Snippet #927289

”At your leisure General.” Came the affirmation. The Cat o' Nine Tails swung lazily, held loosely by the cold human General. The whip had originally had claws, but it often killed whoever was on the receiving end, something Fong did not want to do. Instead, the claws were blunted and reduced in size. That meant the ends weren't too weighted, rather unraveled into small ends. They would leave grievous marks, very painful, stinging wounds. Fong's lips curled down slightly, his lips pressed together so hard the skin seemed almost white.

"No, General Ebon. It is no leisure of mine." He whispered, his voice coming the closest to a different emotion other than cold hatred, contempt, or anger for a long time. It was a fair mix between distaste at his actions and questionable conviction. Of course, nobody heard it. Something the human General had intended. Slowly, he cracked the whip against the ground, the sound causing some of the crowd to cringe. I cannot falter now.

The General's pallid hand raised without hesitation, pausing slightly at the height of his arm's length. His eyes had now frozen over. With a jerk, the Cat screamed down on Ebon's exposed back. A loud snapping noise. Fong watched the whip make contact without flinching, his face set as if made of stone in a slight frown. "One." He said. Only fifty-nine lashes to go. Once again, the Cat was hauled into the air. It came down with a snap.

"Two."

It was hard to tell if the General was using all his strength to bear the whip down on Ebon. Only Fong knew, and many assumed due to his ruthless look that he was using all his strength. Within a few more lashes, the General's back had become raw, sensitive, and burning. The skin had turned a light shade of red, revealing the tissue underneath. Still, Fong continued.

Fong couldn't tell how long this was taking, but his monotonous voice was counting the number of lashes.

"Forty-four."

Her back was bleeding, it was hard to tell if she was unconscious, alive, or dead. Slowly, he lowered the Cat to the ground. Stepping on the claws of the Cat, he jerked his arm out so the claws broke off, scattering from the force off the stand. "The claws have been removed to keep the Hooded man on his Gray Horse from arriving." He said, his soft voice cutting through the still air as the emotionless General observed the horrified looks on many of the crowd's faces. He raised the Cat again without another unnecessary word.

Crack.

"Forty-Five."

Showing pity to the woman at this point would be an insult. Slowly, he let the air flow back through, something he had been blocking from the very beginning. Now the air would brush against her back, igniting even further pain. She was doing well. Many would have died at fifty lashes. However, the General wasn't finished. Two more. His face seemed strained, though many were focused on Ebon and didn't notice. He doubted Ebon herself was aware she was still alive. Slowly, he raised the Cat again.

Crack.

"Fifty-Nine."

He raised his whip once more, his arm trembling slightly. No. I cannot show weakness now. His arm stopped at once, and Fong's face contorted into a painful-looking scowl as he brought the Cat o' Nine Tails down on Ebon once more.

Crack.

The blood drenched whip dropped, to his side. "There. You all have now witnessed the price of failure at the highest degree. The woman shall be brought to the infirmary, but will not, by any means be allowed to heal more than the surface. She will not be allowed pain-killers of any type. She will not be allowed to resume command of troops until she is fully healed. Dismissed. Return to your posts." He said. As the crowd turned their backs, mostly in disgust or sickness, Fong took the opportunity to toss the Cat away in contempt. He knew if he tried to touch Ebon at this point, her Darkies would never forgive him. It will only serve to increase the animosity. He turned on his heel, leaving the General strung up on the Nightmarian stand, blood dripping down from her feet as it streamed from her back. If they healed naturally, they would leave very unsightly vein-like marks on her back, a reminder of her failure.