The Mystic Life Fruit
"Steffan, the car is ready!"
The voice was raspy and laced with frantic urgency as it boomed throughout the shattered hall.
Absolute silence fell like a pall over the once grand space.
The room was a picture of chaos and devastation, blood in rivulets on the marble floor, and a sickening stench of it filled the air. Every single gaze was directed toward the sprawled figure on the floor. Steffan.
Blood bloomed across his body like gruesome flowers on his torn clothes, pool slowly growing around him.
The man's manhood was the cause, mutilated beyond all measure that he had already turned to a trembling, pallid wreck with cold sweat beading on his brow.
"He… he's…" stammered the woman at the front of the crowd.
No one dared utter a sound; the words would not come. Shame that bordered on pain twisted their faces, their hearts clenched like a fist as they observed their commander rendered utterly powerless and humbled on the cracked marble floor.
