Hades felt empty.
Helpless. Hopeless.
Each step he took up the stairs of the academy felt heavier than the last, as if his body already knew what was coming. He had spent all this time trying to prove his innocence—clinging to the hope that someone, anyone, might believe him.
But when the Minister spoke of Graham's family, something inside him broke.
His mind went blank. His heart, numb.
Graham…
The pride of his family and the person Hades considered his brother.
Hades had been a part of that family too. They welcomed him, cared for him like a second son.
He used to promise Graham's mother again and again, "I'll protect him. No matter what."
But in the end, it was Graham who died—trying to protect him.
The irony burned worse than any wound.
"…Headmaster," Hades finally whispered, voice tight with emotion, "Did his family… did they hold a funeral?"
The older man's steps slowed. There was sorrow in his voice. "No. They never found the body. But… soon, they will organize a funeral."
Hades closed his eyes. He wanted to be there—to stand beside the grieving parents, to mourn with them.
But he couldn't.
His presence would only deepen their wounds. To them, he wasn't family anymore.
He was the reason their son was gone.
The rooftop was quiet when they arrived. A large stone tank sat in the sun, its shadow stretching long and still. The Headmaster was there, along with church workers and—of course—Minister Ross, who looked far too eager for what was about to happen.
Hades didn't resist.
He held out his hands and let them bind him with a thick rope.
He wouldn't run.
There was nowhere left to run.
"I don't understand why that man hates me…" he murmured under his breath, eyes flicking briefly to Ross.
The Headmaster still couldn't accept it. How could the Pope allow such a cruel punishment for a student?
Yes, Hades was strong. But inside, he was still just a boy. Still hurting. Still human.
This is wrong, the Headmaster thought bitterly, jaw clenched.
The ropes pulled tight.
Hades's shirt was torn off. His pants, stripped—leaving only the last thin layer of cloth.
One of the church workers gasped, then turned and vomited.
The Headmaster's eyes went wide in horror. Ross looked away, his expression tight with disgust.
His body was a map of agony.
His skin—blackened and red in patches, like overcooked meat still bleeding underneath.
Burns ran up his chest and down his arms in jagged, uneven trails.
Some wounds were fresh—blisters raw and wet, leaking pus and blood. Others had dried into dark, cracked scabs that split open with the smallest movement.
No one said anything.
But they all saw it.
Hades's body—
Burned.
Raw.
The man who was supposed to inflict damage turned toward the Headmaster, hesitant.
"I don't find any reason to further hurt him," he said quietly.
"But you must! That's the procedure!" Ross barked, his voice sharp and impatient. He wasn't ready to let the criminal escape the full weight of punishment.
The Headmaster growled under his breath, eyes narrowing.
"How low can you fall, Minister? Do you not have a heart—or have you become so blinded by favoritism that you've forgotten what it means to be human?"
There was no restraint in his tone, only the hatred he felt for the man standing before him—a hollow shell hiding behind titles and robes.
Ross's lips curled. "He has to be treated like every other criminal, or it will cause uproar in the future. And what favoritism? I stand for justice!"
The Headmaster took a sharp breath, ready to reply—but before he could, a soft voice interrupted them.
"…It's okay, sir."
All eyes turned to Hades.
He gave the Headmaster a faint, tired smile.
"I'm sure the whip won't hurt any worse than how I already feel," he said gently.
His gaze shifted to Ross. "So let the Minister feel pleasure from my pain."
Ross snickered but said nothing.
The church worker looked troubled. His hands trembled slightly, but with no further objection from the Headmaster, he knew stopping now would mean taking the full blame for disobedience. The Church would not be kind.
He picked up the whip—a cruel thing, laced with small metal spikes at uneven points—and began.
WHIIP!
The first strike landed across Hades' chest. As the whip was pulled back, it left behind several deep cuts, red lines tearing across already damaged skin.
Hades clenched his teeth. No sound escaped him.
Another swing—this time across his left arm.
"Agh!"
A low groan slipped through before he could stop it.
The third hit landed on his legs. The spikes caught on his charred skin, pulling it apart and exposing raw muscle beneath.
He bit down on his lip so hard that blood started to drip from the corner of his mouth.
Still, he didn't scream.
But the next strike landed on his shoulder—and with it, his limit broke.
"AHHHH!"
The cry tore from his throat as his knees gave out beneath him.
His shoulder was torn open, bleeding freely, the skin shredded by the metal.
The church worker stepped back, shaken. His hands trembled as he looked at what he had done.
The Headmaster moved immediately, snatching the whip from him.
"Th-this is enough now…" he said, voice rough, barely hiding the pain in his eyes. He couldn't watch anymore.
But Ross only smiled.
"He's about to feel the real pain, Headmaster~" he said cheerfully, as if discussing the weather.
The older man's hand twitched. A part of him wanted to strike that smile away—but he was bound. By duty. By the laws he once believed in.
Two church members came forward and carefully lifted Hades. His body was limp, barely responsive, each breath shallow and ragged. They led him toward the small staircase beside the tank.
The man who had used the whip now stood at the edge, supporting Hades by the arm. The boy was panting, skin slick with sweat and blood, eyelids heavy with pain.
The man's voice trembled.
"Forgive me, child…"
And then—he pushed.
Hades fell into the tank of saline water.
For a second, there was only silence.
Then—
His body convulsed.
His eyes flew open wide.
"AHHHHHHHHHH!"
The scream tore through the air—raw, broken, animal.
His limbs thrashed violently as he tried to escape the burning sting covering every inch of his body.
"HELP! GUH—THIS HURTS! IT FUCKING HURTS—GAAAAAAHHHH!"
He flailed, eyes full of tears, legs kicking uselessly against the sides of the stone tank.
His hands scraped at the walls, desperate to pull himself out.
But the tank was too high. His body, too weak.
The saline seeped into every wound. Every exposed nerve felt like it was on fire.
Hades screamed again—louder, sharper—until his voice cracked.
Tears streamed down his face as he cried, begged, and struggled against the pain.
"Please...let me out-Guh!!!" He slammed his head against the wall, trying to call for help.
Headmaster's eyes turned moist as he covered his mouth and held back himself. Every fibre of his being wanted to help him but Hades might get more severely punished if he does so.
Ross had a wide grin as he carefully listened all those cries with a smile of satisfaction on his face.
The church workers lowered their heads and difn move an inch.
In the end, he leaned his head against the wall of the tank, his consciousness fading as he muttered, "Help me…ma…help me…"
And with that, he fainted.
------**------
A/N:- I promise a juicy revenge. Add the book to your collection. Thanks for reading and drop a comment..