneath his feet. ​His blurring vision stared at the sharp-weaponed executioner before him. Beside the execution post, a large silver cup was prepared on a rotting wooden table. The container was carved with magic symbols meant to hold human soul energy. ​"Why have you just been quiet all this time?" asked the executioner as he wiped the edge of his serrated dagger. "Weren't you once the war hero most feared by the enemy?" mockingly added the executioner with a sneering face. ​"Did you think I would beg for mercy from a bastard like you?" Antares replied in a raspy, nearly gone voice. ​"Turns out your tongue is still quite sharp, huh," responded the executioner with a sinister smile. "Or are you deliberately speaking loudly to cover up your own fear?" asked the executioner, looking into Antares' eyes. ​"Try it yourself if you want to know," Antares challenged, staring straight into the killer's face. ​"Don't be arrogant just yet, soon enough you will cry," mocked the executioner, bringing his face closer. ​"Just keep making threats, I won't be afraid," Antares replied, gritting his teeth. ​The executioner suddenly stepped forward and plunged the serrated dagger blade right into the middle of Antares' chest. The cold sensation of metal tearing through flesh instantly turned into a burning wave of pain. Antares let out a muffled roar, his neck muscles straining hard. ​The executioner did not stop after piercing the skin of Antares' chest. The cold-blooded man instead slowly twisted the handle of his dagger to break Antares' ribs. The sound of cracking and snapping bones was heard very clearly in the quiet room. ​"Your blood feels warm too, no different from the blood of commoners," whispered the executioner without pity. ​"Shut your mouth and finish your task quickly," Antares cut in, holding his heavy breath. ​"Why the rush? We still have plenty of time tonight," the executioner chuckled softly. ​"You think this torture can make me submit?" Antares mocked with his remaining strength. ​"Let's see how long you can control your consciousness," responded the executioner, pressing his dagger even deeper. ​"Do as you like, no answer will come out of my mouth," Antares stated firmly with gasping breath. ​"I don't need your answers! I only need your pain," the executioner chuckled again. ​Fresh blood spurted heavily from the large wound on Antares' chest. The red fluid soaked his destroyed armor clinging to his skin. Every drop of blood that fell to wet the floor emitted warm steam into the night air. ​The twenty-eight-year-old Antares was forced to watch his chest being cut open alive. In this dark room, there were no numbing potions or pain-soothing magic. The royal executioner began skinning Antares' chest area very meticulously and slowly. ​"You must be curious who paid handsomely to torture you like this," said the executioner as he took a pair of copper pincers. "That person just wants you to feel unbearable pain before your life slips away," he continued. ​"It is Cynthia, right? No need to pretend it is a secret anymore in front of me," Antares guessed with a sharp gaze. ​"So you already knew," answered the executioner with a low laugh. "That woman has really hated you for a long time," added the executioner while pulling a section of Antares' chest muscle. ​"She only used my family's power to ascend the throne," Antares said, grimacing in pain. ​"And now you are useless to her," the executioner cut in coldly. ​"She thinks she can sleep peacefully after doing all this?" Antares growled back. ​"I don't care. What is clear is that tonight she sleeps soundly in the palace," mocked the executioner with a smirk. ​The executioner's rough fingers tore through the ligaments and muscle tissue protecting Antares' heart. The relentless pain made Antares' eyes widen so much that the red blood vessels in his eyes were clearly visible. He clenched both hands until his fingernails pierced the skin of his own palms. ​The reason he was in this bloody torture chamber was truly a filthy political tragedy. Antares had been framed for committing a massive rebellion against the Sanguine City Royal Palace. The party who orchestrated this cunning trap was his own fiancée, Lady Cynthia. ​Cynthia worked together with the Crown Prince to remove the Ravencroft family from the ranks of the elite. All secret documents and border strategy plans that Antares had once trusted her with were unilaterally renamed under another owner. In a single night, Antares' status changed from a hero to a traitor who had to be eradicated. ​"This receiving glass is already right beneath your chest," said the executioner while bringing the silver cup close to the open wound. "Now it is time to pluck out the most precious part of your body," he added with a satisfied tone. ​"Just do it, stop talking so much," Antares challenged, gritting his teeth. ​"Be a little patient, this will feel very delightful to watch," whispered the executioner playfully. ​"You brainless errand dog," Antares spat out, coughing up the remaining blood from his mouth. ​"At least this dog is the one taking your life tonight," replied the executioner casually. ​"Take it then if you are truly capable," Antares challenged, staring straight into the executioner's eyes. ​"Don't regret it," said the executioner as he planted his pincers deeper. ​With his hands draped in thick leather gloves, the executioner gripped Antares' Aether Core. The crystal-shaped magic organ was tightly fused with the heart core inside his chest. The severing of the soul magic chains was done by force without a specialized cutting tool. ​The forced extraction of the crystal caused Antares' body to convulse violently against the execution post. The pain did not merely destroy his physical body, but also felt like tearing his soul into tiny fragments. All the magic energy channels inside his body suddenly exploded and were completely destroyed. ​"Keep pulling until all the roots are detached!" shouted an unfamiliar voice from behind the iron door of the cell. "Do not let any leftover magic energy remain inside his body!" ​"Who told you to shout over there?" yelled the executioner toward the iron door. ​"I am only passing along orders from the Crown Prince!" replied the palace servant rudely from outside. ​"Shut your mouth and let me work in peace!" responded the executioner, annoyed. ​"Finish it quickly before other guards pass by!" barked the servant, refusing to back down. ​"If you chatter again, I will cut your tongue too!" threatened the executioner, shouting back. ​"Don't you dare try to threaten me!" shouted the servant from behind the door. ​Every centimeter of movement as the crystal was pulled out made Antares' breath grow more gasping. His lungs felt filled with thick blood clogging his airway. Blood kept pouring heavily from his chest, forming a wide red puddle on the floor below. ​The executioner exerted strong pressure on the copper pincers until the living crystal detached completely. The glowing bluish organ finally fell into the silver cup with a loud clinking sound. The bluish light from the crystal suddenly dimmed as soon as it was separated from Antares' heart. ​"Cynthia herself requested that your soul organ be extracted without leaving anything behind. She said she was disgusted to see any remaining Ravencroft descendant in this city," said the executioner. ​"One day... all of you will pay dearly," threatened Antares with an increasingly weakening voice. ​"Unfortunately you won't have a tomorrow to take revenge," replied the executioner casually. ​"My family's blood will never run cold," Antares whispered faintly. ​"Look at you, about to die and still putting on airs!" mocked the executioner while shaking his head. ​"This grudge won't stop just because my physical body is destroyed," Antares responded in a whisper. ​"Just go dream about it in the afterlife," mocked the executioner, laughing derisively. ​Antares tried to defend himself, but his throat was already clogged by the thick blood that kept rising. No words could come out of his mouth other than a raspy gasp of breath that grew weaker and weaker. All his physical strength vanished along with the loss of the soul crystal from his chest. ​Antares' vision grew dimmer and turned pitch black. His sight was only able to catch the murky silhouette of the executioner raising the long dagger blade again. The killer had no intention of letting Antares die slowly from severe bleeding. ​"My task here is finished," said the executioner shortly while grabbing Antares' hair. ​"Finish it quickly, don't waste any more time!" called out the servant behind the door. ​"Shut up, this is my business!" barked the executioner in irritation. ​"Don't keep the Crown Prince waiting for too long!" threatened the servant again. ​"Yeah, it is about to be cut!" replied the executioner angrily. ​"Do it right, don't leave anything behind!" shouted the servant again. ​The executioner pulled Antares' head backward until his neck stretched taut. Without a single moment of hesitation, the sharp dagger blade was pulled crosswise cutting Antares' throat. The main blood vessels in his neck severed instantly, spurting the last of his blood into the air. ​Antares' consciousness extinguished completely in the freezing darkness. The soul of the betrayed hero sank into the bloody floor of Verdant Dungeon. ​"Goodbye, world."